Full text of "On the face of the waters; a tale of the Mutiny"

See other formats

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS

THE FACE OF

THE WATERS

A TALE OF THE MUTINY

FLORA ANNIE STEEL

AUTHOR OF "MISS STUART'S LEGACY," "THE
FLOWER OF FORGIVENESS," ETC., ETC.

mew

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1897

Sl3b

BY
PAUL R. REYNOLDS.

BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

8<n

•! Fir»t Edition January, 1897. Reprinted January 20, January 25, January 30, 1897.

THE MEKSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.

PREFACE.

CX WORD of explanation is needed for this book, which,
in attempting to be at once a story and a history, proba-
bly fails in either aim.

That, however, is for the reader to say. As the writer,
I have only to point out where my history ends, my
story begins, and clear the way for criticism. Briefly,
then, I have not allowed fiction to interfere with fact in
the slightest degree. The reader may rest assured that
every incident bearing in the remotest degree on the
Indian Mutiny, or on the part which real men took in it,
is scrupulously exact, even to the date, the hour, the
scene, the very weather. Nor have I allowed the actual
actors in the great tragedy to say a word regarding it
which is not to be found in the accounts of eye-witnesses,
or in their own writings.

In like manner, the account of the sham court at Delhi
—which I have drawn chiefly from the lips of those who
saw it — is pure history; and the picturesque group of
schemers and dupes — all of whom have passed to their
account — did not need a single touch of fancy in its pre-
sentment. Even the story of Abool-Bukr and Newasi
is true ; sa"ve that I have supplied a cause for an estrange-
ment, which undoubtedly did come to a companionship of
which none speak evil. So much for my facts.

Regarding my fiction: An Englishwoman was con-
cealed in Delhi, in the house of an Afghan, and succeeded
in escaping to the Ridge just before the siege. I have
imagined another; that is all. I mention this because it
may possibly be said that the incident is incredible.^

And now a word for my title. I have chosen it because
when you ask an uneducated native of India why the
Great Rebellion came to pass, he will, in nine cases out

PREFACE.

of ten, reply, " God knows ! He sent a Breath into the
World." From this to a Spirit moving on the face of
the Waters is not far. For the rest I have tried to give
a photograph — that is, a picture in which the differentia-
tion caused by color is left out — of a time which neither
the fair race or the dark race is ever likely to quite for-
get or forgive.

That they may come nearer to the latter is the object
^ with which this book has been written. |

F. A. STEEL.

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

THISTLEDOWN AND GOSSAMER.

CHAPT

ER ]

'AGE

GOING ! GOING ! GONE ! . . . . . - .

II.

HOME, SWEET HOME, ......

III.

THE GREAT GULF FIXED

IV.

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX,

BRAVO !

VI.

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES, .....

BOOK II.

THE BLOWING OF THE BUBBLE.

IN THE PALACE, „,......

II.

IN THE CITY, ........

III.

ON THE RIDGE,

114

IV.

IN THE VILLAGE,

130

IN THE RESIDENCY,

147

VI.

THE YELLOW FAKIR, ......

164

VII.

THE WORD WENT FORTH, ......

179

BOOK III.

FROM DUSK .TO DAWN.

NIGHT,

192

II.

DAWN, .,....,..

208

III.

DAYLIGHT

222

IV.

NOON,

236

SUNSET,

248

VI.

DUSK,

262

Vli

Vlll

CONTENTS.

BOOK IV.

SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF.'

CHAPTER

I. THE DEATH-PLEDGE,

II. PEACE! PEACE!

III. THE CHALLENGE,

IV. BUGLES AND FIFES,

V. THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC,

VI. Vox HUMANA,

PAGE
275
290
306
322
338
354

BOOK V.

THERE AROSE A MAN.'

I. FORWARD !

II. BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS,

III, THE BEGINNING OF THE END,

IV. AT LAST, ....
V. THROUGH THE WALLS, .

VI. REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS,

370
385
403
419

434
449

BOOK VI.

APPENDIX A,
APPENDIX B,

470
474

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

BOOK I.
THISTLEDOWN AND GOSSAMER.

CHAPTER I.

GOING! GOING! GONE!

•

" GOING! Going! Gone! "

The Western phrase echoed over the Eastern scene
without a trace of doubt in its calm assumption of finality.
It was followed by a pause, during which, despite the
crowd thronging the wide plain, the only recognizable
sound was the vexed yawning purr of a tiger impatient for
its prey. It shuddered through the sunshine, strangely
out of keeping with the multitude of men gathered to-
gether in silent security; but on that March evening of
the year 1856, when the long shadows of the surrounding
trees had begun to invade the sunlit levels of grass by
the river, at Lucknow, the lately deposed King of Oude's
menagerie was being auctioned. It had followed all his
other property to the hammer, and a perfect Noah's Ark
of wild beasts was waiting doubtfully for a change of
masters.

" Going! Going! Gone! "

Those three cabalistic words, shibboleth of a whole
hemisphere's greed of gain, had just transferred the
proprietary rights in an old tusker elephant for the sum
of eighteenpence. It is not a large price to pay for a
leviathan, even if he be lame, as this one was. Yet the

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

new owner looked at his purchase distastefully, and
even the auctioneer sought support in a gulp of brandy
and water.

" Fetch up them pollies, Tom," he said in a dejected
whisper to a soldier, who, with others of the fatigue party
on duty, was trying to hustle refractory lots into
position. " They'll be a change after elephants — go off
lighter like. Then there's some of them La Martiniery
boys comin' down again as ran up the fightin' rams
this mornin'. Wonder wot the 'ead master said! But
boys is allowed birds, and Lord knows we want to be a
bit brisker than we 'ave bin with guj-putti. But there!
it's slave-drivin' to screw bids for beasts as eats hunder-
weights out of poor devils as 'aven't enough for them-
selves, or a notion of business as business."

He shook his head resentfully yet compassionately
over the impassive dark faces around. He spoke as an

•/auctioneer; yet [he gave expression to a very common
feeling which in the early fifties, when the commercial
instincts of the West met the uncommercial ones of the
East in open market for the first time, sharpened the an-
tagonism of race immensely; that inevitable antagonism
when the creed of one people is that Time is Money, of

\/the other that Time is Naught]

From either standpoint, however, the auction going
u/on down by the river Goomtee was conf using ;feven to
those who, knowing the causes which had led uprto it —
the unmentionable atrocities, the crass incapacity on the
one hand, the unsanctioned treaties and craze for
civilization on the other — were conscious of a distinct
flavor of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Ark of the Covenant,
and the Deluge all combined, as they watched the just
v and yet unjust retribution going on/j But such specta-
tors were few, even in the outer fringe of English onlook-
ers pausing in their evening drive or ride to gratify their
curiosity. The long reports and replies regarding the
annexation of Oude which filled the office boxes of the
elect were unknown to them, so they took the affair as

v/ they found it. £Fhe King, for some reason satisfactory
to the authorities, had been exiled, majesty being thus
vested in the representatives of the annexing race: that

GOING ! GOING ! GONE !

is, in themselves. A position which comes naturally to
most Englishmen^

To the silent crowds closing round the auctioneer's
table the affair was simple also. The King, for some
unsatisfactory reason, had been ousted from his own.
His goods and chattels were being sold. The valuable
ones had been knocked down, for a mere song — just to
keep up the farce of sale — to the Huzoors. The rubbish
— lame elephants and such like — was being sold to them ;
more or less against their will, since who could forbear
bidding sixpence for a whole leviathan? That this was
in a measure inevitable, that these new-come sahibs were
bound to supply their wants cheaply when a whole posse
of carriages and horses, cattle and furniture was thrown
on an otherwise supplied market, did not, of course, occur
to those who watched the hammer fall to that strange new
cry of the strange new master. When does such phil-
osophy occur to crowds? So when the waning light
closed each day's sale and the people drifted back city-
ward over the boat-bridge they were no longer silent.
They had tales to tell of how much the barouche and
pair, or the Arab charger, had cost the King when he
bought it. But then Wajeed AH, with all his faults, had
never been a bargainer. He had spent his revenues
right royally, thus giving ease to many. So one could
tell of a purse of gold flung at a beggar, another a life
pension granted to a tailor for inventing a new way of
sewing spangles to a waistcoat; for there had been no
lack of the insensate munificence in which lies trie
Oriental_test oLroyalty, about the King of Oude's reign.

Despite this talk, however, the talkers returned day
after day to watch the auction; and on this, the last one,
the grassy plain down by the Goomtee was peaceful and
silent as ever save for the occasional cry of an affrighted
hungry beast. The sun sent golden gleams over the
short turf worn to dustiness by crowding feet, and the
long curves of the river, losing themselves on either side
among green fields and mango trees, shone like a bur-
nished shield. On the opposite bank, its_minarets show-
ing fragile as cut paper against the sky, rose the Chutter
Munzil — the deposed King's favorite palace. Behind it,

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

above the belt of trees dividing the high Residency gar-
dens from the maze of houses and hovels still occupied
by the hangers-on to the late Court, the English flag
drooped lazily in the calm floods of yellow light. For the
rest, were dense dark groves following the glistening
curve of the river, and gardens gravely gay in pillars of
white chum-baeli creeper and cypress, long prim lines of
latticed walls, and hedges of scarlet hibiscus. Here and
there above the trees, the dome of a mosque or the mina-
ret of a mausoleum told that the town of Lucknow, scat-
tered yet coherent, lay among the groves. /The most
profligate town in India which by one stroke of an Eng-
lish pen had just been deprived of the raison-d'etre of its
profligacy, and been bidden to live as best it could in
cleanly, courtless poverty, j

So, already, there were thousands of workmen in it,
innocent enough panderers in the past to luxurious vice,
who were feeling the pinch of hunger from lack of
employment; and there were those past employers
also, deprived now of pensions and offices, with a bank-
rupt future before them,. But Lucknow had a keener
grievance than these in the new tax on opium, the drug^
which helps men to tear hunger and bankruptcy ;
so, as the auctioneer said, it was not a place in which tcT
expect brisk bidding for wild beasts with large appetites.
But the parrots roused a faint interest, and the crowd
laughed suddenly at the fluttering screams of a red and
blue macaw, as it was tossed from hand to hand, on its
way to the surprised and reluctant purchaser who had bid
a farthing for it out of sheer idleness.

"Another mouth to feed, Shumshu! " jeered a fellow
butcher, as he literally flung the bird at a neighbor's
head. " Rather he than I," laughed the recipient, con-
tinuing the fling. " Aril Shumshu, take thy baby. Well
caught, brother! but what will thy house say? "

" That I have made a fat bargain," retorted the big,
coarse owner coolly, as he wrung the bird's neck, and
twirled it, a quivering tuft of bright feathers and choking
cries, above his head. :t Thou'lt buy no meat at a
farthing a pound, even from my shop, I'll swear, and
this bird weighs two, and is delicate as chicken."

GOING! GOING! GONE! 5

The laugh which answered the sally held a faint
scream, not wholly genuine in its ring. It came from the
edge of the crowd, where two English riders had paused
to see what the fun was about.

" Cruel devils, aren't they, Allie? " said one, a tall, fair
man whose good looks were at once made and marred
by heaviness of feature. " Why ! you've turned pale
despite the rouge! " H'is tone was full of not over-re-
spectful raillery; his bold, bloodshot eyes met his com-
panion's innocent looking ones with careless admiration.

" Don't be a fool, Erlton," she replied promptly; and
the even, somewhat hard pitch of her voice did not
match the extreme softness of her small, childish face.
" You know I don't rouge ; or you ought to. And it was
horrible, in its way."

" Only what your ladyship's cook does to your lady-
ship's fowls," retorted Major Erlton. " You don't see it
done, that's all the difference. It is a cruel world, Mrs.
Gissing, the sex is the crudest thing in it, and you, as
I'm always telling you, are the crudest of your sex."

His manner was detestable, but little Mrs. Gissing
laughed again. She had not a fine taste in such matters ;
perhaps because she had no taste for them at all. So,
in the middle of the laugh, her attention shifted to the
big white cockatoo which formed the next lot. It had a
most rumpled and dejected appearance as it tried to keep
its balance on the ring which the soldier assistant swung
backward and forward boisterously.

"Do look at that ridiculous bird!" she exclaimed,
" Did you ever see any creature look so foolish? "

It did, undoubtedly, with its wrinkled gray eyelids
closed in agonized effort, its clattering gray beak bobbing
rhythmically toward its scaly gray legs. It roused the
auctioneer from his depression into beginning in grand
style. " Now, then, gentlemen ! This is a real treat,
indeed! A cockatoo, old as Methusalem and twice
as wise. It speaks, I'll be bound. Says 'is prayers — look
at 'im gemyflexing! and maybe he swears a bit like the
rest of us. Any gentleman bid a rupee! — a eight annas?
— a four annas? Come, gentlemen! "

" One anna," called Mrs. Gissing, with a coquettish

0 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

nod to the big Major, and a loud aside: " Cruel I may be
to you, sir, but I'll give that to save the poor brute from
having its neck wrung."

" Two annas! " There was a stress of eagerness in the
new voice which made many in the crowd look whence
it came. The speaker was a lean old man wearing a faded
green turban, who had edged himself close to the auction-
eer's table and stood with upturned eyes watching the
bird anxiously. He had the face of an enthusiast, keen,
remorseless, despite its look of ascetic patience.

" Three annas ! " Alice Gissing's advance came with
another nod at her big admirer.

" Four annas! " The reply was quick as an echo.

A vexed surprise showed on the pretty babyish face.
"What an impertinent wretch! Eight annas — do you
hear? — eight annas! "

The auctioneer bowed effusively. " Eight annas bid

for a cockatoo as says " he paused cautiously, for

the bidding was brisk enough without exaggeration.
" Eight annas once — twice — Going ! going "

"One rupee 5"

Mrs. Gissing gave a petulant jag to her rein. " Oh!
come away, Erlton, my charity doesn't run to rupees."

But her companion's face, never a very amiable one,

had darkened with temper. " D n the impudent

devil," he muttered savagely, before raising his voice f<>
call: " Two rupees! "

" Five! " There was no hesitation still; only an almost
clamorous anxiety in the worn old voice.

" Ten! " Major Erlton's had lost its first heat, and set-
tled into a dull decision which made the auctioneer turn
to him, hammer in hand. Yet the echo was not wanting.

"Fifteen!"

The Englishman's horse backed as if its master's hand
lay heavy on the bit. There was a pause, during which
that shuddering cough of the hungry tiger quavered
through the calm flood of sunshine, in which the crowd
stood silently, patiently.

" Fifteen rupees," began the auctioneer reluctantly, his
sympathies outraged, " Fifteen once, twice "

GOING I GOING! GONE I 7

Then Alice Gissing laughed. The woman's laugh of
derision which is responsible for so much.

" Fifty rupees," said Major Erlton at once.

The old man in the green turban turned swiftly; turned
for the first time to look at his adversary, and in his face
was intolerant hatred mingled with self-pity; the look of
one who, knowing that he has justice on his side, knows
also that he is defeated.

" Thank you, sir," caught up the auctioneer. " Fifty
once, twice, thrice! Hand the bird over, Tom. Put it
down, sir, I suppose, with the other things?"

Major Erlton nodded sulkily. He was already be-
ginning to wonder why he had bought the brute. Mean-
while Tom, still swinging the cockatoo derisively, had
jumped from the table into the crowd round it as if the
sea of heads was non-existent; being justified of his rash-
ness by its prompt yielding of foothold as he elbowed his
way outward, shouting for room good-naturedly, and
answered by swift smiles and swifter obedience. Yet
both were curiously silent; so that Mrs. Gissing's voice,
wondering what on earth Herbert was going to do with
the creature now that he had bought it, was distinctly
audible.

" Give it to you, of course," he replied moodily.
" You can wring its neclk if you choose, Allie. You are
cruel enough for that, I dare say." The thought of the
fifty rupees wasted was rankling fiercely; fifty rupees!
when he would be hard put to it for a penny if he didn't
pull off the next race. Fifty rupees! because a woman
laughed !

But Mrs. Gissing was laughing again. " I shan't
do anything of the kind. I shall give it to your wife,
Major Erlton. I'm sure she must be dull all alone; and
then she loves prayers!" the absolute effrontery of the
speech was toned down by her indifferent expression.
" Here, sergeant! " she went on, " hold the bird up a bit
higher, please, I want to see if it is worth all that money.
Gracious ! what a hideous brute ! "

It was, in truth; save for the large gold-circled eyes,,
like strange gems, which opened suddenly as the swing-
ing ceased. They seemed to look at the dainty little

8 ON THE FACE OF 7 'HE WATERS.

figure taking it in; and then, in an instant, the dejectc
feathers were afluff, the wings outspread, the flame-
colored crest, unseen before, raised like a fiery flag as the
bird gave an ear-piercing scream.

" Decn! Deen! Futteh Mohammed." (For the Faith!
For the Faith! Victory to Mohammed.)

The war cry of the fiercest of all faiths was unmistak-
able; the first two syllables cutting the air, keen as a
knife, the last with the blare as of a trumpet in them.
And following close on their heels came an indescribable
sound, like the answering vibration of a church to the
last deep organ-note. It was a faint murmur from the
crowd till then so silent.

" D n the bird! Hold it back, man! Loosen the

curb, Allie, for God's sake, or the brute will be over with
you! "

Herbert Erlton's voice was sharp with anxiety as he
reined his own horse savagely out of the way of his com-
panion's, which, frightened at the unexpected commotion,
was rearing badly.

"All right," she called; there was a little more color
on her child-like face, a firmer set of her smiling mouth :
that was all. But the hunting crop she carried fell in one
savage cut after another on the startled horse's quarters.
It plunged madly, only to meet the bit and a dig of the
spur. So, after two or three unavailing attempts to un-
seat her, it stood still with pricked ears and protesting
snorts.

" Well sat, Allie! By George, you can ride! I do like to
see pluck in a woman; especially in a pretty one." The^
Major's temper and his fears had vanished alike in his
admiration. Mrs. Gissing looked at him curiously.

" Did you think I was a coward? " she asked lightly;
and then she laughed. " I'm not so bad as all that. But
look! There is your wife coming along in the new vic-
toria— it's an awfully stylish turn-out, Herbert; I wish
Gissing would give me one like it. I suppose she has
been to church. It's Lent or something, isn't it? Any-
how, she can take that screaming beast home."

" You're not " began the Major, but Mrs. Gissing

had already ridden up to the carriage, making it impossi-

GOING! GOING! GONE! 9

ble for the solitary occupant to avoid giving the order to
stop. She was rather a pale woman, who leaned listlessly
among the cushions.

" Good evening, Mrs. Erlton," said the little lady,
" been, as you see, for a ride. But we were thinking of
you and hoping you would pray for us in church."

Kate Erlton's eyebrows went up, as they had a trick
of doing when she was scornful. " I am only on my way
thither as yet," she replied; " so that now I am aware of
your wishes I can attend to them."

The obvious implication roused the aggressor to
greater recklessness. " Thanks! but we really deserve
something, for we have been buying a parrot for you.
Erlton paid a whole fifty rupees for it because it said its
prayers and he thought you would like it! "

" That was very kind of Major Erlton," — there was
a fine irony in the title, — " but, as he knows, I'm not fond
of things with gay feathers and loud voices."

The man, listening, moved his feet restlessly in his
stirrups. It was too bad of Allie to provoke these spar-
ring matches. Foolish, too, since Kate's tongue was
sharp when she chose to rouse herself. None sharper, in
his opinion.

" If you don't want the bird," he interrupted shortly,
" tell the groom to wring its neck."

Mrs. Gissing looked at him, her reproachful blue eyes
perfect wells of simplicity. " Wring its neck! How can
you, when you paid all that money to save it from being
killed! That is the real story, Mrs. Erlton; it is
indeed "

He interrupted his wife's quick glance of interest im-
patiently. " The main point being that I had, or shall
have to pay fifty rupees — which I must get. So I must
be off to the racecourse if I don't want to be posted. I
ought to have been there a quarter of an hour ago;
should have been but for that confounded bird. Are you
coming, Mrs. Gissing, or not? "

" Now, Erlton! " she replied, " don't be stupid. As if
he didn't know, Mrs. Erlton, that I am every bit as much
interested as he is in the match with that trainer man! —
what's his name, Erlton? Greyman — isn't it? I have

10 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

endless gloves on it, sir, so of course I'm coming to see
fair play."

Major Erlton shot a rapid glance at her, as if to see
what she really meant; then muttered something angrily
about chaff as, with a dig of his heels, he swung his
horse round to the side of hers.

Kate Erlton watched their figures disappear behind
the trees, then turned indifferently to the groom who was
waiting for orders with the cockatoo. But she started
visibly in finding herself face to face with a semi-circle
of spectators which had gathered about the figure of an
old man in a faded green turban who stood close beside
the groom, and who, seeing her turn, salaamed, and with
clasped hands began an appeal of some sort. So much
she gathered from his bright eyes, his tone; but no more,
and all unconsciously she drew back to the furthest cor-
ner of the carriage, as if to escape from what she did not
V understand, and therefore did not like. That, indeed,
was her attitude toward all things native. Yet at times,
as now, she felt a dim regret at her own ignorance.
What did he want? What were they thinking of, those
dark, incomprehensible faces closing closer and closer
round her? What could they be thinking of, uncivil-
ized, heathen, as they were? tied to hateful, horrible be-
liefs and customs, unmentionable thoughts ; so the innate
repulsion of the alien overpowered her dim desire to be
kind.

" Drive on ! " she called in her clear, soft voice, " drive
on to the church."

The grooms, new taken from royal employ, — for the
victoria had been one of the spoils of the auction, — began
their arrogant shouting to the crowd; the coachman,
treating it also in royal fashion, cut at his horses regard-
less of their plunging. So after an instant's scurry and
flurry, a space was cleared, and the carriage rolled off.
The old man, left standing alone, looked after it silently
for a moment, then flung his arms skyward.

"O God, reward them! reward them to the uttermost!"
The appeal, however, seemed too indefinite for solace,
and he turned for closer sympathy to the crowd. :' The
bird is mine, brothers! I lent it to the King, to teach his

GOING! GOING ! GONE! II

the Cry-of- Faith that I had taught it. But the Huzoors
would not listen, or they would not understand. It was
a little thing to them ! So I brought all I had, thinking
to buy mine own again. But yonder hell-doomed infidel
hath it for nothing — for he paid nothing; and here — here
is my money! " He drew a little bag from his breast and
held it up with shaking hand.

" For nothing! " echoed the crowd, seizing on what
interested it most. " For sure he paid nothing."

The murmur, spreading from man to man in doubt,
wonder, assertion, was interrupted by a voice with the re-
sonance and calm in it of one accustomed to listeners.
" Nay! not for nothing. Have patience. The bird may
yet give the Great Cry in the house of the thief. I,,
Ahmed-oolah, the dust of the feet of the Most High, say
it. Have patience. God settles the accounts of men."

" It is the Moulvie," whispered some, as the gaunt,
hollow-eyed speaker moved out of the crowd, a good
head and shoulders taller than most there. " The
Moulvie from Fyzabad. He preaches in the big Mosque
to-night, and half the city goes to hear him." The
whispering voices formed a background to the recurring
cry of the auctioneer, "Going! Going! Gone!" as lot
after lot fell to the hammer, while the crowd listened to
both, or drifted cityward with the memory of them linger-
ing insistently.

"Going! Going! Gone!" What was going? Every-
thing, if tales were true; and there were so many tales
nowadays. Of news flashed faster by wires than any,
even the gods themselves, could flash it; of carriages,
fire-fed, bringing God knows what grain from God knows
where! Could a body eat of it and not be polluted?
Could the children read the school books and not be
apostate? Burning questions these, not to be answered
lightly. And as the people, drifting homeward in the
sunset, asked them, other sounds assailed their ears.
The long-drawn chant of the call to prayer from the
Mohammedan mosques, the clashing of gongs from the
Hindoo temples, the solitary clang of the Christian church
bell. Diverse, yet similar in this, that each called Life
to face Death, not as an end, but as a beginning; called

12 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

with more insistence than usual in the church, where a
special missionary service was being held, at which a
well-known worker in the vineyard was to give an ad-
dress on the duty of a faithful soldier of Christ in a
heathen land. With greater authority in the mosque also,
where the Moulvie was to lay down the law for each sol-
dier of the faith in an age of unbelief and change. Only
in the Hindoo temples the circling lights flickered as
ever, and there was neither waxing nor waning of wor-
ship as mortality drifted in, and drifted out, hiding the
rude stone symbol of regeneration with their chaplets of
flowers; the symbol of Life-in-Death, of Death-in-Life.
The cult of the Inevitable.

There was no light in these dark shrines, save the
circling cresset; none, save the dim reflection of dusk
from white marble, in the mosque where the Moulvie's
sonorous voice sent the broad Arabic vowels rebounding
from dome to dome. But in the church there was a
blaze of lamps, and the soldierly figure at the reading
desk showed clear to the men and women listening
leisurely in the cushioned pews. Yet the words were
stirring enough ; there was no lack of directness in them.
Kate Erlton, resting her chin on her hand, kept her eyes
on the speaker closely as his voice rose in a final con-
fession of the faith that was in him.

" I conceive it is ever the hope and aim of a true
Christian that his Lord should make him the happy
instrument of rescuing his neighbor from eternal damna-
tion. In this belief I find it my duty to be instant in sea-
son and out of season, speaking to all, sepoys as well as
civilians, making no distinction of persons or place, since
with the Lord there are no such distinctions. In the
temporal matters I act under the orders of my earthly
superior, but in spiritual matters I own no allegiance
save to Christ. So, in trying to convert my sepoys, I
act as a Christian soldier under Christ, and thus, by keep-
ing the temporal and spiritual capacities in which I have
to act clearly under their respective heads, I render unto
Caesar the things that are Caesar's, to God the things that
are God's."*

* From Colonel W. Wheler's defens?,

GOING! GOING! GONE! 13

There was a little rustle of satisfaction and relief from
the pews, the hymn closing the service went with a swing,
and the congregation, trooping out into the scented even-
ing air, fell to admiring the address.

" And he looked so handsome and soldierly, didn't
he? " said one voice with a cadence of sheer comfortable-
ness in it as the owner nestled back in the barouche.

" Quite charming! " assented another. " And to think
of a man like that, brave as a lion, submitting to be
hustled off his own parade ground because his sepoys
objected to his preaching. It is an example to us all! "

" I wouldn't give much for the discipline of his regi-
ment," began Kate Erlton impulsively, then paused,
certain of her hearers, uncertain of herself; for she was
of those women who use religion chiefly as an anodyne
for the heartache, leaving her intellect to take care of
itself. With the result that it revenged itself, as now, by
sudden flashes of reason which left her helpless before
her own common sense.

" My dear Mrs. Erlton! " came a shocked coo, " disci-
pline or no discipline, we are surely bound to fight the
good Gracious heavens! what is that?"

It was the cockatoo. Roused from a doze by the
movement of Kate's carriage toward the church-door, it
had dashed at once into the war-cry — " Deen! Deen!
Futteh Mohammed! "

The appositeness of the interruption, however, was
quite lost on the ladies, who were too ignorant to recog-
nize it; so their alarm ended in a laugh, and the sug-
gestion that the bird would be a noisy pet.

Thus, with worldly gossip coming to fill the widen-
ing spaces in their complacent piety, they drove home-
ward together where the curving river shimmered faintly
in the dark, or through scented gardens where the
orange-blossom showed as faintly among the leaves, like
star-dust on a dark sky.

But Kate Erlton drove alone, as she generally did. She
was one of those women whose refinement stands in their
wav ; who are gourmets of life, failing to see that the very
fastidiousness of their palate argues a keener delight in
its pleasures than that of those who take them more

14 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

simply, perhaps more coarsely. And as she drove, her
mind diverted listlessly to the semicircle of dark faces she
had left unanswered. What had they wanted? Nothing
worth hearing, no doubt! Nothing was worth much in
this weary land of exile where the heart-hunger for one
little face and voice gnawed at your vitality day and night.
For Kate Erlton set down all her discontent to the fact
that she was separated from her boy. Yet she had sent
him home of her own free will to keep him from growing
up in the least like his father. And she had stayed with
that father simply to keep him within the pale of respecta-
bility for the boy's sake. That was what she told herself.
She allowed nothing for her own disappointment; nothing
for the keen craving for sentiment which lay behind her
refinement. All she asked from fate was that the future
might be no worse than the past; so that she could
keep up the fiction to the end.

And as she drove, a sudden sound made her start, for
— soldier's wife though she was — the report of a rifle
always set her heart a-beating. Then from the darkness
came a long-drawn howl; for over on the other side of
the river they were beginning to shoot down the hungry
beasts which all through the long sunny day had found
no master.

The barter of their lives was complete. The last
" Going! Going! Gone! " had come, and they had passed
to settle the account elsewhere. So, amid this dropping
fire of kindly meant destruction, the night fell soft and
warm over the shimmering river and the scented gardens
with the town hidden in their midst.

CHAPTER II.

HOME, SWEET HOME!

" You sent for me, I believe, Mrs. Erlton."
" Yes, Mr. Greyman, I sent for you."
Both voices came reluctantly into the persistent cooing
of doves which filled the room, for the birds were

, SWEET HOME! 1 5

perched among a coral begonia overhanging the ver-
anda. But the man had so far the best of it in the diffi-
cult interview which was evidently beginning, in that
he stood with his back to .the French window through
which he had just entered; his face, therefore, was in
shadow. Hers, as she paused, arrested by surprise,
faced the light. For Kate Erlton, when she sent for
James Greyman in the hopes of bribing him to silence re-
garding the match which had been run the evening
before between his horse and her husband's, had not ex-
pected to see a gentleman in the person of an ex-jockey,
trainer, and general hanger-on to the late King's stables.
The diamonds with which she had meant to purchase
honor lay on the table, but this man would not take
diamonds. What would he take? She scanned his face
anxiously, yet with a certain relief in her disappointment;
for the clean-shaven contours were fine, if a trifle stern;
and the mouth, barely hidden by a slight mustache, was
thin-lipped, well cut.

" Yes! I sent for you," she continued — and the even
confidence of her own voice surprised her. " I meant to
ask how much you would want to keep this miserable

business quiet; but now " She paused, and her

hand, which had been resting on the center table, shifted
its position to push aside the jewel-case; as if that were
sufficient explanation.

" But now?" he echoed formally, though his eyes fol-
lowed the action. She raised hers to his, looking him
full in the face. They were beautiful eyes, and their cold
gray blue, with the northern glint of steel in it, gave
James Greyman an odd thrill. He had not looked into
eyes like these for many a long year. Not since, in a
room just like this one, homely and English in every
twist and turn of foreign flowers and furniture, he had
ruined his life for a pair of eyes, as coldly pure as these,
to look at. He did not mean to do it again.

" But now I can only ask you to be kind, and gener-
ous, Mr. Greyman! I want you to save my husband
from the disgrace your claim must bring — if you press it."

Once more the monotonous cooing from the outside
filled the darkness and the light of the large, lofty room.

1 6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

For it was curiously dark in the raftered roof and the dis-
tant corners; curiously light in the great bars of golden
sunshine slanting across the floor. In one of them James
Greyman stood, a dark silhouette against an arch of pale
blue sky, wreathed by the climbing begonia. He was a
man of about forty, looking younger than his age, taller
than his real height, by reason of his beardless face and
the extreme ease and grace of his figure. He was burned
brown as a native by constant exposure to the sun; but
as he stooped to pick up his glove which had slipped
from his hold, a rim of white showed above his wrist.

"So I supposed; but why should I save him?" he
said briefly. The question, thus crudely put, left her
without reply for a minute; during which he waited.
Then, with a new tinge of softness in his voice, he went
on : " It was a mistake to send for me. I thought so at
the time, though, of course, I had no option. But
now "

" But now? " she echoed in her turn.

" There is nothing to be done save to go away again."
He turned at the words, but she stopped him by a
gesture.

" Is there not? " she asked. " I think there is, and so
wil you if you understand — if you will wait and let me
speak." His evident impatience made her add quickly,
" You can at least do so much for me, surely? "
There was a quiver in her voice now, and it surprised her
as her previous calm had done ; for what was this man to
her that his unkindness should give pain?

" Certainly," he said, pausing at once, " but I under-
stand too much, and I cannot see the use of raking up
details. You know them — or think you do. Either way
they do not alter the plain fact that I cannot help — be-
cause I would not if I could. That sounds brutal; but,
unfortunately, it is true. And it is best to tell the truth,
as far as it can be told."

A faint smile curved her lips. :' That is not far. If
you will wait I will tell you the truth to the bitter end."

He looked at her with sudden interest, for her pride
attracted him. She was not in the least pretty; she
might be any age from five-and-twenty to five -and-thirty.
And she — well! she was a lady. But would she tell the

HOME, SWEET HOME! 17

truth? Women, even ladies, seldom did; still he must
wait and hear what she had to say.

" I sent for you," she began, " because, knowing you
were an adventurer, a man who had had to leave the
army under a cloud — in disgrace "

He stared at her blankly. Here was the truth about
himself at any rate!

" I thought, naturally, you would be a man who would
take a bribe. There are diamonds in that case; for
money is scarce in this house." She paused, to gain
firmness for what came next. " I was keeping them for
the boy. I have a son in England and he will have to go
to school soon ; but I thought it better to save his father's
reputation instead. They are fine diamonds" — she
drew the case closer and opened it — the sunshine, stream-
ing in, caught the facets of the stones, turning them to
liquid light. " You needn't tell me they are no use," she
went on quickly, as he seemed about to speak; " I am not
stupid; but that has nothing to do with the question. I
want you to save my husband — don't interrupt me, please,
for I do want you to understand, and I will tell you the
truth. You asked me why? and you think, no doubt,
that he does not deserve to be saved. Do you think I
do not know that? Mr. Greyman! a wife knows more of
her husband than anyone else can do; and I have known
for so many years."

A sudden softness came into her hearer's eyes. That
was true at any rate. She must know many things of
which she could not speak; a sort of horror at what she
must know, with a man like Major Erlton as her hus-
band, held him silent.

" Yet I have saved him so far," she went on, " but if
what happened yesterday becomes public property all my
trouble is in vain. He will have to leave the regi-
ment "

" He is not the first man, as you were kind enough to
mention just now," interrupted James Greyman, " who
has had to leave the army under a cloud. He would sur-
vive it — as others have done."

" I was not thinking of him at all," she replied quietly.
" I was thinking of my son; my only son."

u There are other only sons also, Mrs. Erlton," he re-

1 8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

torted. " I was my mother's, but I don't think the fact
was taken into consideration by the court-martial. Why
should I be more lenient? You have come to the wrong
person when you come to me for charity or considera-
tion. None was shown to me."

<; Perhaps because you did not need it," she said
quickly.

" Not need it? "

" Many a man falls under the shadow of a cloud blame-
lessly. What do they want with charity? "

He rose swiftly and so, facing the light again, stood
looking out into it. " I am obliged to you," he said after
a pause. *' Whether you are right or wrong doesn't
affect the question from which we have wandered. Ex-
cept— " he turned to her again with a certain eagerness
— " Mrs. Erlton! You say you are prepared to tell the
truth to the bitter end ; then for Heaven's sake let us have
it for once in our lives. You never saw me before, nor
I you. It is not likely we shall ever meet again. So we
can speak without a past or a future tense. You ask
me to save your husband from the consequences of his
own cheating. I ask why? Why should I sacrifice
myself? Why should I suffer? for, mark you, there
were heavy bets "

" There are the diamonds," she interrupted, pointing
to them; their gleam was scarcely brighter than her
scornful eyes.

He gave a half smile. " Doubtless there are the dia-
monds! I can have my equivalent, so far, if I choose;
but I don't choose. It does not suit me personally; so
that is settled. I can't do this thing, then, to please
myself. Now, let us go on. You are a religious woman,
I think, Mrs. Erlton — you have the look of one. Then
you will say that I should remember my own frailty, and
forgive as I would be forgiven. Mrs. Erlton! I am no
better than most men, no doubt, but I never remember
cheating at cards or pulling a horse as your husband
does — it is the brutal truth between us, remember. And
if you tell me I'm bound to protect a man from the
natural punishment of a great crime because I've stolen
a pin, I say you are wrong. That theory won't hold

HOME, SWEET HOME I 19

water. If our own faults, even our own crimes, are to
make us tender over these things in others, there must be
— what, if I remember right, my Colenso used to call an
arithmetical progression in error until the Day of Judg-
ment; for the odds on sin would rise with every crime.
I don't believe in mercy, Mrs. Erlton. I never did.
Justice doesn't need it. So let us leave religion alone
too, and come to other things — altruism — charity — what
you will. Now who will benefit by my silence? Will
you? You said just now that a wife knows more of her
husband than a stranger can. I well believe it. That is
why I ask you to tell me frankly, if you really think that
a continuance of the life you lead with him can benefit
you? " He leaned over the table, resting his head on his
hand, his eyes on hers, and then added in a lower voice,
;' The brutal truth, please. Not as a woman to man, or,
for the matter of that, woman to woman; but soul to
soul, if there be such a thing."

She turned away from him and shook her head. " It
is for the boy's sake," she said in muffled tones. " It
will be better for him, surely."

:' The boy," he echoed, rising with a sense of relief.
She had not lied, this woman with the beautiful eyes ; she
had simply shut the door in his face. " You have a por-
trait of him, no doubt, somewhere. I should like to see
it. Is that it, over the mantelpiece? "

He walked over to a colored photograph, and stood
looking at it silently, his hands — holding his hunting
crop — clasped loosely behind his back. Kate noticed
them even in her anxiety; for they were noticeable, ner-
vous, fine-cut hands, matching the figure.

" He is not the least like you. He is the very image of
his father," came the verdict. " What right have you to
suppose that anything you or I can do now will over-
come the initial fact that the boy is your husband's son,
any more than it will ease you of the responsibility of
having chosen such a father for the boy?"

She gave a quick cry, more of pain than anger, and
hid her face on the table in sudden despair.

" You are very cruel," she said indistinctly.

He walked back toward her, remorseful at the sight of

20 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

her miserable self-abasement. He had not meant to hit
so hard, being accustomed himself to facing facts with-
out flinching.

" Yes! I am cruel; but a life like mine doesn't make
a man gentle. And 1 don't see how this trivial conceal-
ment of fact — for that is all it would be — can change the
boy's character or help him. If I did— " he paused.
" 1 should like to help you if I could, Mrs. Erlton, if only
because you — you refused me charity! But I cannot
see my way. It would do no one any good. Begin
with me. I'm not a religious man, Mrs. Erlton. I don't
believe in the forgiveness of sins. So my soul — if I have
one — wouldn't benefit. As for my body? At the risk
o! you offering me diamonds again," — he smiled charm-
ingly,— I must mention that I should lose — how much
is a detail — by concealment. So I must go out of the
question of benefit. Then there is you —

He broke off to walk up and down the room thought-
fully, then to pause before her. " I wish you to believe,'*
he said, " that I want really to understand the truth, but
I can't, because I don't know one thing. I don't know
if you love your husband — or not."

She raised her head quickly with a fear behind the
resentment of her eyes. " Put me outside the question
too. I have told you that already. It is the simplest,
the best way."

He bowed cynically. She came no nearer to truth
than evasion.

" If you wish it, certainly. Then there is the boy.
You want to prevent him from realizing that his father
is a — let us twist the sentence — what his father is. You
have, I expect, sent him away for this purpose. So far
good. But will this concealment of mine suffice? Will
no one else blab the truth? Even if concealment suc-
ceeds all along the line, will it prevent the boy from fol-
lowing in his father's steps if he has inherited his father's
nature as well as his face? Wouldn't it be a deterrent in
that case to know early in life that such instincts can't be
indulged with impunity in the society of gentlemen?
You will never have the courage to keep the boy out of
your life altogether as you are doing now. Sooner or

HOME, SWEET HOME! 21

later you will bring him back, he will bring himself back,
and then, on the threshold of life, he will have an example
of successful dishonesty put before him. Mrs. Erlton!
you can't keep up the fiction always; so it is better for
you, for me, for him, to tell the truth — and I mean to
tell it."

She rose swiftly to her feet and faced him, thrusting
her hair back from her forehead passionately, as if to
clear away aught that might obscure her brain.

" And for my husband? " she asked. " Have you no
word for him? Is he not to be thought of at all? You
asked me just now if I loved him, and I was a coward.
Well! I do not love him — more's the pity, for I can't
make up the loss of that to him anyhow. But there is
enough pity in his life without that. Can't you see it?
The pity that such things should be in life at all. You
called me a religious woman just now. I'm not, really.
It is the pity of such things without a remedy that drives
me to believe, and the pity of it which drives me back
again upon myself, as you have driven me now. For
you are right! Do you think I can't see the shame?
Do you think I don't know that it is too late — that I
should have thought of all this before I called my boy's

nature out of the dark? And yet " her face grew

sharp with a pitiful eagerness, she moved forward and
laid her hand on his arm. " It is all so dark! You said
just now that I couldn't keep up the fiction; but need it
be a fiction always? What do we know? God gives
men a chance sometimes. He gives the whole world a
chance sometimes of atoning for many sins. A Spirit
moves on the Waters of life bringing something to
cleanse and heal. , It may be moving now. Give my
husband his chance, Mr. Greyman, and I will pray that,
whatever it is, it may come quickly."

He had listened with startled eyes; now his hand
closed on hers in swift negation.

" Don't pray for that," he said, in a quick low voice,
" it may come too soon for some of us, God knows — too
soon for many a good man and true!" Then, as if
vexed at his own outburst, he drew back a step, looking
at her with a certain resentment.

22 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" You plead your cause well, Mrs. Erlton, and it is a.
stronger argument than you perhaps guess. So let him
have this chance that is coming. Let us all have it, you
and I into the bargain. No! don't be grateful, please;
for he may prove himself a coward, among other things.
So may I, for that matter. One never knows until the
chance comes for being a hero — or the other thing."

" When the chance comes we shall see," she said, try-
ing to match his light tone. " Till then, good-by — you
have been very kind." She held out her hand, but he did
not take it.

" Pardon me! I have been very rude, and you "

he paused in his half-jesting words, stooped over her
outstretched hand and kissed it.

Kate stood looking at the hand with a slight frown
after his horse's hoofs died away; and then with a smile
she shut the jewel case. Not that she closed the incident
also; for full half an hour later she was still going over
all the details of the past interview. And everything
seemed to hinge on that unforeseen appeal of hers for a
chance of atonement, on that unpremeditated strange
suggestion that a Spirit, might even then be moving on
the face of the waters ; until, in that room gay with Eng-
lish flowers, and peaceful utterly in its air of security, a
terror seized on her body and soul. A causeless terror,
making her strain eyes and ears as if for a hint of what
was to come and make cowards or heroes of them all.

But there was only the flowerful garden beyond the
arched veranda, only the soft gurgle of the doves. Yet
she sat with quivering nerves till the sight of the gar-
dener coming as usual with his watering pot made her
smile at the unfounded tragedy of her imaginings.

As she passed into the veranda she called to him, in
the jargon which served for her orders, not to forget a
plentiful supply to the heartsease and the sweet peas; for
she loved her poor clumps of English annuals more than
all the scented and blossoming shrubs which in those
late March days turned the garden into a wilderness of
strange perfumed beauty. But her cult of home was a
religion with her; and if a visitor remarked that any-
thing in her environment was reminiscent of the old

HOME, SWEET HOME! 23

country, she rejoiced to have given another exile what
was to her as the shadow of a rock in a thirsty land.

So, her eye catching something barely up to western
mark in the pattern ot a collar her tailor was cutting for
her new dress, she crossed over to where he squatted in
the further corner of the veranda.

"That isn't right. Give me something to cut — here!
this will do."

She drew a broad sheet of native paper from the
bundle of scraps beside him, and began on it with the
scissors ; too full of her idea_to_nptice the faint negation___
pf the man's hand. " There! " she said after a fewdeft '
snippings, " that is new fashion."

" Huzoor! " assented the tailor submissively as, appar-
ently from tidiness, he put away the remainder of the
paper, before laying the new-cut pattern on the cloth.

His mistress looked down at it critically. There was
a broad line of black curves and square dots right across
the pattern suggestive of its having been cut from a title-
page. But to her ignorance of the Persian character
they were nothing but the curves and dots, though the
tailor's eyes read clearly in them " The Sword is the Key
of Heaven."

For he, in company with thousands of other men, had
been reading the famous pamphlet of that name; read-
ing it with that thrill of the heart-strings which has been
the prelude to half the discords and harmonies of his-
tory. Since, quaintly enough, those who may hope to
share your heaven are always friends, those who can with
certainty be consigned to hell, your enemies.

;< That is all right," she said. " Cut it well on the bias,
so that it won't pucker."

As she turned away, she felt the vast relief of being
able to think of such trivialities again after the strain and
stress of the hours since her husband had come home
from the race course, full of excited maledictions on the
mean, underhand bribery and spying which might make
it necessary for him to send in his papers — if he could.
Kate had heard stories of a similar character before;
since Major Erlton knew by experience that she had his
reputation more at heart than he had himself, and that

24 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

her brain was clearer, her tact greater than his. But
she had never heard one so hopeless. Unless this
jockey Greyman, who, her husband said, was so mixed
up with native intrigue as to have any amount of false
evidence at his command, could be silenced, her labor
of years was ruined. So long after her husband had
gone off to his bed to sleep soundly, heavily, after the^
manner of men, Kate had lain awake in hers after ttie~
manner of women, resolving to risk all, even to a certain"
extent honesty, in order to silence this man, this adven-
turer; who no doubt was not one whit better than her
husband.

And now? As her mind flashed back over that inter-
view the one thing that stood out above all others was
the bearing, the deference of the man as he had stooped
to kiss her hand. For the life of her, she — who pro-
tested even to herself that such things had no part in her
life — could not help a joy in the remembrance; a quick
recognition that here was a man who could put romance
into a woman's life. The thought was one, however,
from which to escape by the first distraction at hand.
This happened to be the cockatoo, which, after a bath
and plentiful food, looked a different bird on its new
perch.

" Pretty, pretty poll," she said hastily, with tentative
white finger tickling its crest. The bird, in high good
humor, bent its head sideways and chuckled inarticu-
lately; yet to an accustomed ear the sound held the
cadence of the Great Cry, and the tailor, who had heard
it given wrathfully, looked up from his work.

" Oh, Miffis Erlton! what a boo'ful new polly," came
a silvery lisp. She turned with a radiant smile to greet
her next door neighbor's little boy, a child of about
three years old, who, pathetically enough, was a great
solace to her child-bereft life.

" Yes, Sonny, isn't it lovely? " she said, her slim white
hand going out to bring the child closer; " and it screams
splendidly. Would you like to hear it scream?"

Sonny, clinging tightly to her fingers, looked doubt-
ful. " Wait till muvver comth, muvver's comin' to zoo
esectly. Sonny's always flightened wizout hith muvver."

HOME, -SWEET HOME! 25

At which piece of diplomacy, Kate, feeling light-
hearted, caught the little white-clad golden-curled figure
in her arms and ran out with it into the garden, smother-
ing the laughing face with kisses as she ran.

" Sonny's a little goose to be ' flightened,' " came her
glad voice between the laughs and the kisses. " He
ought never to be ' flightened ' at all, because no one in
all the wide, wide world would ever hurt a good little
childie like Sonnykins — No one! No one! No one!"

She had sat the little fellow down among the flowers
by this time, being, in good sooth, breathless with his
weight; and now, continuing the game, chased him with
pretense booings of "No one! No one!" about the
pansy bed, and so, round the sweet peas; until in
delicious terror he shrieked with delight, and chased her
back between her chasings.

It was a pretty sight, indeed, this game between the
woman and the child. The gardener paused in his water-
ing, the tailor at his work; and even the native orderly
going his rounds with the brigade order-book grinned
broadly, so adding one to. the kindly dark faces watch-
ing the chasing of Sonny.

"My dear Kate! How can you?" The querulous
voice broke in on the booings, and made Mrs. Erlton
pause and think of her loosened hair pins. The speaker
was a fair, diaphanous woman, the most solid-looking
part of whose figure, as she dawdled up the path, was
the large white umbrella she carried. " Here am I melt-
ing with the heat ! What I shall do next year if George
is transferred to Delhi, I don't know. He says we shan't
be able to afford the hills. And he has the dogcart at
some of those eternal court-martials. I wonder why the
sepoys give so much trouble nowadays. George says
they're spoiled. So I came to see if you'll drive me to the
band; though I'm not fit to be seen. I was up half the
night with baby. She is so cross, and George will have
it she must be ill; as if children didn't have tempers!
Lucky you, to have your boy at home. And yet you go
romping with other people's. I wouldn't; but then I
look horrid when I'm hot!"

Kate laughed. She did not, and as she rearranged her

26 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

hair seemed to have left years of life behind her. " I can't
help it," she said. " I feel so ridiculously young myself
sometimes — as if I hadn't lived at all, as if nothing be-
longed to me, and I was really somebody else. As

if " She paused abruptly in her confidences, and,

to change the subject, turned to the group behind Mrs.
Seymour: — an ayah holding a toddler by the hand, a
tall orderly in uniform carrying a year-old baby in his
arms; such a languid little mortal as is seldom seen out
of India, where the swift, sharp fever of the changing
seasons seems to take the very life from a child in a few
hours. The fluffy golden head in its limp white sun-
bonnet rested inert against the orderly's scarlet coatee,
the listless little legs drooped helplessly among the bur-
nished belts and buckles.

" Poor little chick! Let me have her a bit, orderly,"
said Kate, laying her hand caressingly on the slack
dimpled arm ; but baby, with a fretful whine, nestled her
cheek closer into the scarlet. A shade of satisfaction
made its owner's dark face less impassive, and the small,
sinewy, dark hands held their white burden a shade
tighter.

" She is so cross," complained the mother. " It has
been so all day. She won't leave the man for an instant.
He must be sick of her, though he doesn't show itr And
she used to go to the ayah; but do you know, Kate, I
don't trust the woman a bit. I believe she gives opium
to the child, so that she may get a little rest."

Kate looked at the ayah's face with a sudden doubt.
" I don't know," she said slowly. " I think they believe
it is a good thing. I remember when Freddy was a
baby "

"Oh, I don't believe they ever think that sort of
thing," interrupted Mrs. Seymour. " You never can
trust the natives, you know. That's the worst of India.
Oh! how I wish I was back in dear old England with a
real nurse who would take the children off my hands."

But Kate Erlton was following up her own doubt.
" The children trust them " she began.

" My dear Kate ! you can't trust children either.
Look at baby! It gives me the shudders to think of

THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 27

touching Bij-rao, and see how she cuddles up to him,"
replied Mrs. Seymour, as she dawdled on to the house;
then, seeing the bed of heartsease, paused to go into
raptures over them. They were like English ones, she
said.

The puzzled look left Kate's face. " I sent some home
last mail," she replied in a sort of hushed voice, " just to
show them that we were not cut off from everything we
care for; not everything."

So, as if by one accord, these two Englishwomen
raised their eyes from the pansy bed, and passing by the
flowering shrubs, the encircling tamarind trees framing
the cozy, home-like house, rested them on the redden-
ing gold of the western sky. Its glow lay on their faces,
making them radiant.

But baby's heavy lids had fallen at last over her heavy
eyes as she lay in the orderly's arms, and he glanced at
the ayah with a certain pride in his superior skill as a
nurse.

CHAPTER III.

THE GREAT GULF FIXED.

IT was a quaint house in the oldest quarter of the city
of Lucknow, where odd little groves linger between the
alleys, so that men pass, at a step, from evil-smelling
lanes, to cool, scented retreats, dark with orange and
mango trees; where birds flutter, and squirrels loll
yawning through the summer days, as if the great town
were miles away.

It was in the furthest corner of such a flowerless, shady
garden that the house reared its lessening stories and
projecting eaves above its neighbors. The upper half
of it was not unlike an Italian villa in its airiness, its
balustraded roof, its green jalousies; but the lower por-
tion was unmistakably Indian. It was a perfect rabbit
warren of dark cells, crushed in on each other cause-
lessly; the very staircase, though but two feet wide, hav-

28 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

ing to fold itself away circumspectly so as to find space
to creep upward.

But no one lived below, and the dark twists and turns
of the brick ladder mattered little to Zora bibi, who lived
in the pleasant pavilions above; for she had scarcely
ever left them since the day, nearly eight years past,
when James Greyman had installed her there with all
the honor possible to the situation. Which was, briefly,
that he had bought the slip of a girl from a house of ill-
fame, as he would have bought a horse, or a flower-pot,
or anything else which he thought would make life
pleasanter to him. He had paid a long price for her, not
only because she was beautiful, but because he pitied the
delicate-looking child — for she was little more — just
about to enter a profession to which she was evidently a
recruit kidnaped in early infancy; as so many are in
India. Not that his pity would have led him to buy her
if she had been ugly, or even dark; for the creamy ivory
tint of her skin satisfied his fastidiousness quite as much
as did the hint of a soul in her dark, dreamy eyes.
Romance had perhaps had more to do with his purchase
than passion; restless, reckless determination to show
himself that he had no regrets for the society which had
dispensed with his, had had more than either. For he
had begun to rent the pleasant pavilions after a few
years of adventurous roving had emphasized the gulf
fixed between him and his previous life, and forced his
pride into leading his present one as happily as he could.

As for the girl, those eight years of pure passion on
the housetops had been a dream of absolute content.
It was so even now, when she lay dying, as so many
secluded women do, of a slow decline. To have flowers
and fruit brought to her, to find no change in his tender-
ness because she was too languid to amuse him, to have
him wait upon her and kiss away her protests; all this
made her soft warm eyes softer, warmer. It was so
unlike anything she had ever heard or dreamed of; it
made her blind to the truth, that she was dying. How
could this be so when there was no hint of change, when
life still gave her all she cared for? She did not, to be

THE GREAT GULF FIXED.

sure, play tricks with him like a kitten, as she used to;
but that was because she was growing old — nearly one
and twenty!

" She is worse to-day. I deem her close to freedom,
Soma, so I have warned the death-tender," said a tall
woman, as she straightened the long column of her
throat to the burden of a brass water-pot, new-poised
on her head, and stepped down from the low parapet of
the well which stood in one corner of the shady grove.
Sometimes its creaking Persian wheel moaned over the
task of sending runnels of water to the thirsty trees ; but
to-day it was silent, save for an intermittent protest when
the man — who was lazily leaning his back against the
yoke — put out his strength so as to empty an extra
water can or two into the trough for the woman's use.
He was in the undress uniform of a sepoy, and as he
also straightened himself to face the speaker the ex-
traordinary likeness between them in face and figure
stamped them as twins. It would have been difficult
to give the palm to either for superior height or beauty;
and in their perfection of form they might have stood as
models of the mythical race-founders whose names they
bore. For Tara Devi and Soma Chund were Rajpoots
of the single Lunar or Yadubansi tribe. She was
dressed in an endless scarf of crimson wool, which with
its border of white and yellow embroidery hung about
her in admirable folds. The gleam of the water-pot
matched the dead gold circlets on the brown wrists and
ankles; for Tara wore her savings thus, though she had
no right to do so, being a widow. But she had been
eight years in James Greyman's service; more than eight
bound to him by the strangest of ties. He had been the
means of saving her from her husband's funeral pyre;
in other words of preventing her from being a saint, of
making her outcaste utterly. Since none, not even
other widows, would eat or drink with a woman rejected
by the very gods on the threshold of Paradise. Such a
mental position is well-nigh incomprehensible to
western minds. It was confusing even to Tara herself;

30 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and the mingling of conscious dignity and conscious
degradation, gratitude, resentment, attraction, repulsion,
made her a puzzle even to herself at times.

" The master will grieve," replied Soma; his voice
was far softer than his sister's had been, but it had the
effect of hardening hers still more.

" What then?" she asked; "man's sorrow for a
woman passes ; or even if it pass not, bears no fruit here,
or hereafter. But I, as thou knowest, Soma, would have
burned with my love. But for thee, as thou knowest, I
would have been suttee (lit. virtuous). But for thee I
should have found, ay! and given salvation."

She passed on with a sweep of full drapery, bearing
her water-pot as a queen might her crown, leaving
Soma's handsome face full of conscious-stricken amaze.
His sister — from whom, despite her degradation, he had
not been able to dissociate himself utterly — had never
before rounded on him for his share in her misfortune;
but in his heart of hearts he had admitted his responsi-
bility at one moment, scorned it the next. True, he
had told his young Lieutenant that his brother-in-law
was going to be burned, as an excuse for not accom-
panying him after black-buck one morning; but who
would have dreamed that this commonplace remark
would rouse the Huzoor's curiosity to see the obsequies
of a high-caste Rajpoot, and so lead, incidentally,- to
a file of policemen and the neighboring magistrate drag-
ging the sixteen-year old widow from the very flames? —
when she was drugged, too, and quite happy — when the
wrench was over, even for him, and she, to all intents,
was a saint scattering salvation on seven generations of
inconstant males! Much as he loved Tara, the little
twin sister who, so the village gossips loved to tell, had
left the Darkness for the Light of Life still clasping his
hand, how could he have done her such an injury? As
a Rajpoot how could he have brought such a scandalous
dishonor on any family?

But being also a soldier, as his fathers had been before
him, and so leavened unconsciously by much contact
with Europeans, he could not help admiring Tara's pluck
in refusing to accept the life of a dog, which was all that

THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 31

was left to her among her own people. And he had been
grateful to the Huzoor, as she was, for giving her good
service where he could see her; though he would not
for worlds have touched the hand which had lain in his
from the beginning of all things. It was unclean now.

Still he could not f"orget the gossip's story any mofe
than he could forget that James Greyman had been his
Lieutenant, and that together they had shot over half
Hurreeana. So when he passed through Lucknow on
his way to spend his leave in his wife's village, he always
gave a day or two of it to the quaint garden-house.

And now Tara had definitely accused him of ruining
her life! Anger, born of a vague remorse, filled him as
he watched her disappear up the plinth. If it was any-
body's fault it was the Huzoor's ; or rather of the Sirkar
itself who, by high-handed interference with venerable
customs, made it possible for a poor man, by a mere slip
of the tongue, to injure one bound to him by the closest
of ties.

" It will leave us naught to ourselves soon," he mut-
tered sulkily as he went out to the doorstep to finish
polishing the master's sword; that being a recognized
office during these occasional visits, which, as it occurred
to him in his discontent, would be still more occasional
if among other things the Sirkar, now that Oude was
was annexed, took away the extra leave due to foreign
service. They had said so in the regiment; and though
he was too tough to feel pin-pricks in advance, he had
sneered with others in the .current jest that the maps
were tinted red — i. c., shown to be British territory — by
savings stolen from the sepoy's pocket.

It was very quiet on the paved slope leading up from
the alley to the carved door beyond the gutter. The
lane was too narrow for wheeled traffic, the evening not
sufficiently advanced for the neighbors to gather in it
for gossip. But every now and again a veiled figure
would sidle along the further wall, passing good-looking
Soma with a flurried shuffle. Whereat, though he knew
these ghostly figures to be old women on their way to
market, he cocked his turban more awry, and curled his
mustachios nearer his eyes; from no set purpose of

32 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

playing the gay Lothario, but for the honor of the regi-
ment, and because War and Women go together, East
and West.

After a time, however, the workmen began to dawdle
past from their work, and some of them, remembering
Soma, paused to ask him the latest news; a stranger in
a native city being equivalent to an evening paper.
And, of course, there were questions as to what the regi-
ment thought of this and that. But Soma's replies were
curt. He never relished being lumped in as a simple
Rajpoot with the rest of the Rajpoots, for he was inordi-
nately proud of his tribe. That was one reason why he
stood aloof, as he did, from much that went on among
his comrades. He drilled, it is true, between two of
them who were entered as he was — that is to say, as a
Rajpoot — on the roster. But the three were in reality
as wide apart as. the Sun, the Moon, and the Fire from
which they respectively claimed descent. They would
not have intermarried into each other's families for all
the world and its wealth. A causeless differentiation
which makes, and must make, a people who cling to it
incomprehensible to a race which boasts as a check to
pride or an encouragement to humility that all men are
born of Adam, and which seeks no hall-mark for its
descendants save the stamp of the almighty dollar.

Soma, therefore, polishing his master's sword sulkily,
grew irritable also ; especially when the frequenters of the
opium and hemp shops began, with wavering steps and
lack-luster eyes, to loaf homeward for the evening meal
which would give them strength for another dose.
There were many such habitual drug-takers in the quar-
ter; for it was largely inhabited by poor claimants to
nobility who, having nothing to do, had time for dreams.
That was why people from other quarters flocked to this
one at sundown for gossip; since it is to be had at its
best from the opium-eater, whose imagination is stimu-
lated, his reason dulled, beyond the power of discrimi-
nating even his own truth or falsehood. One of these, a
haggard, sallow fellow in torn muslin and ragged em-
broidery, stopped with a heavy-lidded leer beside Soma.

" So, brother, back again! " he said with the maudlin

THE GREA T GULF FIXED. 33

gravity of a hemp-smoker; " and thou lookest fat. The
bone dust must agree with thee."

It was as if a bomb had fallen. The Hindoo bystanders,
recognizing the rumor that ground bones were mixed
with commissariat flour, drew back from the Rajpoot
instinctively; the Mohammedans smiled on the sly.
Soma himself had in a moment one sinewy hand on the
half-drunk creature's throat, the other brandishing the
fresh-polished sword.

" Bone dust thyself, and pigs meat too, foul-mouthed
slayer of sacred kine!" he gasped, carrying the war
into the enemy's country. "Thou beast! Unsay the
lie!"

His indignation, showing that he appreciated the
credence some might be disposed to give to the accusa-
tion, only made the Hindoos look at each other. The
Mohammedans, however, dragged him from the sway-
ing figure of the accuser, who, after all, was one of
themselves.

" Heed him not! " they chorused appeasingly. : Tis
drug-shop talk, and every sane man knows that for
dreams. Lo! his sense is clean gone as horns from a
donkey! Sure, thy mother ate chillies in her time for
thou to be so hot-blooded. It is not morning, brother,
because a hen crows, and a snake is but a snake, and
goes crooked even to his own home! "

These hoarded saws, with physical force superadded,
left Soma reduced to glaring, and renewed claims for a
retraction of the insult.

The hemp-smoker looked at him mournfully.
" Wouldst have me deny God's truth?" he hiccuped.
" Lo! I say not thou didst eat it. Thou sayst not, and
who am I to decide between a man and his stomach, even
though he looks fat? Yet this all know, that as a bird
fattens his tail shrinks, and honor is nowhere nowadays.
But this I say for certain. Let him eat who will, there
is bone dust in the flour — there is bone dust in the
flour "

He lurched from a supporter's hold and drifted down
the lane, half-chanting the words.

Soma glared, now, at those doubtful faces which re-

34 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

mained. " Tis a lie, brothers! But there, 'tis no use
wearing the red coat nowadays when all scoff at it. And
why not? when the Sirkar itself mocks our rights. I
tell thee at the father-in-law's village, but now, a man
who titled me sahib last year puffed his smoke in my
face this. And wherefore not? May not every scoun-
drel nowadays drag us to court and set us a-bribing
underlings as the common herd have to do? We, sol-
diers of Oude, who had a Resident of our own always,
and "

" Nothing lasts for always, save God," said a long-
bearded bystander, interrupting Soma's parrot roll of
military grievances, " as the Moulvie said last night at
our mosque, it is well he remains ever the same, giving
the same plain orders once and for all. So none of the
faithful can mistake. God is Might and Right. All the
rest is change."

"Wah! wah!" murmured some respectfully; but the
Rajpoot's scowl lost its fierceness in supercilious indif-
ference.

!< That may suit the Moulvie. It may suit thee and
thine, syyed-jec," he replied, with a shrug of the shoul-
ders. " It suits not me nor mine, being of a different
race. We are Rajpoots, and there is no change pos-
sible to that. We are ever the same."

The pride in his voice and manner reflected but faintly
the inconceivable pride in his heart. Yet he was on the
alert, salaaming cheerfully, as James Greyman came
riding with a clatter down the alley, and without drawing
bridle, passed through the low gateway into the dark
garden heavy with the perfume of orange-blossom.
His arrival ended the incident, for Soma followed him
quickly, and in obedience to his curt order to see the
groom rub down the horse while it waited, as it had
been a breather round the race course, walked off with
it toward the well. It was such an opportunity for
ordering other men about as natives dearly love; so that
the more autocratic a master is, the better pleased they
are to gain dignity by serving him.

James Greyman, meanwhile, had paused on the plinth

THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 35

to give a low whistle and look upward to the terraced
roof. And as he did so his face was full of weariness,
and yet of impatience. He had been telling himself that
he was a fool ever since he had left Kate Erlton's draw-
ing room half an hour before, and even his mad gallop
round the steeple-chase course had not effaced the
curious sense of compulsion which had made him
promise to let her husband go scot-free. Even now,
when he waited with that dread at his heart, which of
late had been growing stronger day by day, for the
answer which Zora loved to make to his signal, his fear
lest the Great Silence had fallen between them was lost
in the recollection that, if it were so, his freedom had
come too late. He hated himself for thus bracketing
death and freedom together, but for all that he would
not blind himself to its truth. Now that his profession
had gone with the King's exile, Zora was, indeed, the
only tie to a life which had grown distasteful to him,
and when the Great Silence came, as come it must, he
had made up his mind to leave James Greyman behind,
and go home to England. He was nearing forty, and
though the spirit of reckless adventure was fading, the
ambitions of his youth seemed to be returning; as they
so often do when the burden and heat of passion passes.
He was tired of perpetual sunshine; the thought of the
cold mists on the hilltops, the wild storms on the west
coast, haunted him. He wanted to see them again.
Above all, he wanted to hear himself called by his own
familiar name, not by the one he had assumed. It had
seemed brutal to dream of all this sometimes, while
little Zora still lay in his arms smiling contentedly; .but
it was inevitable. And so, while he waited, watching
with the dread growing at his heart for the flutter of the
tinsel veil, the half-heard whisper " Khush amud-eed "
(welcome), it was inevitable also that the remembrance
of his promise to Kate Erlton should invade, and as it
were desecrate, his real regret for the silence that seemed
to grow deeper every second. It had come too late —
too late! There could be no solace in freedom now.
That other silence in regard to Major Erlton's misdeeds

36 ON THE FACE VF THE WATERS.

meant the loss of every penny he had scraped together
for England. He might have to sell up almost every-
thing he possessed in order to pay his bets honorably;
and that he must do, or he gave away his only hope of
recouping his bad luck. Why had he promised? Why
had he given up a certainty for that vague chance of
which he had spoken, he scarcely knew why, to these
cold blue northern eyes with the glint of steel. The
remembrance brought a passionate anger at himself.
Was there anything in the world worth thinking of now,
with that silence new-fallen upon him, except the soft
warm eyes which were perhaps closed forever? So,
with a quick step, he passed up the stairs and gave his
signal knock at the door which led on to the terraced
roof.

Tara, opening it, answered his look with ringer to her
lip, and a warning glance to the low string-bed set close
to the arches of the summer-house so as to catch the
soft-scented breeze. He stepped over to it lightly and
looked down on the sleeper; but the relief passed from
his face at what he saw there. It could only be a
question of hours now.

" Wrhy didst not send before?" he asked in a low
voice. " I bid thee send if she were worse and she
needed me." Once more the anger against that other
woman came uppermost. What was she to him that she
should filch even half an hour from this one who loved
him? He might so easily have come earlier; and then
the promise would not have been made. Was he utterly
heartless, that this thought would come again and
again ?

" She slept," replied Tara coldly. " And sleep needs
naught. Not even Love's kisses. It is nigh the end
though, master, as thou seest; so I have warned mother
Jewuni, the death tender." She had spoken so far as if
she desired to make him wince; now the pain on his
face made her add hurriedly : " She hath not suffered,
Huzoor, she hath not complained. Had it been so I
would have sent. But sleep is rest."

She -passed on to a lower roof softening her echoing
steps with a quaint crooning lullaby:

THE GREA T GULF 'FIXED. 37

4 ' My breast is rest
And rest is Death.
Ye who have breath
Say which is best ?
Death's Sleep is rest ! "

Was it so? As he stood, still looking down on the
sleeper, something in the lack of comfort, of all the re-
finements and luxuries which seem to belong by right
to the sickness of dear ones in the West, smote him
suddenly with a sense of deprivation, of division. And
though he told himself that Death came in far more
friendly fashion out there in the sunlight, where you
could hear the birds, watch the squirrels, and see the
children's kites go sailing overhead in the blue sky; still
the bareness of it seemed somehow to reveal the great
gulf between his complexity, his endless needs and
desires, and the simplicity of that human creature drift-
ing to death, almost as the animals drift, without com-
plaint, without fears, or hopes. It seemed so pitiful.
The slender figure, still gay in tinsel and bright draper-
ies, all cuddled up on the quilt, its oval face resting hardly
on the thin arm where the bracelets hung so loosely, had
an uncared-for look. It seemed alone, apart ; as far from
Death in its nearness to Life, as it was from Life in its
closeness t6 Death. In swift pity he stooped to risk an
awakening by gathering it into his warm friendly arms.
It would at least feel the beating of another human heart
when it lay there. It would at least be more comfort-
able than on the bare, hard, pillowless bed.

But he paused. How could he judge? How dare he
judge even for that wasted body, which, despite its soft-
ness, had never known half the luxuries his claimed?
So he left her lying as he had often seen her sleep, all
curled up on herself like a tired squirrel, and passing to
the parapet leaned over it looking moodily down into
the darkening orange trees. Their heavy perfume floated
upward, reminding him of many another night in spring-
time spent with Zora upon this terraced roof.

And suddenly his hand fell in a gesture of sheer anger.

Before God! it had been unfair; this idyl on the house-
tops. The world had held no more for her save her pas-

3§ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

sion for him, pure in its very perfection. His_for her
. had been but a small part of his life. It never was more
than that to a man, in reality, and so this sort of thing
must always be unfair. That she had been content made
it worse, not better. Poor little soul ! drifting away from
the glow and the glamour.

A resentment for her, more than for himself, made him
go to where Tara sat gossiping with her fellow-servant
on the other roof and bid them wait downstairs. If the
silence were indeed about to fall, if the glow and the
glamour were going, then she and he might at least be
alone once more beneath the coming stars; alone in the
soft-scented darkness which had so often seemed to clasp
them closer to each other as they sat in it like a couple of
children whispering over a secret.

Closer! As he leaned over the parapet his keen eyes
stared down into the half-seen city spreading below him.
Wide, tree-set, full of faint sounds of life; the wreaths of
smoke from thousands of hearths rising to obscure it
from his view. Obscuring it hopelessly with their tale
of a life utterly apart from any he could lead. Even
there on the housetop he had only pretended to lead it.
It was not she, drifting to death so contentedly, who was
alone! It was he. Yet some men he had known had
seemed able to combine the two lives. They had been
content to think half-caste thoughts, to rear up a tribe
of half-caste children; while he? How many years was
it since he had seen Zora weeping over a still little mor-
sel of humanity, his child and hers, that lay in her
tinseled veil? She had wept, mostly because she was
afraid he might be angry because his son had never
drawn breath; and he had comforted her. He had
never told her of the relief it was to him, of the vague
repulsion which the thought of a child had always
brought with it. One could not help these things; and,
after all, she had only cared because she was afraid he
cared. She did not crave for motherhood either. It was
the glow, and glamour that had been the bond between
them; nothing else. And, thank Heaven! she had never
tired of it, had never seen him tire of it — for Death would
come before that now.

THE GREAT GULF FIXED. 39

A chiming clash of silver made him turn quickly. She
had awakened, and seeing him by the parapet, had set
her small feet to the ground, and now stood trying to
steady herself by her thin, wide-spread arms.

" Zora! wait! I am coming," he cried, starting forward.
Then he paused, speech and action arrested by some-
thing in her look, her gesture.

" Let me come," she murmured, her breath gone with
the effort. " I can come. I must be able to come. My
lord is so near — so near."

A fierce pity made him stand still. " Surely thou canst
come," he answered. " I will stay here."

As she stood, with parted lips, waiting for a glint of
strength ere she tried to walk, her swaying figure, the
brilliance of her eyes, the heaving of her delicate throat,
cut him to the very heart for her sake more than for his
own. Then the jingle of her silver anklets rose again in
irregular cadence, to cease at the next pillar where she
paused, steadying herself against the cold stone to regain
her breath.

" Surely, I can come ; and he so near," she murmured
wistfully, half to herself.

il Thou art in too great a hurry, sweetheart. There is
plenty of time. The stars are barely lit, and star-time is
ever our time."

He set his teeth over the words; but the glow and the
glamour should not fail her yet. He would take her
back with him while he could to the past which had been
so full of it.

" Come slower, my bird, I am waiting," he said again
as the jingling cadence ceased once more.

" It is so strange," she gasped; " I feel so strange."
And even in the dim light he could see a vague terror,
a pitiful amaze, in her face. That must not be. That
must be stopped. " And it is strange," he answered
quickly. " Strange, indeed, for me to wait like a king,
when thou art my queen! "

A faint smile drove the wonder away, a faint laugh
mingled with the chiming and clashing. She was like
a wounded bird, he thought, as he watched her; a
wounded bird fluttering to find shelter from death.

40 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Take care! Take care of the step! " he cried, as a
stumble made him start forward; but when she recovered
herself blindly he stood still once more, waiting. Let
her come if she could. Let her keep the glamour.

Keep it! She had done more than that. She had
given it back to him at its fullest, as, close at hand he saw
her radiant face, and his outstretched hands met hers
warm and clasping. The touch of them made him for-
get all else; he drew her close to him passionately. She
gave a smiling sob of sheer content, raising her face to
meet his kisses.

" I have come," she whispered. " I have come to my
king." Her voice ended like a sigh. Then there was
silence, a fainter sigh, then silence again.

" Zora! " he called with a sudden dread at his heart.
" What is it? Zoia! Zora!'

Half an hour afterward, Tara Devi, obeying her
master's summons, found him standing beside the bed,
which he had dragged out under the stars, and flung up
her arms to give the wail for what she saw there.

"Hush!" he said sternly, clutching at her shoulder.
" I will not have her disturbed."

Tara looked at him wonderingly. " There is no fear
of that," she replied clearly, loudly, " none shall disturb
Zora again. She hath found that freedom in the future.
For the rest of us, God knows! The times are strange.
So let her have her right of wailing, master. She will
feel silent in the grave without the voices of her race."

He drew his hand away sharply; even in death a great
gulf lay between him and the woman he had loved.

So the death wail rang out clamorously through the
soft dark air.

CHAPTER IV.

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX.

" I CAN'T think," said a good-looking middle-aged man
as he petulantly pushed aside a pile of official papers,
" where Dashe picks these things up. I never come
across them. And it is not as if he were in a big station

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 4*

or — or in the swim in any way." He spoke fretfully, as
one might who, having done his best, has failed. And
he had grounds for this feeling, since the fact that the
diffident district-officer named Dashe was not in the
swim, must clearly have been due to his official supe-
riors; the speaker being one of them.

Fortunately, however, for England, these diffident sons
of hers cannot always hide their lights under bushels.
As the biographies of many Indian statesmen show,
some outsider notices a gleam of common sense amid the
gloom, and steers his course by it. Now Mr. Dashe's
intimate knowledge of a certain jungle tract in this dis-
trict had resulted in a certain military magnate bagging
three tigers. From this to a reliance on his political per-
ceptions is not so great a jump as might appear; since
a man acquainted with the haunt of every wild beast in
his jurisdiction may be credited with knowledge of other
dangerous inhabitants. So much so that the military
magnate, being impressed by some casual remarks, had
asked Mr. Dashe to put down his views on paper, and had
passed them on to a great political light.

It was he who sat at the table looking at a broadsheet
printed in the native character, as if it were a personal
affront. The military magnate, who had come over to
discuss the question, was lounging in an easy-chair with
a cheroot. They were both excellent specimens of
Englishmen. The civilian a trifle bald, the soldier
a trifle gray; but one glance was sufficient to judge them
neither knaves nor fools.

" That's the proclamation you're at now, isn't it? "
asked the military magnate, looking up, " I'm afraid I
could only make out a word here and there. That's the
worst of Dashe. He's so deuced clever at the vernacu-
lars himself that he imagines other people "

The political, who had earned his first elevation from
the common herd to the Secretariat by a nice taste in
Persian couplets suitable for durbar speeches, smiled
compassionately.

"My dear sir! This is not even shikust [broken
character]. It is lithographed, and plain sailing to any-
one not a fool — I mean to anyone on the civil side, of

42 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

course — you soldiers have not to learn the language.
But I have a translation here. As this farrago of Dashe's
must go to Calcutta in due course, I had one made for
the Governor General's use."

He handed a paper across the table, and then turned
to the next paragraph of the jeremiad.

The military magnate laid down his cigar, took up the
document and glanced at it apprehensively, resumed his
cigar, and settled himself in his chair. It was a very
comfortable one and matched the office-room, which,
being in the political light's private house, was under the
supervision of his wife, who was a notable woman. Her
portrait stood in the place of honor on the mantelpiece
and it was flanked by texts; one inculcating the virtue of
doing as you would be done by, the other the duty of
doing good without ceasing. Both rather dangerous
maxims when you have to deal with a different personal
and ethical standard of happiness and righteous-
ness. There was also a semicircle of children's photo-
graphs— of the kind known as positives — on the table
round the official ink-pot. When the sun shone on their
glasses, as it did now through a western window, they
dazzled the eyes. Maybe it was their hypnotizing in-
fluence which inclined the father of the family toward
treating every problem which came to that office-table
as if the first desideratum was their welfare, their appro-
bation; not, of course, as his children, but as the repre-
sentative Englishmen and women of the future. Yet he
was filled with earnest desires to do his duty by those
over whom he had been set to rule, and as he read, his
sense of responsibility was simply portentous, and his
pen, scratching fluently in comments over the half mar-
gin, was full of wisdom. This sound was the only one
in the room save, occasionally, voices raised eagerly in
the rehearsal going on in the drawing room next door.
It was a tragedy in aid of an orphan asylum in England
which the notable wife was getting up; and once her
voice could be heard distinctly, saying to her daughter,
" Oh, Elsie, I'm sure you could die better than that! "

Meanwhile the military magnate was reading:

" I, servant of God, the all-powerful, and of the

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 43

prophet Mohammed — to whom be all praise. I, Syyed
Ahmed-Oolah, the dust of the feet of the descendants of
Huznit Ameer-Oolah-Moomereen-Ali-Moortuza, the Holy."
He shifted uneasily, looked across the table, appeared
discouraged by that even scratching, and went on :

" I, Syyed Ahmed, after preferring my salaams and the
blessings of Holy War, to all believers of the sect of
Sheeahs or the sect of Sunnees alike, and also to all those
having respectful regards to the Faith, declare that I,
the least of servants in the company of those waiting on
the Prophet, did by the order of God receive a Sword of
Honor, on condition that I should proclaim boldly to
all the duty of combining to drive out Infidels. In this,
therefore, is there great Reward ; as is written in the Word
of God, since His Gracious Power is mighty for success.
Yea! and if any fail, will they not be rid of all the ends
of this evil world, and attain the Joys and Glories of
Martyrdom? So be it. A sign is ever sufficient to the
intelligent, and the Duty of a servant is simply to point
the way."

When he had finished he laid the document down on
the table, and for a minute or so continued to puff at his
cigar. Then he broke silence with that curious con-
straint in his tone which most men assume when reli-
gious topics crop up in general conversation. " I wonder
if this — this paper is to be considered the sign, or " — he
hesitated for a moment, then the cadence of the procla-
mation being suggestive, he finished his sentence to
match — " or look we for another? "

"Another!" retorted his companion irritably. "Ac-
cording to Dashe the whole of India is one vast sign-post!
He seems to think we in authority are blind to this. On
the contrary, there is scarcely one point he mentions
which is not,* I say this confidentially of course, under
inquiry. I have the files in my confidential box here and
can show them to you now. No ! by the way, the head
clerk has the key — that proclamation had to be trans-
lated, of course. But, naturally, we don't proclaim this
on the housetops. We might hurt people's feelings, or
give rise to unfounded hopes. As for these bazaar
rumors Dashe retails with such zest, I confess I think

44 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

it undignified for a district-officer to give any heed to
them. They are inevitable with an ignorant population,
and we, having the testimony of a good conscience," — he
glanced almost unconsciously at the mantelpiece, —
" should disregard these ridiculous lies. Of course every-
one— everyone in the swim, that is — admits that the
native army is most unsettled. And as Sir Charles
Napier declared, mutiny is the most serious danger
in the future; in fact, if the first symptoms are not
grappled with, it may shake the very foundations.
But we are grappling with it, just as we are grappling,
quietly, with the general distrust. That was a most
mischievous paragraph, by the way, in the Chris-
tian Observer, jubilant over the alarm created by those
first widow . re-marriages the other day. So was that
in The Friend of India, calling attention to the fact that a
regular prayer was offered up in all the mosques for
the Restoration of the Royal Family. We don't want
these things noticed. We want to create a feeling of
security by ignoring them. That is our policy. Then
as for Dashe's political news, it is all stale! That story,
for instance, of the Embassy from Persia, and of the old
King of Delhi having turned a Sheeah;

" That has something to do with saying Amen, hasn't
it? " interrupted the military magnate, with the air of
one determined to get at the bottom of things at all costs
to himself.

The political light smiled in superior fashion. " Par-
tially; but politically — as a gauge, I mean, to probable
antagonism — Sheeahs and Sunnees are as wide apart as
Protestants and Papists. The fact that the Royal
Family of Oude are Sheeahs, and the Delhi one Sunnees,
is our safeguard. Of course the old King's favorite wife,
Zeenut Maihl, is an Oude woman, but I don't credit the
rumors. I had it carefully inquired into, however, by
a man who has special opportunities for that sort of work.
A very intelligent fellow, Greyman by name. He has a
black wife or — or something of that sort, which of
course helps him to understand the natives better than
most of us who — er — who don't — you understand •"

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 45

The military magnate, having a sense of humor,
smiled to himself. " Perfectly," he replied, " and I'm in-
clined to think that perhaps there is something to be said
for a greater laxity." In his turn he glanced at the man-
telpiece, and paused before that immaculate presence.
" The proclamation, however," he went on hurriedly,
" appears to me a bit dangerous. Holy War is awkward,
and a religious fanatic is a tough subject even to the regu-
lars." He had seen a rush of Ghazees once and the
memory lingered.

" Undoubtedly. And as we have pointed out again
and again to your Department, here and at home, the
British garrisons are too scattered. These large acces-
sions of territory have put them out of touch with each
other. But that again is being grappled with. In fact,
personally, I believe we are getting on as well as can be
expected." He glanced here at the semicircle of chil-
dren as if the phrase were suggestive. " We are doing
our best for India and the Indians. Now here, in Oude,
things are wonderfully ship-shape already. Despite
Jackson and Gubbins' tiffs over trifles they are both
splendid workers, and Lucknow was never so well gov-
erned as it is to-day."

" But about the proclamation," persisted his hearer.
" Couldn't you get some more information about it?
That Greyman, for instance."

" I'm afraid not. He refused some other work I
offered him not long ago. Said he was going home for
good. I sometimes wish I could. It is a thankless task
slaving out here and being misunderstood, even at home.
Being told in so many words that the very system under
which we were recruited has failed. Poor old Hailey-
bury! I only hope competition will do as well, but I doubt
it; these new fellows can never have the old esprit de
corps', won't come from the same class! One of the
Rajah's people was questioning me about it only this
morning — they read the English newspapers, of course.
' So we are not to have sahibs to rule over us,' he said,
looking black as thunder. ' Any krani's (lit. low-caste
English) son will do, if he has learned enough.' I tried

46 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

to explain " Here a red-coated orderly entering

with a card, he broke off into angry inquiries why he was
being disturbed contrary to orders.

" The sahib bade me bring it," replied the man, as if
that were sufficient excuse, and his master, looking at
the card, tossed it over the table to the soldier, who ex-
claimed: " Talk of the devil! He may as well come in, if
you don't mind."

So James Greyman was ushered in, and remained
standing between the civilian and the soldier; for it is
not given to all to have the fine perceptions of the native.
The orderly had unhesitatingly classed the visitor as a
" gentleman to be obeyed " ; but the Political Depart-
ment knew him only as a reliable source of information.

"Well, Greyman! Have you brought any more
news? " asked the civilian, in a tone intended to impress
the Military Department with the fact that here was one
grapnel out of the many which were being employed
in bringing truth to the surface and securing safety. But
the soldier, after one brief look at the newcomer, sat up
and squared his own shoulders a bit.

" That depends, sir," replied James Greyman quietly,
" whether it pays me to bring it or not. I told you last
month that I could not undertake any more work, be-
cause I was leaving India. My plans have changed-; and
to be frank, I am rather hard up. If you could give me
regular employment I should be glad of it." He spoke
with the utmost deliberation, but the incisive finality of
every word, taking his hearers unprepared, gave an im-
pression of hurry and left the civilian breathless. James
Greyman, however, having said what he had come to say,
said no more. During the past week he had had plenty
of time to make up his mind, or rather to find out that it
was made up. For he recognized frankly that he was
acting more on impulse than reason. After he had bur-
ied poor little Zora away in accordance with the cus-
toms of her people, and paid his racing bets and .general
liabilities, — to do which he had found it necessary to sell
most things, including the very horse he had matched
against Major Erlton's, — he had suddenly found out,
rather to his own surprise, that the idea of starting

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 47

again on the old lines was utterly distasteful to him. In
a lesser degree this second loss of his future and severing
of ties in the past had had the same effect upon him as
the previous one. It had left him reckless, disposed to
defy all he had lost, and prove himself superior to ill-
luck. Then being, by right of his Celtic birth, imagina-
tive, in a way superstitious, he had again and again found
himself thrown back, as it were, upon Kate Erlton's
appeal for that chance, to bring which the Spirit might
be, even now, moving on the waters. If was that, that
only, with its swift touch on his own certainty that a
storm was brewing, which had made him yield his point;
which had forced him into yielding by an unreasoning
assent to her suggestion that it might bring a chance of
atonement with it. And now, in calm deliberation, he
confessed that he might find his chance in it also; a better
chance, maybe, than he would have had in England. His
only one, at any rate, for some time to come. Those
gray-blue northern eyes with the glint of steel in them
had, by a few words, changed the current of his life. The
truth was unpalatable, but as usual he did not attempt to
deny it. He simply cast round for the best course in
which to flow toward that tide in the affairs of men
which he hoped to take at its flood. Political employ-
ment— briefly, spy's work — seemed as good as any for the
present.

" Regular employment," echoed the civilian, recover-
ing from his sense of hurry. " You mean, I presume,
as a news-writer."

" As a spy, sir," interrupted James Greyman.

The political light disregarded the suggestion. " Your
acquirements, of course, would be suitable enough; but
I fear there are no native courts without one. And the
situation hardly calls for excess expenditure. But of
course, any isolated douceur "

His hearer smiled. " Call it payment, sir. But I think
you must find job-work in secret intelligence rather ex-
pensive. It produces such a crop of mare's-nests; at
least so I have found."

The suspicion of equality in the remark made the offi-
cial mount his high horse, deftly.

48 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Really, we have so many reliable sources of informa-
tion, Mr. Greyman," he began, laying his hand as if casu-
ally on the papers before him. The action was followed
by James Greyman's keen eyes.

" You have the proclamation there, I see," he said
cheerfully. " I thought it could not be much longer
before the police or someone else became aware of its
existence. The Moulvie himself was here about a week
ago."

"The Moulvie — what Moulvie?" asked the military
magnate eagerly. The civilian, however, frowned. If
confidential work were to be carried out on those lines,
something, even if it were only ignorance, must be found
out.

" The Moulvie of Fyzabad " began James Greyman.

"And who ?"

" My dear sir," interrupted the other pettishly. " We
really know all about the Moulvie of Fyzabad. His
name has been on the register of suspects for months."
He rose, crossed to a bookshelf, and coming back pro-
cessionally with two big volumes, began to turn over the
pages of one.

" M — Mo — Ah ! Ma, no doubt. That is correct,
though transliteration is really a difficult task — to be con-
sistent yet intelligible in a foreign language is No.

It must be under F in the first volume. F; Fy. Just so!
Here we are. * Fyzabad, Moulvie of — fanatic, tall,
medium color, mole on inside of left shoulder/ This is
the man, I think? "

" I was not aware of the mole, sir," replied James Grey-
man dryly, " but he is a magnificent preacher, a consist-
ent patriot, a born organizer ; and he is now on his way to
Delhi."

"To Delhi?" echoed the civilian pettishly. "What
can a man of the stamp you say he is want with Delhi?
A sham court, a miserable pantaloon of a king, the prey
of a designing woman who flatters his dotage. I admit
he is the representative of the Moghul dynasty, but its
record for the last hundred and fifty years is bad enough
surely to stamp out sentiment of that sort."

" Prince Charles Edward was not a very admirable per-

TAPE AND SEALING-WAX. 49

son, nor the record of the Stuarts a very glorious one,

and yet my grandfather " James Greyman pulled

himself up sharply, and seeing an old prayer-book lying
on the table, which, with the alternatives of a bottle of
Ganges water and a copy of the Koran, lay ready for the
discriminate swearing of witnesses, finished his sentence
by opening the volume at a certain Office, and then plac-
ing the open book on the top of the proclamation. " It
will be no news to you, sir, that prayers of that sort are
being used in all the mosques. Of course here, in Luck-
now, they are for my late master's return. But if anything
comparable to the '15 or the '45 were to come, Delhi must
be the center. It is the lens which would focus the
largest area, the most rays; for it appeals to greed as
well as good, to this world as well as the next."

" Do you think it a center of disaffection now, Mr.
Greyman? " asked the military magnate with an emphasis
on the title.

" I do not know, sir. Zeenut Maihl, the Queen, has
court intrigues, but they are of little consequence."

" I disagree," protested the Political. " You require
the experience of a lifetime to estimate the enormous in-
fluence "

"What do you consider of importance, then?" inter-
rupted the soldier rather cavalierly, leaning across the
table eagerly to look at James Greyman. There was an
instant's silence, during which those voices rehearsing
were clearly audible. The tragedy had apparently
reached a climax.

"That; and this." He pointed to the Proclamation,
and a small fragment of something which he took from
his waistcoat pocket and laid beside the paper. The
civilian inspected it curiously, the soldier, leaving his
chair, came round to look at it also. The sunny room
was full of peace and solid security as those three Eng-
lishmen, with no lack of pluck and brains, stood round
the white fragment.

( Looks like bone," remarked the soldier.

" It is bone, and it was found, so I heard in the
bazaar to-day, at the bottom of a Commissariat flour-
sack "

50 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

James Greyman was interrupted by a relieved pshaw!
from the Political.

"The old story, eh, Greyman! I wonder what next
these ignorant fools "

" When the ignorant fools happen to be drilled sol-
diers, and, in Bengal, outnumber our English troops by
twenty-four to one," retorted James Greyman sharply,
" it seems a work of supererogation to ask what they will

do next. If I were in their place However, if I

may tell you how that came into my hands you will per-
haps be able to grasp the gravity of the situation."

" Won't you take a chair? " asked the soldier quickly.

James Greyman glanced at the Political. " No,
thanks, I won't be long. There is a class of grain car-
riers called Bunjarahs. They keep herds of oxen, and
have carried supplies for the Royal troops since time im-
memorial. They have a charter engraved on a copper
breastplate. I've only seen a copy, for the original
Jhungi and Bhungi lived ages ago in Rajpootana. It
runs so:

" While Jhungi Bhungi's oxen
Carry the army's corn,
House-thatch to feed their flocks on,
House-water ready drawn.
Three murders daily shriven,
These rights to them are given,
While Jhungi Bhungi's oxen
Carry the army's corn."

" Preposterous," murmured the civilian. " That's at
an end, anyhow."

" Naturally; for they no longer carry the corn. The
method is too slow, too Eastern for our Commissariat.
But the Oude levies used to employ them. So did I at
the stables. This is over also, and when I last saw my
tanda — that's a caravan of them, sir — they were sub-con-
tracting under a rich Hindoo firm which was dealing di-
rect with the Department. They didn't like it."

" Still you can't deny that the growth of a strong, con-
tented commercial class with a real stake in the
country " began the civilian hurriedly.

11 That sounds like the home-counties or a vestry

TAPE AMD SEALING-WAX. 51

board," interrupted his hearer dryly. " The worst of it,
in this case, being that you have to get your content out
of the petty dealers like these Bunjarahs. I came upon
one yesterday telling a circle of admirers, in the strictest
confidence of course, lest the Sirkar should kill him for
letting the cat out of the bag, that he had found that bit
of bone at the bottom of a Commissariat sack he bought
to mend his own. The moral being, of course, that it
was safer to buy from him. But he was only half
through when I, knowing the scoundrel, fell on him and
thrashed him for lying. The audience approved, and
assented to his confession that it was a lie; but only to
please me, the man with the stick. And as for Jhungi,
he will tell the tale with additional embellishments in every
village to which the caravan goes; unless someone is
there to thrash him if he does."

" Scoundrel," muttered the soldier angrily.

" Or saint," added James Greyman. " He will be that
when he comes to believe his own story of having
burned the sack rather than use it. That won't be long.
Then he will be much more dangerous. However, if
there is no place vacant for me, sir "

" If you would not mind waiting a minute " began

the military magnate, with a hasty look at the Political.

James Greyman bowed, and retired discreetly to the
window. It looked out upon just such another garden
as Kate Erlton's, and the remembrance provoked the
cynical question as to what the devil he was doing in that
galley. Racing was a far safer way of making money
than acting as a spy; to no purpose possibly, at least so
far as his own chance was concerned.

Yet five minutes after, when the Political was writing
him out a safe conduct in the event of his ever getting
into difficulties with the authorities, he interrupted the
scratching of the pen to say, suddenly :

" If you would make it out in my own name, sir, I
should prefer it. James Sholto Douglas, late of the

— th Regiment."*

" Hm! " said the military magnate thoughtfully when
the new employee in the Secret Intelligence Department
left the room. " So that is Jim Douglas, is it? I

5* ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

thought he was a service man by the set of his shoulders.
Jim Douglas. I remember his case when I was in the
A.-G.'s office."

" What was it? " asked the civilian curiously.

" Oh, a woman, of course. I forget the details, she
was the wife of his major, a drunken beast. There was
something about a blow, and she didn't back him up;
saved her reputation, you understand. But he was an
^ uncommonly smart officer, I know that."

CHAPTER V.
BRAVO!

THE Gissings' house stood in a large garden; but
though it was wreathed with creepers, and set with
flowers after the manner of flowerful Lucknow, there was
no cult of pansies or such like English treasures here.
It was gay with that acclimatized tangle of poppies and
larkspur, marigold, mignonette, and corn cockles which
Indian gardeners love to sow broadcast in their cartwheel
mud-beds ; " powder of flowers " they call the mixed
seeds they save for it from year to year.

In the big dark dining room also — where Alice Gis-
sing, looking half her years in starch, white muslin, and
blue ribbons, sat at the head of the table — there was no
cult of England. Everything was frankly, stanchly of
the nabob and pagoda-tree style; for the Gissings pre-
ferred India, where they were received into society, to
England, where they would have been out of it.

It had been one those heavy luncheons, beginning
with many meats and much bottled beer, ending with
much madeira and many cigars, which sent the insurance
rate for India up to war risks in those days.

And there was never any scarcity of the best beer at
the Gissings', seeing that he had the contract for supply-
ing it to the British troops. His wife, however, preferred
solid-looking porter with a creamy head to it, and a
heavy odor which lingered about her pretty smiling lips.

BRAVO! 53

It was a most incongruous drink for one of her appear-
ance; but it never seemed to affect either her gay little
body or gay little brain; the one remained youthful, slen-
der, the other brightly, uncompromisingly clear.

She had been married twice. Once in extreme youth
to a clerk in the Opium Department, who owed the good
looks which had attracted her to a trace of dark blood.
Then she had chosen wealth in the person of Mr. Gissing.
Had he died, she would probably have married for
position; since she had a catholic taste for the amenities
of life. But he had not died, and she had lived with him
for ten years in good-natured toleration of all his claims
upon her. As a matter of fact, they did not affect her in
the least, and in her clear, high voice, she used to wonder
openly why other women worried over matrimonial
troubles or fussed over so slight an encumbrance as a
husband. In a way she felt equal to more than one,
provided they did not squabble over her. That was un-
pleasant, and she not only liked things to be pleasant,
but had the knack of making them so; both to the man
whose name she bore, and whose house she used as a
convenient spot wherein to give luncheon parties, and
to the succession of admirers who came to them and
drank her husband's beer.

He was a vulgar creature, but an excellent business
man, with a knack of piling up the rupees which made
the minor native contractors, whose trade he was gradu-
ally absorbing, gnash their teeth in sheer envy. For
the Western system of risking all to gain all was too
much opposed to the Eastern one of risking nothing to
gain little for the hereditary merchants to adopt it at once.
They have learned the trick of fence and entered the
lists successfully since then; but in 1856 the foe was new.
So they fawned on the shrewd despoiler instead, and
curried favor by bringing his wife fruits and sweets, with
something costlier hidden in the oranges or sugar drops.
Alice Gissing accepted everything with a smile; for her
husband was not a Government servant. The contracts,
however, being for Government supplies, the givers did
not discriminate the position so nicely. They used to
complain that the Sirkar robbed them both ways, much

54 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

to Mr. Gissing's amusement, who, as a method of self-
glorification, would allude to it at the luncheon parties
where many men used to come. Men who, between the
intervals of badinage with the gay little hostess, could
talk with authority on most affairs. They did not bring
their wives with them, but Alice Gissing did not se
mind ; she did not get on with women.

"So they complain I rob them, do they?" he said
loudly, complacently, to the men on either side of him.
" My dear Colonel ! an Englishman is bound to rob a
native if that means creaming the market, for they
haven't been educated, sir, on those sound commercial
principles which have made England the first nation in
the world. Take this flour contract they are howling
about. I'm beer by rights, of course, and, by George,
I'm proud of it. Your men, Colonel, can't do without
beer; England can't do without soldiers; so my business
is sound. But why shouldn't I have my finger in any
other pie which holds money? These hereditary fools
think I shouldn't, and they were trying a ring, sir. Ha!

ha! an absurd upside-down d d Oriental ring based on

utterly rotten principles. You can't keep up the price
of a commodity because your grandfather got that price.
They ignored the facility of transport given by roads,
etc., ignored the right of government to benefit — er —
slightly — by these outlays. Commerce isn't a selfish
thing, sir, by gad. If you don't consider your market
a bit, you won't find one at all. So I stepped in, and made
thousands ; for the Commissariat, seeing the saving here,
of course asked me to contract for other places. It
serves the idiots uncommon well right; but it will benefit
u them in the end. If they're to face Western nations they
must learn — er — the — the morality of speculation." He
paused, helped himself to another glass of madeira, and
added in an unctuous tone, " but till they do, India's a
good place."

" Is that Gissing preaching morality? " asked his wife,
in her- clear, high voice. The men at her end of the
table had had their share of her; those others might
be getting bored by her husband.

" Only the morality of business," put in a coarse-look-

BRA VO ! 55

ing fellow who, having been betwixt and between the
conversations, had been drinking rather heavily.
" There's no need for you to join the ladies as yet, Mrs.
Gissing."

Major Erlton, at her right hand, scowled, and the boy
on her left flushed up to the eyes. He was her latest ad-
mirer, and was still in the stage when she seemed an
angel incarnate. Only the day before he had wanted
to call out a cynical senior who had answered his
vehement wonder as to how a woman like she was could
have married a little beast like Gissing, with the irrever-
ent suggestion that it might be because the name rhymed
with kissing.

In the present instance she heeded neither the scowl
nor the flush, and her voice came calmly. " I don't in-
tend to, doctor. I mean to send you into the drawing
room instead. That will be quite as effectual to the
proprieties."

Amid the laugh, Major Erlton found opportunity for
an admiring whisper. She had got the brute well above
the belt that time. But the boy's flush deepened; he
looked at his goddess with pained, perplexed eyes.

"The morality of speculation or gambling," retorted
the doctor, speaking slowly and staring at the delighted
Major angrily, " is the art of winning as much money
as you can — conveniently. That reminds me, Erlton;
you must have raked in a lot over that match."

A sudden dull red showed on the face whose admira-
tion Alice was answering by a smile.

" I won a lot, also," she interrupted hastily, " thanks
to your tip, Erlton. You never forget your friends."

" No one could forget you — there is no merit " be-
gan the boy hastily, then pausing before the publicity of
his own words, and bewildered by the smile now given to
him. Herbert Erlton noted the fact sullenly. He
knew that for the time being all the little lady's personal
interest was his ; but he also knew that was not nearly so
much as he gave her. And he wanted more, not under-
standing that if she had had more to give she would
probably have been less generous than she was; being
of that class of women who sin because the sin has no

56 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

appreciable effect on them. It leaves them strangely,
inconceivably unsoiled. This imperviousness, however,
being, as a rule, considered the man's privilege onlyp-
Major Erlton failed to understand the position, and so,
feeling aggrieved, turned on the lad.

" I'll remember you the next time if you like, Main-
waring," he said, " but someone has to lose in every
game. I'd grasped that fact before I was your age, and
made up my mind it shouldn't be me."

" Sound commercial morality ! " laughed another
guest. " Try it, Mainwaring, at the next Gymkhana.
By the way, I hear that professional, Greyman, is off, so
amateurs will have a chance now; he was a devilish fine
rider."

" Rode a devilish fine horse, too," put in the unap-
peased doctor. " You bought it, Erlton, in spite -

"Yes! for fifteen hundred," interrupted the Major, in
unmistakable defiance. " A long price, but there was
hanky-panky in that match. Greyman tried fussing to
cover it. You never can trust professionals. How-
ever, I and my friends won, and I shall win again with
the horse. Take you evens in gold mohurs for the

There was always a sledge-hammer method in the
Major's fence, and the subject dropped.

The room was heavy with the odors of meats and
drinks. Dark as it was, the flood of sunshine streaming
into the veranda outside, where yellow hornets were
buzzing and the servants washing up the dishes, sent a
glare even into the shadows. Neither the furniture nor
appointments of the room owed anything to the East —
for Indian art was, so to speak, not as yet invented for
English folk — yet there was a strange unkennedness
about their would-be familiarity which suddenly struck
the latest exile, young Mainwaring.

" India is a beastly hole," he said, in an undertone —
" things are so different— I wish I were out of it." There
was a note of appeal in his young voice; his eyes, meet-
ing Alice Gissing's, filled with tears to his intense dismay.
He hoped she might not see them; but she did, and
leaned over to lay one kindly be-ringed little hand on the
table quite close to his.

BRAVO! 57

" You've got liver," she said confidentially. " India
is quite a nice place. Come to the assembly to-night,
and I will give you two extras — whole ones. And don't
drink any more madeira, there is a good boy. Come and
have coffee with me in the drawing room instead; that
will set you right."

Less has set many a boy hopelessly wrong. To do
Alice Gissing justice, however, she never recognized such
facts; her own head being quite steady. But Major
Erlton understood the possible results perfectly, and com-
mented on them when, as a matter of course, his long
length remained lounging in an easy-chair after the other
guests had gone, and Mr. Gissing had retired to business.
People, from the Palais Royale playwrights, downward
— or upward — always poke fun at the husbands in such
situations; but no one jibes at the man who succeeds to
the cut-and-dried necessity for devotion. Yet there is
surely something ridiculous in the spectacle of a man
playing a conjugal part without even a sense of duty to
give him dignity in it, and the curse of the commonplace
comes as quickly to Abelard and Heloise as it does to
Darby and Joan. So Major Erlton, lounging and com-
menting, might well have been Mrs. Gissing's legal
owner. " Going to make a fool of that lad now, I sup-
pose, Allie. Why the devil should you when you don't
care for boys? "

She came to a stand in front of him like a child, her
hands behind her back, but her china-blue eyes had a
world of shrewdness in them. " Don't I ? Dp you think
I care for men either? I don't. You just amuse me, and
I've got to be amused. By the way, did you remember
"to order the cart at five sharp? I want to go round the
Fair before the Club."

If they had been married ten times over, their spending
the afternoon together could not have been more of a
foregone conclusion; there seemed, indeed, no choice in
the matter. And they were prosaically punctual, too;
at "five sharp" they climbed into the high dog-cart
boldly, in face of a whole posse of servants dressed in
the nabob and pagoda-tree style, also with silver crests in
their pith turbans and huge monograms on their breast-

58 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

plates; old-fashioned servants with the most antiquated
notions as to the needs of the sahib logne, and a fund
of passive resentment for the least change in the inher-
ited routine of service. Changes which they referred to
the fact that the new-fangled sahibs were not real sahibs.
But the heavy, little and big breakfasts, the unlimited
beer, the solid dinners, the milk punch and brandy pani,
all had their appointed values in the Gissings' house; so
the servants watched their mistress with approving
smiles. And on Mondays there was always a larger
posse than usual to see the old Mai, who had been Alice
Gissing's ayah for years and years, hand up the bouquet
which the gardener always had ready, and say, " My
salaams to the missy-baba." Mrs. Gissing used to take
the flowers just as she took her parasol or her gloves.
Then she would say, " All right," partly to the ayah,
partly to her cavalier, and the dog-cart, or buggy, or
mail-phaeton, whichever it happened to be, would go
spinning away. For the old Mai had handed the flowers
into many different turn-outs 'and remained on the steps
ready with the authority of age and long service, to crush
any frivolous remarks newcomers might make. But the
destination of the bouquet was always the same ; and that
was to stand in a peg tumbler at the foot of a tiny white
marble cross in the cemetery. Mrs. Gissing put .a fresh
offering in it every Monday, going through the ceremony
with a placid interest; for the date on the cross was far
back in the years. Still, she used to speak of the little
life which had come and gone from hers when she was
yet a child herself, with a certain self-possessed plaintive-
ness born of long habit.

" I was barely seventeen," she would say, " and it was
a dear little thing. Then Saumarez was transferred, and
I never returned to Lucknow till I married Gissing. It
was odd, wasn't it, marrying twice to the same station.
But, of course, I can't ask him to come here, so it is
doubly kind of you; for I couldn't come alone, it is so
sad."

Her blue eyes would be limpid with actual tears; yet
as she waited for the return of the tumbler, which the
watchman always had to wash out, she looked more like

BRA VO ! 59

some dainty figure on a cracker than a weeping Niobe.
Nevertheless, the admirers whom she took in succession
into her confidence thought it sweet and womanly of her
never to have forgotten the dead baby, though they
rather admired her dislike to live ones. Some of them,
when their part in the weekly drama came upon them,
as it always did in the first flush of their fancy for the
principal actress in it, began by being quite sentimental
over it. Herbert Erlton did. He went so far once as
to bring an additional bouquet of pansies from his wife's
pet bed ; but the little lady had looked at it with plaintive
distrust. " Pansies withered so soon," she said, " and as
the bouquet had to last a whole week, something less
fragile was better." Indeed, the gardener's bouquets,
compact, hard, with the blossoms all jammed into little
spots of color among the protruding sprigs of privet, were
more suited to her calm permanency of regret, than the
passionate purple posy which had looked so pathetically
out of place in the big man's coarse hands. She had
taken it from him, however, and strewn the already
drooping flowers about the marble. They looked pretty,
she had said, though the others were best, as she liked
everything to be tidy; because she had been very, very
fond of the poor little dear. Saumarez had never been
kind, and it had been so pretty; dark, like its father, who
had been a very handsome man. She had cried for days,
then, though she didn't like children now. But she
would always remember this one, always! The old Mai
and she often talked of it; especially when she was
dressing for a ball, because the gardener brought
bouquets for them also.

Major Erlton, therefore, gave no more pansies, and his
sentiment died down into a sort of irritable wonder what
the little woman would be at. The unreality of it all
struck him afresh on this particular Monday, as he
watched her daintily removing the few fallen petals; so
he left her to finish her task while he walked about. The
cemetery was a perfect garden of a place, with rectangu-
lar paths bordered by shrubs which rose from a tangle
of annual flowers like that around the Gissings' house.
This blossoming screen hid the graves for the most part ;

60 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

but in the older portions great domed erections — gener-
ally safeguarding an infant's body — rose above it more
like summer-houses than tombs. Herbert Erlton pre-
ferred this part of the cemetery. It was less suggestive
than the newer portion, and he was one of those whole-
some, hearty animals to whom the very idea of death is
horrible. So hither, after a time, she came, stepping
daintily over the graves, and pausing an instant on the
way to add a sprig of mignonette to the rosebud she had
brought from a bush beside the cross; it was a fine,
healthy bush which yielded a constant supply of buds
suitable for buttonholes. She looked charming, but he
met her with a perplexed frown.

"I've been wondering, Allie," he said, " what you
would have been like if that baby had lived. Would you
have cared for it? "

Her eyes grew startled. " But I do care for it! Why
should I come if I didn't? It isn't amusing, I'm sure; so
I think it very unkind of you to suggest "

" I never suggested anything," he protested. " I know

you did — that you do care. But if it had lived " he

paused as if something escaped his mental grasp.
" Why, I expect you would have been different some-
how; and I was wondering "

" Oh ! don't wonder, please, it's a bad habit,"- she re-
plied, suddenly appeased. i( You will be wondering
next if I care for you. As if you didn't know that I do."

She was pinning the buttonhole into his coat methodi-
cally, and he could not refuse an answering smile; but the
puzzled look remained. " I suppose you do, or you
wouldn't " he began slowly. Then a sudden emo-
tion showed in face and voice. " You slip from me
somehow, Allie — slip like an eel. I never get a real
hold Well! I wonder if women understand them-
selves? They ought to, for nobody else can, that's one
comfort." Whether he meant he was no denser than
previous, recipients of rosebuds, or that mankind
benefited by failing to grasp feminine standards, was not
clear. And Mrs. Gissing was more interested in the fact
that the mare was growing restive. So they climbed into
the high dog-cart again, and took her a quieting spin

&RAVO ! 6 1

down the road. The fresh wind of their own speed
blew in their faces, the mare's feet scarcely seemed to
touch the ground, the trees slipped past quickly, the
palm-squirrels fled chirruping. He flicked his whip
gayly at them in boyish fashion as he sat well back, his
big hand giving to the mare's mouth. Hers lay equably
in her lap, though the pace would have made most ^
women clutch at the rail.

"Jolly little beasts; aint they, Allie?"

"Jolly altogether; jolly as it can be," she replied
with the frank delight of a girl. They had forgotten
themselves innocently enough; but one of the men in a
dog-cart, past which they had flashed, put on an outraged
expression.

" Erlton and Mrs. Gissing again! " he fussed. " I shall
tell my wife to cut her. Being in business ourselves we
have tried to keep square. But this is an open scandal.
I wonder Mrs. Erlton puts up with it. I wouldn't."

His companion shook his head. " Dangerous work,
saying that. Wait till you are a woman. I know more
about them than most, being a doctor, so I never venture
on an opinion. But, honestly, I believe most women —
that little one ahead into the bargain — don't care a button
one way or the other. And, for all our talk, I don't be-
lieve we do either, when all is said and done."

" What is said and done? " asked the other peevishly.

There was a pause. The lessening dog-cart with its
flutter of ribbons, its driver sitting square to his work,
showed on the hard white road which stretched like a
narrowing ribbon over the empty plain. Far ahead a
little devil of wind swept the dust against the blue sky
like a cloud. Nearer at hand lay a cluster of mud hov-
els, and — going toward it before the dog-cart — a woman
was walking along the dusty side of the road. She had
a bundle, of grass on her head, a baby across her hip, a
toddling child clinging to her skirts. The afternoon sun
sent the shadows conglomerately across the white metal.

" Passion, Love, Lust, the attractions of sex for sex —
what you will," said the doctor, breaking the silence.
" Nothing is easier knocked out of a man, if he is worth
calling one — a bugle call, a tight corner God

62 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Almighty! — they're over that child! Drive on like the
devil, man, and let me see what I can do."

There is never much to do when all has been done in
an instant. There had been a sudden causeless leaving
of the mother's side, a toddling child among the shadows,
a quick oath, a mad rear as the mare, checked by hands
like a vise for strength, snapped the shafts as if they had
been straws. No delay, no recklessness; but one of these
iron-shod hoofs as it flung out had caught the child full
on the temple, and there was no need to ask what that
curved blue mark meant, which had gone crashing into
the skull.

Alice Gissing had leaped from the dog-cart and stood
looking at the pitiful sight with wide eyes.

" We couldn't do anything," she said in an odd hard
voice, as the others joined her. " There was nothing we
could do. Tell the woman, Herbert, that we couldn't
help it."

But the Major, making the still plunging mare a mo-
mentary excuse for not facing the ghastly truth, had,
after one short, sharp exclamation — almost of fear,
turned to help the groom. So there was no sound
for a minute save the plunging of hoofs on the hard
ground, the groom's cheerful voice lavishing endear-
ments on his restless charge, and a low animal-like
whimper from the mother, who, after one wild shriek,
had sunk down in the dust beside the dead child, look-
ing at the purple bruise dully, and clasping her living
baby tighter to her breast. For it, thank the gods!
was the boy. That one with the mark on its forehead
only the girl.

Then the doctor, who had been busy with deft but
helpless hands, rose from his knees, saying a word or two
in Hindustani which provoked a whining reply from the
woman.

" She admits it was no one's fault," he said. " So
Erlton, if you will take our dog-cart —

But the'Major had faced the position by this time. " I
can't go. She is a camp follower, I expect, and I shall
have to find out — for compensation and all that. If you

BRA VO ! 63

would take Mrs. Gissing " His voice, steady till

then, broke perceptibly over the name; its owner looked
up sharply, and going over to him laid her hand on his
arm.

" It wasn't your fault," she said, still in that odd hard
voice. " You had the mare in hand; she didn't stir an
inch. It is a dreadful thing to happen, but " — she
threw her head back a little, her wide eyes narrowed
as a frown puckered her smooth forehead — " it isn't as if
we could have prevented it. The thing had to be."

She might have been the incarnation of Fate itself as
she glanced down at the dead child in the dust, at the
living one reaching from its mother's arms to touch its
sister curiously, at the slow tears of the mother herself
as she acquiesced in the eternal fitness of things ^Jor__a
girl more or less was not much in the mud hovel, wHere"
she and her man lived hardly, and the Huzoors would
doubtless give rupees in exchange, for they were just.
She wept louder, however, when with conventional wail-
ing the women from the clustering huts joined her, while
the men, frankly curious, listened to the groom's spirited
description of the incident.

" You had better go, Allie; you do no good here," said
the Major almost roughly. He was anxious to get
through with it all ; he was absorbed in it.

So the man who had said he was going to tell his wife
to cut Mrs. Gissing had to help her into the dog-cart.

" It was horrible, wasn't it? " she said suddenly when,
in silence, they had left trie little tragedy far behind them.
" We were going an awful pace, but you saw he had the
mare in hand. He is awfully strong, you know." She
paused, and a reflectively complacent smile stole to he
face. " I suppose you will think it horrid," she went ou,
" but it doesn't feel to me like killing a human being^
you know. I'm sorry, of course, but I should have been
much sorrier it it had been a white baby. Wouldn't
you? "

She set aside his evasion remorselessly. " I know all
that! People say, of course, that it is wicked not-to-feel-
the same toward people whether they're black or white.

64 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

But we don't. And they don't cither. They feel just
the same about us because we are white. Don't you
think they do? "

" The antagonism of race " he began sententiously,

but she cut him short again. This time with an irrele-
vant remark.

" I wonder what your wife would say if she saw' me
driving in your dog-cart? "

He stared at her helplessly. The one problem was as
unanswerable as the other.

" You had better drive round the back way to the
Fair," she said considerately. " Somebody there will
take me off your hands. Otherwise you will have to
drive me to the Club; for I'm not going home. It would
be dreadful after that horrid business. Besides, the Fair
will cheer me up. One doesn't understand it, you know,
and the people crowd along like figures on a magic lan-
tern slide. I mean that you never know what's coming
next, and that is always so jolly, isn't it? "

It might be, but the man with the wife felt relieved
when, five minutes afterward, she transferred herself to
young Mainwaring's buggy. The boy, however, felt as
if an angel had fluttered down from the skies to the worn,
broken-springed cushion beside him; an angel to be
guarded from humanity — even her own.

" How the beggars stare," he said after they had
walked the horse for a space through the surging crowds.
" Let us get away from the grinning apes." He would
have liked to take her to paradise and put flaming swords
at the gate.

" They don't grin," she replied curtly, " they stare like
Bank-holiday people stare at the wild beasts in the Zoo.
But let us get away from the watered road, the police-
men, and all that. That's no fun. See, go down that
turning into the middle of it ; you can get out that way to
the river road afterward if you like."

The bribe was sufficient; it was not far across to peace
and quiet, so the turn was made. Nor was the staring
worse in the irregular lane of booths and stalls down
which they drove. The unchecked crowd was strangely
silent despite the numberless children carried shoulder

BRA VO ! 65

high to see the show, and though the air was full of throb-
bings of tomtoms, twanging of sutaras, intermittent pop-
pings and fizzings of squibs. But it was also strangely
insistent; going on its way regardless of the shouting
groom.

" Take care," said Mrs. Gissing lightly, " don't run
over another child. By the way, I forgot to tell you —
the Fair was so funny — but Erlton ran over a black baby.
It wasn't his fault a bit, and the mother, luckily/ j^n't
seem to mind; because it was a girt. I ^p^, Aren't
they an odd people? One really never knows what will
make them cry or laugh."

Something was apparently amusing them at that mo-
ment, however, for a burst of boisterous merriment
pealed from a dense crowd near a booth pitched in an
open space.

" What's that?" she cried sharply. "Let's go and
see."

She was out of the dog-cart as she spoke despite his
protest that it was impossible — that she must not venture.

" Do you imagine they'll murder me? " she asked with
an insouciant, incredulous laugh. "What nonsense!
Here, good people, let me pass, please! "

She was by this time in the thick of the crowd, which
gave way instinctively, and he could do nothing but fol-
low; his boyish face stern with the mere thought her
idle words had conjured up. Do her any injury? Her
dainty dress should not even be touched if he could
help 'it.

But the sightseers, most of them peasants beguiled
from their fields for this Festival of Spring, had never
seen an English lady at such close quarters before, if,
indeed, they had ever seen one at all. So, though they
gave way they closed in again, silent but insistent in their
curiosity; while, as the center of attraction came nearer,
the crowd in front became denser, more absorbed in the
bursts of merriment. There was a ring of license in them
which made young Mainwaring plead hurriedly:

" Mrs. Gissing! — don't — please don't."

" But I want to see what they're laughing at," she re-
plied. And then in perfect mimicry of the groom's

66 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

familiar cry, her high clear voice echoed over the heads
in front of her: "Hut! Hut! Ari bhaiyan! Hut!"

They turned to see her gay face full of smiles, joyous,
confident, sympathetic, and the next minute the cry was
echoed with approving grins from a dozen responsive
throats.

" Stand back, brothers ! Stand back ! "

There were quick hustlings to right and left, quick
nods and smiles, even broad laughs full of good fellow-
ship; so that she found herself at the innermost circle
with clear view of the central space, of the cause of the
laughter. It made her give a faint gasp and stand trans-
fixed. Two white-masked figures, clasped waist to waist,
were waltzing about tipsily. One had a curled flaxen
wig, a muslin dress distended by an all too visible crino-
line, giving full play to a pair of prancing brown legs.
The other wore an old staff uniform, cocked hat and
feather complete. The flaxen curls rested on the tar-
nished epaulet, the unembracing arms flourished brandy
bottles.

It was a vile travesty; and the Englishwoman
turned instinctively to the Englishman as if doubtful-
what to do, how to take it. But the passion of his boy-
ish face seemed to make things clear — to give her the
clew, and she gripped his hand hard.

"Don't be a fool! " she whispered fiercely. " Laugh.
It's the only thing to do." Her own voice rang out^
thrill above the uncertain stir in the crowd, taken aback
in its merriment.

But something else rose above it also. A single
word:

"Bravo!"

She turned like lightning to the sound, her cheeks for
the first time aflame, but she could see no one in the cir-
cle of dark faces whom she could credit with the exclama-
tion. Yet she felt sure she had heard it.

"Bravo!" Had it been said in jest or earnest, in
mockery or - Young Mainwaring interrupted the
problem by suggesting that as the maskers had run away
into a booth, where he could not follow and give them the
licking they deserved because of her presence, it might

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 67

be as well for her to escape further insult by returning to
the buggy. His tone was as full of reproach as that of a
lad in love could be, but Mrs. Gissing was callous. She
declared she was glad to have seen it. Englishmen did
drink and Englishwomen waltzed. Why, then, shouldn't
the natives poke fun at both habits if they chose? They
themselves could laugh at other things. And laugh she
did, recklessly, at everything and everybody for the re-
mainder of the drive. But underneath her gayety she
was harping on that " Bravo! " And suddenly as they
drove by the river she broke in on the boy's prattle to
say excitedly: " I have it! It must have been the one in
the Afghan cap who said ' Bravo! ' He was fairer than
the rest. Perhaps he was an Englishman disguised.
Well! I should know him again if I saw him."

"Him? who — what? Who said bravo?" asked the
lad. He had been too angry to notice the exclamation
at the time.

She looked at him quizzically. " Not you — you
abused me. But someone did — or didn't " — here her
little slack hands resting in her lap clasped each other
tightly. " I rather wish I knew. I'd rather like to make
him say it again. Bravo! Bravo! "

And then, as if at her own mimicry, she returned to
her childish unreasoning laugh.

CHAPTER VI.

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES.

MRS. GISSING had guessed right. The man in the
Afghan cap was Jim Douglas, who found the disguise of
a frontiersman the easiest to assume, when, as now, he
wanted to mix in a crowd. And he would have said
" Bravo " a dozen times over if he had thought the little
lady would like to hear it; for her quick denial of the
possibility of insult had roused his keenest admiration.
Here had spoken a dignity he had not expected to find
in one whom he only knew as a woman Major Erlton
delighted to honor. A dignity lacking in the big brave

68 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

boy beside her; lacking, alas! in many a big brave
Englishman of greater importance. So he had risked
detection by that sudden " Bravo! " Not that he dreaded
it much. To begin with, he was used to it, even when he
posed as an out-lander, for there was a trick in his gait,
not to be Orientalized, which made policemen salute
- gravely as he passed disguised to the tent. Then there
was ignorance of some one or another of the million
shibboleths which divide men from each other in India;
shibboleths too numerous for one lifetime's learning,
which require to be born in the blood, bred in the bone.
In this case, also, he had every intention of asserting his
race by licking one at least of the offenders when the
show was over. For he happened to know one of them ;
having indeed licked him a few days before over a certain
piece of bone. So, as the crowd, accepting the finale of
one amusement placidly, drifted away to see another, he
walked over to the tent in which the discomforted
caricaturists had found refuge. It was a tattered old
military bell-tent, bought most likely at some auction
with the tattered old staff uniform. As he lifted the flap
the sound of escaping feet made him expect a stern chase ;
but he was mistaken. Two figures rose with a start of
studied surprise and salaamed profoundly as he entered.
They were both stark naked save for a waistcloth, and
Jim Douglas could not resist a quick glance round for the
discarded costumes. They were nowhere to be seen;
being hidden, probably, under the litter of properties
strewing the squalid green-room. Still of the identity of
the man he knew Jim Douglas had no doubt, and as this
one was also the nearest, he .promptly seized him by the
both shoulders and gave him a sound Western kick,
which would have been followed by others if the recipi-
ent had not slipped from his hold like an eel. For Jhungi,
Bunjarah, and general vagrant, habitually oiled him-
self from head to foot after the manner of his profession
as a precaution against such possible attempts at capture.

His assailant, grasping this fact, at any rate, did not
risk dignity -by pursuit; though the man stood salaam-
ing again within arm's length.

" You scoundrel ! " said Jim Douglas with as much

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 69

severity as he could command before the mixture of
deference and defiance, innocence and iniquity, in the
sharp, cunning face before him. " Wasn't the licking I
gave you before enough ? "

Jhungi superadded perplexity to his other show of
emotions. " The Huzoor mistakes," he said, with sud-
den cheerful understanding. " It was the miscreant
Bhungi, my brother, whom the Huzoor licked. The
misbegotten idler who tells lies in the bazaar about bones
and sacks. So his skin smarts, but my body is whole.
Is it not so, Father Tiddu? "

The appeal to his companion was made with curious
eagerness, and Jim Douglas, who had heard this tale of
the ill-doing double before, looked at the witness to it
with interest. That this man was or was not Jhungi's
co-offender he could not say with certainty, for there was
a remarkable lack of individuality about both face and
figure when in repose. But the nickname of Tiddu, or
cricket, was immediately explained by the jerky angu-
larity of his actions,. Save for the faint frostiness of
sprouting gray hairs on a shaven cheek and skull he
might have been any age.

" Of a truth it was Bhungi," he said in a well-modu-
lated but creaky voice. " Time was when liars, such as
he, fell dead. Now they don't even catch fevers, and if
they do, the Huzoors give them a bitter powder and start
them lying again. So, since one dead fish stinks a whole
tank, virtuous Jhungi, being like as two peas in a pod,
suffers an ill-name. But Bhungi will know what it
means to tell lies when he stands before his Creator.
Nevertheless in this world the master being enraged "

" Not so, Father Tiddu," interrupted Jhungi glibly,
" the Huzoor is but enraged with Bhungi. And rightly.
Did not we hide our very faces with shame while he mim-
icked the noble people? Did we not try to hold him
when he fled from punishment — as the Huzoor no doubt
heard "

Jim Douglas without a word slipped his hand down
the man's back. The wales of a sound hiding were
palpable ; so was his wince as he dodged aside to
salaam again.

70 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" The Huzoor is a male judge," he said admiringly.
" No black man could deceive him. This slave has cer-
tainly been whipped. He fell among liars who robbed
him of his reputation. Will the Huzoor do likewise?
On the honor of a Bunjarah 'tis Bhungi whom the
Huzoor beats. He gives Jhungi bitter powders when
he gets the fever. And even Bhungi but tries to earn a
stomachful as he can when the Huzoors take his trade
from him."

" The world grows hollow, to match a man's swallow,"
quoted Tiddu affably.

The familiar by-word of poverty, the quiet mingling of
truth and falsehood, daring and humility in Jhungi's plea,
roused both Jim Douglas' sense of humor, and the
sympathy — which with him was always present — for the
hardness and squalidness of so many of the lives around
him.

" But you can surely earn the stomachful honestly,"
he said, anger passing into irritation. " What made you
take to this trade?" He kicked at a pile of properties,
and in so doing disclosed the skeleton of a crinoline.
Jhungi with a shocked expression stooped down and
covered it up decorously.

" But it is my trade," he replied; "the Huzoor must
surely have heard of the Many-Faced tribe of Bunjarahs?
I am of them.'

" Lie not, Jhungi ! " interrupted Tiddu calmly, " he is

but my apprentice, Huzoor, but I " he paused, caught

up a cloth, gave it one dexterous twirl round him, squatted
down, and there he was, to the life, a veiled woman
watching the stranger with furtive, modest eye. " But
I," came a round feminine voice full of feminine inflec-
tions, " am of the thousand-faced people who wander to
a thousand places. A new place, a new face. It makes
a large world, Huzoor, a strange world." There was a
melancholy cadence in his voice, which added interest to
the sheer amaze which Jim Douglas was feeling. He had
heard the legend of the Many-Faced Tribe, had even seen
clever actors claiming to belong to it, and knew how the
Stranglers deceivecLtheir victims, but anything like this

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 71

he had never credited, much less seen. He himself,
though he knew to the contrary, could scarcely combat
the conviction, which seemed to come to him from that
one furtive eye, that a woman sat within those folds.

" But how? " he begun in perplexity. " I thought the
Baharupas [Lit. many-faced] never went in caravans."

Tiddu resumed the cracked voice and let the smile
become visible, and, as if by magic, the illusion disap-
peared. " The Huzoor is right. We are wanderers.
But in my youth a woman tied me to one place, one face;
women have the trick, Huzoor, even if they- are wander-
ers themselves. This one was, but I loved her; so after
we had burned her and her fellow-wanderer together
hand-in-hand, according to the custom, so that they
might wander elsewhere but not in the tribe, I lingered
on. He was the father of Jhungi, and the boy being left
destitute I taught him to play; for it needs two in the
play as in life. The man and the woman, or folks care
not for it. So I taught Jhungi "

"And brother Bhungi? " suggested his hearer dryly.

A faint chuckle came from the veil. " And Bhungi.
He plays well, and hath beguiled an old rascal with thin
legs and a fat face like mine into playing with him. Some,
even the Huzoor himself, might be beguiled into mistak-
ing Siddu for Tiddu. But it is a tom-cat to a tiger. So
being warned, the Huzoor will give no unearned blows.
Yet if he did, are not two kicks bearable from the milch-
cow? " As he spoke he angled out a hand impudently
for an alms with the beggars' cry of " Alakh," to point
his meaning.

It was echoed by Jhungi, who, envious of Tiddu's
holding the boards, as it were, had in sheer devilry and
desire not to be outdone, taken up the disguise of a
mendicant. It was a most creditable performance, but
Tiddu dismissed it with a waive of the hand.

" Bullah! " he said contemptuously, " 'tis the refuge of
fools. There is not one true beggar in fifty, so the forty-
and-nine false ones go free of detention as the potter's
donkey. Even the Huzoor could do better — had I the
teaching of him."

He leaned forward, dropping his voice slightly, and

72 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Jim Douglas narrowed his eyes as men do when some
unbidden idea claims admittance to the brain.

"You?" he echoed; "what could you teach me?"

Tiddu rose, let fall the veil to decent dignified drapery,
and fixed his eyes full on the questioner. They were
luminous eyes, differing from Jhungi's beady ones as
the fire-opal differs from the diamond.

"What could I teach?" he re-echoed, and his tone,
monotonously distinct to Jim Douglas, was inaudible
to others, judging by Jhungi's impassive face. " Many
things. Por one, that the Baharupas are not mimics
only. They have the Great Art. What is it? God
knows. But what they will folk to see, that is seen.
That and no more."

Jim Douglas laughed derisively. Animal magnetism
and mesmerism were one thing: this was another.

" The Huzoor thinks I lie; but he must have heard of
the doctor sahib in Calcutta who made suffering forget
to suffer."

" You mean Dr. Easdale. Did you know him? Was
he a pupil of yours? " came the cynical question.

Tiddu 's face became expressionless. " Perhaps; but
this slave forgets names. Yet the Huzoors have the gift
sometimes. The Baharupas have it not always; though
the father's hoard goes oftenest to the son. Now, if, by
chance, the Huzoor had the gift and could use it, there
would be no need for policemen to salute as he passes;
no need for the drug-smokers to cease babbling when
he enters. So the Huzoor could find out what he wants
to find out; what he is paid to find out."

His eyes met Jim Douglas' surprise boldly.

"How do you know I want to find out anything?"
said the latter, after a pause.

Tiddu laughed. ''' The Huzoor must find a turban
heavy, and there is no room for English toes in a native
shoe; folk seek not such discomfort for naught."

Jim Douglas paused again ; the fe-llow was a charlatan,
but he was consummately clever; and if there was any-
thing certain in this world it was the wisdom of forget-
ting Western prejudices occasionally in dealing with the—
East.

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 73

" Send that man away," he said curtly, " I want to
talk to you alone."

But the request seemed lost on Tiddu. He folded up
the veil impudently, and resumed the thread of the for-
mer topic. " Yet Jhungi plays the beggar well, for
which Fate be praised, since he must ask alms else-
where if the Huzoor refuses them. For the purse is
empty " — here he took a leathern bag from his waist-
band and turned it inside out — " by reason of the
Huzoor's dislike to good mimics. So thou must to the
temples, Jhungi, and if thou meetest Bhungi give him
the sahib's generous gift; for blows should not be taken
on loan."

Jhungi, who all this time had been telling his beads
like the best of beggars, looked up with some perplexity;
whether real or assumed Jim Douglas felt it was impos-
sible to say, in that hotbed of deception.

"Bhungi?" echoed the former, rising to his feet.
"Ay! that will I, if I meet him. But God knows as to
that. God knows of Bhungi "

" The purse is empty," repeated Tiddu in a warning
voice, and Jhungi, with a laugh, pulled himself and his
disguise together, as it were, and passed out of the tent;
his beggar's cry, " Alakh! Alakh! " growing fainter and
fainter while Tiddu and Jim Douglas looked at each
other.

" Jhungi-Bhungi — Bhungi-Jhungi," jeered the Ba-
harupa, suddenly, jingling the names together. " Which
be which, as he said, God knows, not man. That is the
best of lies. They last a body's lifetime, so the Huzoor
may as well learn old Tiddu's "

"Or Siddu's?"

" Or Siddu's," assented the mountebank calmly.
" But the Huzoor cannot learn to use his gift from that
old rascal. He must come to the many-faced one, who
is ready to teach it."

"Why?"

Tiddu abandoned mystery at once.

"For fifty rupees, Huzoor; not a pice less. Now, in
my hand."

Was it worth it? Jim Douglas decided instantly that

74 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

it might be. Not for the gift's sake; of that he was
incredulous. But Tiddu was a consummate actor and
could teach many tricks worth knowing. Then in this
roving commission to report on anything he" saw and
heard to the military magnate, it would suit him for the
time to have the service of an arrant scoundrel. Be-
sides, the pay promised him being but small, the wisdom
of having a second string to the bow of ambition had
already decided him on combining inquiry with judi-
cious horse-dealing; since he could thus wander through
villages buying, through towns selling, without arousing
suspicion; and this life in a caravan would start him on
these lines effectively. Finally, this offer of Tiddu's was
unsought, unexpected, and, ever since Kate Erlton's
appeal, Jim Douglas had felt a strange attraction toward
pure chance. So he took out a note from his pocket-
book and laid it in the Baharupa's hand.

"You asked fifty," he said, "I give a hundred; but
with the branch of the neem-tree between us two."

Tiddu gave him an admiring look. " With the sacred
' Lim ke dagla ' between us, and Mighty Murri-am her-
self to see it grow," he echoed. " Is the Huzoor satis-
fied?"

The Englishman knew enough of Bunjarah oaths to
be sure that he had, at least, the cream of them;, besides,
a hundred rupees went far in the purchase of good faith.
So that matter was settled, and he felt it to be a distinct
relief; for during the last day or two he had been cast-
ing about for a fair start rather aimlessly. In truth, he
had underrated the gap little Zora's death would make
in his life, and had been in a way bewildered to find him-
self haunting the empty nest on the terraced roof in for-
lorn, sentimental fashion. The sooner, therefore, that
he left Lucknow the better. So, as the Bunjarah had
told him the caravan was starting the very next morn-
ing, he hastily completed his few preparations, and
having sent Tara word of his intention, went, after the
moon had risen, to lock the doors on the past idyl and
take the key of the garden-house back to its owner; for
he himself had always lodged, in European fashion, near
the Palace,

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 75

The garden, as he entered it, lay peaceful as ever; so
utterly unchanged from what he remembered it on many
balmy moonlit nights, that he could not help looking
up once more, as if expectant of that tinsel flutter, that
soft welcome, " Khush-amud-und Huzrut" Strange! So
far as he was concerned the idyl might be beginning;
but for her? All unconsciously, as he paused, his
thought found answer in one spoken word — the Persian
equivalent for " it is finished," which has such a finality
in its short syllables:

" KHUTM."

" Khutm." The echo came from Tara's voice, but it
had a ring in it which made him turn, anticipating some
surprise. She was standing not far off, below the plinth,
as he was, having stepped out from the shadow of the
trees at his approach, and she was swathed from head to
foot in the white veil of orthodox widowhood, which
encircled her face like a cere-cloth. Even in the moon-
light he could see the excitement in her face, the glitter
in the large, wild eyes.

"Tara!" he exclaimed sharply, his experience warn-
ing him of danger, " what does this mean? "

"That the end has come; the end at last! " she cried
theatrically; every fold of her drapery, though she stood
stiff as a corpse, seeming to be instinct with fierce vitality.

He changed his tone at once, perceiving that the
danger might be serious. " You mean that your serv-
ice is at an end," he said quietly. " I told you that
some days ago. Also that your pay would be continued
because of your goodness to her — to the dead. I
advised your returning north, nearer your own people,
but you are free to go or stay. Do you want anything
more? If you do, be quick, please, for I am in a hurry."

His coolness, his failure to remark on the evident
meaning of her changed dress, calmed her somewhat.

" I want nothing," she replied sullenly. " A suttee
wants nothing in this world, and I am suttee. I have been
the master's servant for gratitude's sake — now I am the
servant of God for righteousness' sake." So far she had
spoken as if the dignified words had been pre-arranged;

76 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

now she paused in a sort of wistful anger at the indiffer-
ence on his face. The words meant so much to her,
and, as she ceased from them, their controlling power
seemed to pass also, and she flung out her arms wildly,
then brought them down in stinging blows upon her
breasts.

" I am suttee. Yes! I am suttee! Reject me not again,
ye Shining Ones! reject me not again."

The cry was full of exalted resolve and despair. It
made Jim Douglas step up to her, and seizing both
hands, hold them fast.

" Don't be a fool, Tara! " he said sternly. " Tell me,
sensibly, what all this means. Tell me what you are
going to do."

His touch seemed to scorch her, for she tore herself
away from it vehemently; yet it seemed also to quiet
her, and she watched him with somber eyes for a minute
ere replying: " I am going to Holy Gunga. Where else
should a suttee go? The Water will not reject me as the
Fire did, since, before God! I am suttee. As the master
knows," — her voice held a passionate appeal, — " I have
been suttee all these long years. Yet now I have given
up all— all!"

With a swift gesture, full of womanly grace, but with
a sort of protest against such grace in its utter abandon-
ment and self-forgetfulness, she flung out her arms once
more. This time to raise the shrouding veil from her
head and shoulders. Against this background of white
gleaming in the moonlight, her new-shaven skull showed
death-like, ghastly. Jim Douglas recoiled a step, not
from the sight itself, but because he knew its true mean-
ing; knew that it meant self-immolation if she were left
to follow her present bent. She would simply go down
to the Ganges and drown herself. An inconceivable
state of affairs, beyond all rational understanding; but
to be reckoned with, nevertheless, as real, inevitable.

" What a pity! " he said, after a moment's pause had
told him that it would be well to try and take the starch
out of her resolution by fair means or foul, leaving its
cause for future inquiry. " You had such nice hair. I
used to admire it very much,"

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 77

Her hands fell slowly, a vague terror and remorse
came to her eyes; and he pursued the advantage re-
morselessly. " Why did you cut it off? " He knew, of
course, but his affected ignorance took the color, the
intensity from the situation, by making her feel her coup
de theatre had failed.

" The Huzoor must know," she faltered, anger and
disappointment and vague doubt in her tone, while her
right hand drew itself over the shaven skull as if to make

sure there was no mistake. " I am suttee " The

familiar word seemed to bring certainty with it, and she
went on more confidentially. " So I cut it all off and it
lies there, ready, as I am, for purification."

She pointed to the upper step leading to the plinth,
where, as on an altar, lay all her worldly treasures,
arranged carefully with a view to effect. The crimson
scarf she had always worn was folded — with due regard
to the display of its embroidered edge — as a cloth, and
at either end of it lay a pile of trumpery personal adorn-
ments, each topped and redeemed from triviality by a
gold wristlet and anklet. In the center, set round by
fallen orange-blossoms, rose a great heap of black hair,
snakelike in glistening coils. The simple pomposity of
the arrangement was provocative of smiles, the wistful
eagerness of the face watching its effect on the master
was provocative of tears. Jim Douglas, feeling inclined
for both, chose the former deliberately; he even managed
a derisive laugh as he stepped up to the altar and laid
sacrilegious hands on the hair. Tara gave a cry of dis-
may, but he was too quick for her, and dangled a long
lock before her very eyes, in jesting, but stern decision.

" That settles it, Tara. You can go to Gunga now if
you like, and bathe and be as holy as you like. But
there will be no Fire or Water. Do you understand? "

She looked at the hand holding the hair with the
oddest expression, though she said obstinately, " I shall
drown if I choose."

"Why should you choose?" he asked. " You know
as well as I that it is too late for any good to you or
others. The Fire and Water should have come twelve
years ago. The priests won't say so of course. They

73 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

want fools to help them in this fuss about the new law.
Ah! I thought so! They have been at you, have they?
Well, be a fool if you like, and bring theni pennies at
Benares as a show. You cannot do anything else. You
can't even sacrifice your hair really, so long as I have
this bit." He began to roll the lock round his finger,
neatly.

" What is the Huzoor going to do with it? " she
asked, and the oddness had invaded her voice.

"Keep it," he retorted. "And by all these thirty
thousand and odd gods of yours, I'll say it was a love-
token if I choose. And I will if you are a fool." He
drew out a small gold locket attached to the Brah-
minical thread he always wore, and began methodically
to fit the curl into it, wondering if this cantrip of his —
for it was nothing more — would impress Tara. Pos-
sibly. He had found such suggestions of ritual had
an immense effect, especially with the womenkind who
were for ever inventing new shackles for themselves ; but
her next remark startled him considerably.

" Is the bibi's hair in there too?" she asked. There
was a real anxiety in her tone, and he looked at her
sharply, wondering what she would be at.

" No," he answered. In truth it was empty; and had
been empty ever since he had taken a fair curl from it
many years before; a curl which had ruined his life.
The memory making him impatient of all feminine
subtleties, he added roughly, " It will stay there for the
present; but if you try suttee nonsense I swear I'll tie it
up in a cowskin bag, and give it to a sweeper to make
broth of."

The grotesque threat, which suggested itself to his
sardonic humor as one suitable to the occasion, and
which in sober earnest was terrible to one of her race,
involving as it did eternal damnation, seemed to pass
her by. There was even, he fancied, a certain relief in
the face watching him complete his task; almost a smile
quivering about her lips. But when he closed the locket
with a snap, and was about to slip it back to its place,
the full meaning of the threat, of the loss — or of some-
thing beyond these — seemed to overtake her; an un-

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 79

mistakable terror, horror, and despair swept through
her. She flung herself at his feet, clasping them with
both hands.

" Give it me back, master," she pleaded wildly.
" Hinder me not again! Before God I am suttee! I
am suttee! "

But this same Eastern clutch of appeal is disconcert-
ing to the average Englishman. It fetters the under-
standing in another sense, and smothers sympathy in a
desire to be left alone. Even Jim Douglas stepped
back from it with something like a bad word. She re-
mained crouching for a moment with empty hands,
then rose in scornful dignity.

" There was no need to thrust this slave away," she
said proudly. " Tara, the Rajputni, will go without
that. She will go to Holy Gunga and be purged of in-
most sin. Then she will return and claim her right of
suttee at the master's hand. Till then he may keep what
he stole."

" He means to keep it," retorted the master savagely,
for he had come to the end of his patience. " Though
what this fuss about suttee means I don't know. You
used to be sensible enough. What has come to you?"

Tara looked at him helplessly, then, wrapping her
widow's veil round her, prepared to go in silence. She
could not answer that question even to herself. She
would not even admit the truth of the old tradition, that
the only method for a woman to preserve constancy to
the dead was to seek death itself. That would be to
admit too much. Yet that was the truth, to which her
despair at parting pointed even to herself. Truth? No!
it was a lie! She would disprove it even in life if she
was prevented from doing so by death. So, without a
word, she gathered up the crimson drapery and what
lay on it. Then, with these pathetic sacrifices of all the
womanhood she knew tight clasped in her widow's veil,
she paused for a last salaam.

The incomprehensible tragedy of her face irritated
him into greater insistence.

"But what is it all about?" he reiterated. "Who
has been putting these ideas into your head? Who has

8o ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

been telling you to do this? Is it Soma, or some devil
of a priest? "

As he waited for an answer the floods of moonlight
threw their shadows together to join the perfumed dark-
ness of the orange trees. The city, half asleep already,
sent no sound to invade the silence.

"No! master. It was God."

Then the shadow left him and disappeared with her
among the trees. He did not try to call her back. That
answer left him helpless.

But as, after climbing the stairs, he passed slowly from
one to another of the old familiar places in the pleasant
pavilions, the mystery of such womanhood as Tara
O Devi's and little Zora's oppressed him. Their eternaT

cult of purely physical passion, their eternal struggle for
perfect purity and constancy, not of the soul, but the
body; their worship alike of sex and He who made it
seemed incomprehensible. And as he turned the key
in the lock for the last time/he felt glad to think that it
was not likely the problem would come into his life
again; even though he carried a long lock of black hair
with him. It was an odd keepsake, but if he was any
judge of faces his cantrip had served his purpose; Tara
would not commit suicide while he held that hostage.

So, having scant leisure left, he hurried through the
alleys to return the key. They were almost deserted;
the children at this hour being asleep, the men away
lounging in the bazaars. But every now and again a
formless white figure clung to a corner shadow to let him
pass. A white shadow itself, recalling the mystery he
had been glad to leave" unsolved; for- he knew them to
be women taking this only opportunity for a neighborly
visit. Old or young, pretty or ugly? What did it
matter? They were women, born temptresses of vir-
tuous men; and they were proud of the fact, even the
poor old things long past their youth. There was a
chink in a door he was about to pass. A chink an inch
wide with a white shadow behind it. A woman was
looking out. What sort of a woman, he wondered
idly? Suddenly the chink widened, a hand crept
through it, beckoning. He could see it clearly in the

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 81

moonlight. An old wrinkled hand, delicately old, deli-
cately wrinkled, inconceivably thin, but with the pink
henna stain of the temptress still on palms and fingers. A
hand with the whole history of seclusion written on it.
He crossed over to it, and heard a hurried breathless
whisper.

" If the Huzoor would listen for the sake of any
woman he loves."

It was an old voice, but it sent a thrill to his heart. " I
am listening, mother," he replied, " for the sake of the
dead."

" God send her grave peace, my son ! " came the voice
less hurriedly. " It is not much for listening. I am
pensioner, Huzoor. The King gave me three rupees,
but now he is gone and the money comes not. If the
Huzoor would tell those who send it that Ashraf-un-
Nissa-Zainub-i-Mahal — the Huzoor may know my
name, being as my father and mother — wants it. That
is all, Huzoor."

It was not much, but Jim Douglas could supplement
the rest. Here was evidently a woman who had lived
on bounty, and who was starving for the lack of it.
There were hundreds in her position, he knew, even
among those whose pensions had been guaranteed; for
they had not been paid as yet. The papers were not
ready, the tape not tied, the sealing-wax not sealed.

" It will not be for long, Huzoor, and it is only three
rupees. I was watching for a neighbor to borrow corn,
if I could, and seeing the Huzoor "

" It is all right, mother," he interrupted reassuringly.
" I was coming to pay it. Hold the hand straight and
I will count it in. Three rupees for three months; that
is nine."

The chink of the silver had a background of bless-
ings, and Jim Douglas walked on, thinking what a
quaint commentary this little incident was on his
puzzle. " Ashraf-un-Nissa-Zainub-i-Mahal." " Honor-
of-women and Ornament-of-Palaces." If the King's pay-
master had thought twice about such things, the poor
old lady might not have been starving. He was the real
culprit. And three months' delay was not long for sane-

82 Otf TffE PACE OF THE WATERS.

tions, references, for all the paraphernalia and complex
machinery of our Government. But a case like this?
He looked up into the star-sprinkled riband of sky be-
tween the narrowing housetops, and wondered from how
many unseen hearths and unheard voices the cry, " How
long, O Lord! How long!" was rising. But even to
his listening ear there was no sign, no sound. And as
he went on through the bazaars, the crowds were pass-
ing and repassing contentedly upon the trivial errands
of life, and the twinkling cressets in the shops showed
faces eager only after a trivial loss or gain.

And the world of Lucknow was apparently awaken-
ing contentedly to a new day, when, before dawn, he
passed out of it disguised by Tiddu as a deaf-and-
dumb driver to the bullock which carried the tat-
tered bell-tent and the tattered staff uniform. It was
still dark, but there was a sense of coming light in the
sky, and the hum of the housewives' querns, early at
work over the coming day's bread, filled the air like
swarming bees. The spectral white shadows of widow-
drudges were already at work on the creaking well-
gear, and the swish of their reed brooms could be heard
behind screening walls.

But on the broad white road beyond the bazaars the
fresh perfume of the dew-steeped gardens drifted with
the faint breeze which heralds the dawn. And down
the road, heard first, then dimly seen against its white-
ness, came a band of chanting pilgrims to the Holy
River.

" Hurri Gunga! Hurri Gunga! Hurri Gunga!"

Jim Douglas, swerving his bullock to give them
room, wondered if Tara were among them. What if
she were? That lock of hair went with him. So, with
a smile, he swerved the bullock back again. There was
a hint of a gleaming river-curve through the lessening
trees now, and that big black mass to his left must be
the Bailey-guard gate. He could see a faint white
streak like a sentry beside it; so it must be close on
gunfire. Even as the thought came, a sudden rolling
boom filled the silence, and seemed to vibrate against
the archway. And hark! From within the Residency,

THE GIFT OF MANY FACES. 83

and from far Dilkhusha, the clear glad notes of the
reveille answered the challenge; while close at hand the
clash of arms told they were changing guards. Then,
though he could not see it, the English flag must be ris-
ing beyond the trees to float over the city during the
coming day.

For one day more, at least.

BOOK H.
THE BLOWING OF THE BUBBLE.

CHAPTER I.

IN THE PALACE.

IT was a day in late September. Nearly six months,
therefore, had gone by since Jim Douglas had passed -
the Bailey-guard at gunfire, and the English flag had
risen behind the trees to float over Lucknow. It
floated there now, serenely, securely, with an air of^
finality in its folds; for folk were becoming accustomed
to it. At least so said the official reports, and even Jim
Douglas himself could trace no waxing in the tide of
discontent. It neither ebbed nor flowed, but beat
placidly against the rocks of offense.

But at Delhi there was one corner of the city over
which the English flag did not float. It lay upon the
eastern side above the river where four rose-red fortress
walls hemmed in a few acres of earth from the march of
Time himself, and safe-guarded a strange survival of
sovereignty in the person of Bahadur Shah, last of the
Moghuls. An old man past eighty years of age, who
dreamed a dream of power among the golden domes,
marble colonnades, and green gardens with which his
ancestors^had crowned the eastern wall.

The sun shone hotly, steamily, within those four
inclosing walls, save on that eastern edge, where the cool
breezes from the plains beyond blew through open
arches and latticed balconies. For the rest, the palace-
fort — shut in from all outside influence — was like some
tepid, teeming breeding-place for strange forms of life
unknown to purer, clearer atmospheres.

It was at the Lahore gate of this Delhi palace that on

IN THE PALACE. 85

this late September day a tawdry palanquin, followed
by a few tawdry retainers, paused before a cavernous
arch, ending the quaint, lofty vaulted tunnel which led
inward for some fifty yards or more to another barrier.
Here an old man in spectacles sat writing hurriedly.

"Quick, fool, quick! Read, and let me sign," called
the huge unwieldy figure in the palanquin, as the
bearers, panting under their gross burden, shifted shoul-
ders. Mahboob Ali, Chief Eunuch and Prime Minister,
groaned under the jolt; it was a foretaste of many to be
endured ere he reached the Resident's house, miles away
on the northern edge of the river. Yet he had to endure
them, for important negotiations were on foot between
the Survival and Civilization. The heir-apparent to
those few acres where the sun stood still had died, had
been poisoned some said ; md another had to be recog-
nized. There was no lack of claimants; there never
was a lack of claimants to anything within those walls,
where everyone strove to have t1 e first and last word
with the Civilization which supported the Survival.
And here was he, Mahboob, Prime Minister, being
delayed by a miserable scrivener.

"Read, pig! read," he reiterated, laying his puffy
hand on his jeweled sword-hilt; for he was still within
the gate, therefore a despot. A few yards further he
would be a dropsical old man; no more.

" Your slave reads ! " faltered the editor of the Court
Journal. " Mussamat Hafzan's record of the women's
apartments being late to-day, hath delayed "

' 'Twas in time enough, uncle, if thou wouldst make
fewer flourishes," retorted a woman's voice; it was noth-
ing but a voice by reason of the voluminous Pathan veil
covering the small speaker.

" Curse thee for a misbegotten hound ! " bawled Mah-
boob. " Am I to lose the entrance fee I paid Gamu, the
Huzoor's orderly, for first interview — when money is so
scarce too! Read as it stands, idiot — 'tis but an idle tale
at best."

The last was an aside to himself as he lay back in his
cushions ; for, idle though the tale was undoubtedly, it
suited him to be its Prime Minister. The editor laid

86 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

down his pen hurriedly, and the polished- Persian poly-
syllables began to trip over one another, while their
murmurous echo — as if eager to escape the familiar
monotony — sped from arch to arch of the long tunnel,
which was lit about the middle by side arches on the
guards' quarters, and through which the sunlight
streamed in a broad band of gold across the red stone
causeway.

The attributes of the Almighty having come to an end
the reader began on those of Bahadur Shah, Father of
Victory, Light of Religion, Polestar and Defender of
the Faith

" Faster, fool, faster," came the fat voice.

The spectacled old man swallowed his breath, as it
were, and went on at full gallop through the uprisal and
bathing of Majesty, through feelings of pulses and recep-
tion of visitors, then slowed down a bit over the recital
of dinner; for he was a gourmet, and his tongue loved
the very sound of dainty dishes.

" May your grave be spat upon ! " shouted the Chief
Eunuch. " So none were poisoned by it what matters
the food? Pass on '

" The Most Exalted then said his appointed prayers,"
gasped the reader. :< The Light-of-the- World * then
slept his usual sleep. On awakening, the physician
Ahsan-Oolah "

Mahboob sat up among his cushions. " Ahsan-
Oolah! he felt the Royal pulse at dawn also "

" The Most Noble forgets," interrupted a voice with
the veiled venom of a partisan in its suavity. " The
King — may his enemies die! — took a cooling draught
yesterday and requires all the care we can give him."

" The King, Meean-sahib, needs nothing save the
prayers of the holy priest, who has piously made over
long years of his own life to prolong his Majesty's," re-
torted Mahboob, scowling at the speaker, who wore the
Moghul dress, proclaiming him a member of the royal
family. There was no lack of such in the palace-fort,
for though Bahadur Shah himself, being more or less
of a saint, had contented himself with some sixty chil-
dren, his ancestors had sortietimes run to six hundred.

IN THE PALACE. 87

The Meean-sahib laughed scornfully as he passed
inward, and muttered that those who went forth with
the dog's trot might return with the cat's slink, since the
great question had yet to be settled. Mahboob's scowl
deepened; the very audacity of the interruption rousing
a fear lest the king's eldest son, Mirza Moghul, whose
partisan the speaker was, might have some secret under-
standing with Civilization. All the more need for haste.

4k Read on, fool! Who told thee to stop?"

" The Princess Farkhoonda Zamani entered by the
Delhi gate."

Mahboob gave a scornful laugh in his turn. " To visit
the Mirza's- house, no doubt. Let her come — a pretty
fool! Yet she had wiser stay where she hath chosen
to live, instead of being princess one day and plain
Newasi the next. There are enough women without
her in the palace! "

So it seemed, to judge by the stream of female names
and titles belonging to the curtained dhoolies, which
had passed and repassed the barriers, upon which the
editor launched his tongue. But Mahboob, as Chief
Eunuch, knew the value of such information and cut it
short with a sneer.

" If that be all! quick! the pen, and I will sign."

A bystander, also in the Moghul dress, laughed
broadly at the well-worn inuendo on the possibilities of
curtained dhoolies in intrigue. " Thou art right, Mah-
boob," he said, " God only knows."

" His own work," chuckled the Keeper of Virtue.
"And the Devil made most of the women here. Now
pigs! Canst not start? Am I to be kept here all day? "

As the litter went swaying out between the presented
arms of the sentries, the white chrysalis of a Pathan veil
stepped lamely down into the causeway. " That, see-
ing there is no news, will be something to amifse the
Queen withal," came the sharp voice.

''' There may be news enough, when that fat pig re-
turns, to make it hard to amuse thy mistress, Mussamat
Hafzan," suggested another bystander.

The chrysalis paused. "My mistress! Nay, sahib!
Hafzan is that to herself only, I am for no one save,

88 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

myself. I carry news, and the more the better for my
trade. Yet I have not had a real good day for gifts of
gratitude from my hearers, since Prince Fukrud-deen,
the heir-apparent, died." There was a reckless cynicism
in her voice, and he of the Moghul dress broke in hotly.

" Was poisoned, thou meanest, by "

Hafzan's shrill laugh rang through the arches.

" No names, Mirza sahib, no names! And 'tis no
news surely to have folk poisoned in the fort; as thou
wouldst know ere long, may be, if Hafzan were spiteful.
But I name no names — not I ! I carry news, that is all."

So, with a limp, showing that the woman within was a
cripple, the formless figure passed along the tunnel
through the inner barrier, and so across the wide court-
yard where the public hall of audience stood blocking
the eastern end. It was a massive, square, one-storied
building, with a remorseless look in its plain expanse of
dull red stone, pierced by toothed arches which yawned
darkly into a redder gloom, like monstrous mouths
agape for victims. Past this, with its high-set fretted
marble baldequin showing dimly against the end wall —
whence a locked wicket gave sole entrance from the
palace to this seat of justice or injustice — the Pathan
veil flitted like a ghost; so, through a narrow passage
guarded by the King's own body-guard, into a different
world; a cool breezy world of white and gold and blue,
clasping a garden set with flowers and fruit. Blue sky,
white marble colonnades, and golden domes vaulting
and zoning the burnished leaves of the orange trees,
where the green fruit hung like emeralds above a tangle
of roses and marigolds, chrysanthemums and crimson
amaranth. Hafzan paused among them for a second;
then, all unchallenged by any, passed on up the steps of
the marble platform, which lies between the Baths and
the Private Hall of Audience. That marvelous building
where the legend, cunningly circled into the decorations,
still tells the visitor again and again that, " If earth holds
a haven of bliss, It is this, it is this, it is this."

Here, on the platform, Hafzan paused again to look
over the low parapet. The wide eastern plains stretched
away to the pale blue horizon before her, and the curv-

IN THE PALACE. 89

ing river lay at her feet edging the high bank, faced with
stone, which forms the eastern defense of the palace-fort.
Thus the levels within touch the very top of the wall;
so that the domes, and colonnades, and green gardens,
when seen from the opposite side of the stream, cut clear
upon the sky, like a castle in the air at all times; but
in the sunsettings, when they show in shades of pale lilac,
with the huge dome of the great mosque bulging like
a big bubble into the golden light behind them as a
veritable Palace of Dreams.

She looked northward, first; along the sheer face of
the rosy retaining wall to its trend westward at the
Queen's favorite bastion, which was crowned by a bal-
conied summer-house overhanging the moat between the
fort itself and the isolated citadel of Selimgarh; which,
jutting out into the river, partially hid the bridge of
boats spanning the stream beyond. Then she looked
southward. Here was the sheer face of rosy wall again,
but it was crowned, close at hand, by the colonnade and
projecting eaves of the Private Hall of Audience. Fur-
ther on it was broken by the carved corbeillcs of the
King's balcony, and it ended abruptly at a sudden east-
ward turn of the river, so giving a view of rolling rocky
hillocks sweeping up to the horizon where, faint and far
like a spear-point, the column of the Kutb showed on a
clear day. The Kutb! that splendid promise, never ful-
fil led^ — that first minaret of the great mosque that never
was, and never will be built; symbol of the undying
dream of Mohammedan supremacy that never came,
that never can come to pass.

As she paused, a troop of women laden with cosmetics
and combs and quaint baskets containing endless aids t<"»
beauty, came shuffling out of the baths, gossiping and
chattering shrilly, and clanking heavy anklets as they
came. And with them, a heavy perfumed steam sug-
gestive of warm indolence, luxury, sensuality, passed
out into the garden.

"What! done already?" called Hafzan in surprise.

"Already!" echoed a bold-faced trollop pertly, " Ari,
sister. Art grown a loose-liver? Sure this is Friday,
and the King, good man, bathes apart, religiously! So

90 OiV THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

we be religious too, matching his humor. That is the
way with us women."

An answering giggle met the sally.

"Thou art an impudent hussy, Goloo! " said Hafzan
angrily. " And the Queen — where is she? "

" In the mosque praying for patience — in the summer-
house playing games — in the King's room coaxing him
to belief — in the vestibule feeding her son with lollipops
— he likes them big, and sweet, and lively, and of his own
choosing, does the prince, as I know to my cost." Here
a general titter broke in on the unabashed recital.

" Loh! leave Hafzan to find out what the Queen does
elsewhere," suggested another voice. " We speak not
of such things."

" Then speak lower of others," retorted Hafzan.
" Walls have echoes, sister, and thy mistress would fare
no better than others if thy talk reached Zeenut Maihl's
ears."

" Tell her, spy! if thou wilt," replied the woman care-
lessly. " We have friends on our side now, as thou
mayst understand mayhap ere nightfall, when the answer
comes."

Hafzan laughed. ' Thou hast more faith in friends
than I. Loh! I trust none within these four walls. And
out of them but few."

So saying she limped back into the garden, giving a
glance as she passed it into the Pearl Mosque, which
showed like a carven snowdrift against the blue of the
sky, the green of the trees. Finding none there, she
went straight to the Queen's favorite summer-house on
the northern bastion.

It was a curious fatality which made Zeenut Maihl
choose it, since all her arts, all her cunning, could scarcely
have told her that it would ere long be a watch-tower,
whence the chance of success or failure could be counted.
For the white road beyond the bridge of boats, and
trending eastward to the packed population of Oude,
to Lucknow, to all that remained of the vitality in the
Mohammedan dream, was to be ere long like a living,
growing branch to which she, the spider, hung by an
invisible thread, spinning her cobwebs, seemingly in
mid-air.

I.\T THE PALACE. 91

''Hush!" The whispered monition made Hafzan
pause in the screened archway till the game was over. It
was a sort of dumb-crambo, and a most outrageous
double entendre had just brought a smile to the broad
heavy face of a woman who lay among cushions in the
alcoved balcony. This was Zeenut Maihl, who for nearly
twenty years had kept her hold upon the King, despite
endless rivals. She was dark-complexioned, small-eyed,
with a curious lack of eyebrows which took from her even
vivacity of expression. But it was a man with experience
in many wives who remarked that favor is deceitful and
beauty is vain ; he knew, no doubt, that in polygamy, the
victory must go to the most unscrupulous fighter. Zee-
nut Maihl, at any rate, secured hers by ever-recurring
promises of another heir to her octogenarian husband;
a flattery to which his other wives either could not or
would not stoop. But the trick served the Queen's pur-
pose in more ways than one. Her oft-recurring disap-
pointments could have but one cause : witchcraft. So on
such occasions, with her paid priest, Hussan Askuri, say-
ing prayers for those in extremis at her bedside, Zeenut
Maihl's enemies went down like nine-pins, and she rose
from her bed of sickness with a board cleared of danger-
ous rivalry. For none in the hot-bed of shams felt secure
enough to get into grips with her. Ahsan-Oolah, the
physician, might have; she had cried quarter from his
keen fence before now; but he did not care to take the
trouble. For he was a philosopher, content to let his
world go to the devil its own way, so long as it did not
interfere with his passionate greed of gold. And this
master-passion being shared by Zeenut Maihl they
hoisted the flag of truce for the most part against mutual
spoliations. So the Queen played her game unmolested,
as she played dumb-crambo ; at which her servants, sepa-
rated like their betters into cliques, tried to outdo each
other.

" Wah! " said the set, jubilant over the double entendre.
''' That is the best to-day."

" If you like it, a clod is a betel nut," retorted the
leader of another set. " I'll wager to beat it easily."

The Queen frowned. There was too much freedom in
this speech of Fatma's to suit her.

9 2 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" And I will be the judge," she said with a cruel smile.
" Fatma must be taught better manners."

Fatma — a woman older than the rest — salaamed
calmly; and the fact made the other clique look at each
other uneasily. What certainty gave her such confidence
as she plucked a gray hair from her own head and placed
it on the black velvet cushion which lay at the Queen's
feet?

" That is my riddle," she said. " Let the world guess
it, and honor the real giver of it."

What could it be? Even the Queen raised herself in
curiosity; a sign in itself of commendation.

" Sure I know not," she began musingly, when Fatma
sprang to her feet in theatrical appeal.

"Not so! Ornament of Palaces," she cried. "This
may puzzle the herd; it is plain to the mother of Princes.
It lies too lowly now for recognition, but in its proper

place " She snatched the hair from the cushion,

and, with a flourish, laid it on the head of a figure which
appeared as if by magic behind her. A figure dressed
as a young Moghul Prince, and wearing all the crown
jewels.

4k My son, Jewun! " cried the Queen, starting angrily.
And the adverse clique, taking their cue from her tone,
shrieked modestly, and scrambled for their veils.^

Fatma salaamed to the very ground.

" No ! Mother of Princes, 'tis but my riddle — the heir-
apparent."

Zeenut Maihl paused, bewildered for an instant; then
in the figure recognized the features of a favorite dancing .
girl, saw the pun, and laughed uproariously, delightedly.
The English sentry on the drawbridge leading to Selim-
gurh might have heard her had there been one; but
within the last month the right to use the citadel as a
private entry to the palace had been given to the King.
It enabled him to cross the bridge of boats without the
long circuit by the Calcutta gate of the city.

" A gold mohur for that to Fatma ! " she cried, " and a
post nearer my person. I need such wits sorely." As
she spoke she rose to her feet, the smiles fading from
her face as she looked out along that white eastward

IN THE PALACE. 93

streak; for the jest had brought her back to earnest, to
that mixture of personal ambition for her son and real
patriotism for her country which kept her a restless in-
triguer. " I need men, too," she muttered. " Not disso-
lute, idle weathercocks or doting old pantaloons! There
are plenty of them yonder." So she stood for a second,
then turned like lightning on her attendants. " What
time " she began, then seeing Hafzan, who had un-
veiled at the door, she gave a cry of pleasure. " Tis well
thou hast come," she said, beckoning to her, " for thou
must know God! if I were free to come and go, what could

I not compass? But here, in this smothering veil "

She flung even the gauze apology for one which she
•wore from her, and stood with smooth, bare head, and
fat, bare arms, her quaint little pigtail dangling down her
broad back. Not a romantic figure truly, but one in its
savage temper, strength, obstinacy, to be reckoned with.
" What time " — she went on rapidly — " does the King
receive his initiates? "

" At five," replied Hafzan. Seen without its veil, also,
her figure showed more shrunk than ill-formed, and her
pale, thin face would have been beautiful but for its look
of permanent ill-health. " The ceremony of saintship
begins then."

" Saints! " echoed the Queen, with a hard laugh. " I
would make them saints and martyrs, too, were I free.
Quick, woman! pen and ink! And stay! Fatma's puz-
zle hath driven all else from my head. What time was't
that Hussan Askuri was bidden to come? "

' The saintborn comes at four," replied Hafzan cere-
moniously, " so as to leave leisure ere the Chief Eunuch's
return with the answer."

Zeenut Maihl's face was a study. " The answer! ' My
answer lies there in Fatma's riddle ; take two gold mohurs
for it, woman, it hath given me new life. Write, Hafzan,
to the chamberlain, that the disciples must pass the
southern window of the King's private room ere they
leave the palace. And call my litter; I must see Hussan
Askuri ere I meet him at the King's."

An hour afterward, with bister marks below her eyes,
and delicate hints of causeful, becoming languor in face

94 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and figure, she was waiting the King's return from the
latticed" balcony overhanging the river, where he always
spent the heats of the day; waiting in the cluster of small,
dark rooms which lie behind it, on the other side of the
marble fountain-set aqueduct which flows under a lace-
like marble screen to the very steps of the Hall of
Audience.

" Is all prepared? " she asked anxiously, as a glint
of light from a lifted curtain warned her of the King's
approach.

" All is prepared," echoed a hollow, artificial voice.
The speaker was a tall, heavily built man with long gray
beard, big bushy gray eyebrows, and narrow forehead.
A dangerous man, to judge by the mixed spirituality and
sensuality in his face; a man who could imagine evil, and
make himself believe it good. It was Hussan Askuri,
the priest and miracle-monger, who led the last of the
Moghuls by the nose. It was not a difficult task, for
Bahadur Shah, who came tottering across the intervening
sunlit space, was but a poor creature. The first impres-
sion he gave was of extreme old age. It was evident
in the sparse hair, the high, hollow cheeks, the waxy skin,
the purple glaze over the eyes. The next was of a feeble-
ness beyond even his apparent years. He seemed fiber-
less, mind and body. Yet released at the door of-privacy,
from the eunuch's supporting hands, he ambled gayly
enough to a seat, and exclaimed vivaciously:

" A moment! A moment! good priest and physician.
My mind first; my body after. The gift is on me. I
feel it working, and the historian must write of me more
as poet than king."

" As the king of poets, sire," suggested Hussan Askuri
pompously.

Bahadur Shah smiled fatuously. "Good! Good! I
will weave that thought with mine into perfumed poesy."
He raised one slender hand for silence, and with the
fingers of the other continued counting feet laboriously,
until with a sigh of relief, he declaimed:

" Bahadur Shah, sure all the world will know it,
Was poet more than king, yet king of poets."

IN THE PALACE. 95

Zeenut Maihl gave a cry of admiration. " Quick!
Pir-sahib, quick !" she exclaimed. "Such a gem must
not be lost."

" But 'tis yet to be polished," began the King com-
placently.

" That is the office of the scribe," replied Hussan
Askuri, as he drew out his ink-horn. He was by pro-
fession an ornamental writer, and gained great influence
with the old poetaster by gathering up the royal frag-
ments and hiding their lameness amid magnificent curves
and flourishes.

" And now, Pir-sahib," continued the Queen, with a
look of loving anxiety at her lord, " for this strange
ailment of which I spoke to you "

The King's face lost its self-importance as if he had
been suddenly recalled to unpleasant memory. * 'Tis
naught of import," he said hastily. " The Queen will
have it I start and sweat of nights. But this is but the
timorous dread of one in her condition. I am well
enough."

"My lord, Pir-sahib, hath indeed renewed his youth
through thy pious breathing of thy own life into his
mouth — as time will show," murmured the Queen with
modest, downcast look. " But last night he muttered
in his sleep of enemies "

Bahadur Shah gave a gasp of dismay. " Of enemies !
Nay! — did I truly? Thou didst not tell me this."

" I would not distress my lord, till fear was over.
Now that the pious priest, who hath the ear of the
Almighty "

Hussan Askuri, who had stepped forward to gaze at
the King, began to mutter prayers. " 'Tis that cooling
draught of Ahsan-Oolah's stands in the way," he gasped,
his hands and face working as if he were in deadly con-
flict with an unseen foe. " No carnal remedy — Ah! God
be praised! I see, I see! The eye of faith opens — Hoi!
venomous beast, I have you ! " With these words he
rushed to the King's couch, and, scattering its cushions,
held up at arm's length a lizard. Held by the tail, it
seemed in semi-darkness to writhe and wriggle.

" Ouee! Umma! " yelled the Great Moghul, shrinking

96 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

to nothing in his seat, and using after his wont the
woman s cry — sure sign of his hauits.

"jbear not!" cried me priest. "The mutterings are
stilled, the sweats dried! And thus will 1 deal also with
those who sent it." He flung his captive on the ground
and stamped it under foot.

" Was it — was it a bis-cobra, think you?" faltered the
King. He had hold of Zeenut Maihl's hand like a
frightened child. The priest shook his head. " It was
no carnal creature," he said in a hollow, chanting voice.
" It was an emissary of evil made helpless by prayer.
Give Heaven the praise." Bahadur Shah began on his
creed promptly, but the priest frowned.

" Through his servant," he went on. " For day and
night, night and day, I pray for the King. And I see
visions, I dream dreams. Last night, while my lord
muttered of enemies, Hussan Askuri saw a flood coming
from the West, and on its topmost wave, upon a raft of
faithful swords, as on a throne, sate "

" With due respect," came voices from the curtained
door. " The disciples await initiation in the Hall of
Audience."

Hussan Askuri and the Queen exchanged looks. The
interruption was unwelcome, though strangely germane
to the subject.

" I will hear thee finish the dream afterward," fussed
the King, rising in a bustle; for he prized his saintship
next to his poetry. " I must not keep my pupils from
grace. Hast the kerchiefs ready, Zeenut?" There was
something almost touching in the confidence of his
appeal to her. It was that of a child to its mother, cer-
tain of what it demanded.

" All things are ready," she replied tartly, with a mean-
ing and vexed look at the miracle-monger; for they had
meant to finish the dream before the initiation.

" A goodly choice," said the royal saint, as he looked
over the tiny silk squares, each embroidered with a text
from the Koran, which she took out of a basket. " But
I need many, FzV-sahib. Folk come fast, of late, to have
the way of virtue pointed by this poor hand. And
thou hast more in the basket, I see, Zeenut, ready
against "

IN THE PALACE. 97

" They are but begun," put in the Queen, hastily cover-
ing the basket. " Nor will they, likely, be needed, since
the leave season passes, and 'tis the soldiers who come
most to be disciples to the defender of their faith."

" I am the better pleased," replied the King with edify-
ing humility. " This summer hath too many pupils as
it is. Come! AV-sahib, and support me through mine
office with real saintship."

As the curtain fell behind them Zeenut Maihl crossed
swiftly to the crushed lizard and raised it gingerly.

" No carnal creature," she repeated. It was not; only
a deft piece of patchwork. Yet it, or something else,
made her shiver as she dropped the tell-tale remains into
the basket. This man Hussan Askuri sometimes seemed
to her own superstition a saint, sometimes to her clear
head a mere sinner. She was not quite certain of any-
thing about him save that his delusions, his dreams, his
miracles, suited her purpose equally, whether they were
false or true.

So she crossed over again to a marble lattice and
peered through a convenient peephole toward the
Audience Hall, which rose across an intervening stretch
of platform in white shadow, and whiter light. She could
not see or hear much; but enough to show her that
everything was going on the same as usual. The disci-
ples, most of them in full uniform, went up and down the
steps calmly, and the wordy exordium on the cardinal
virtues went on and on. How different it might be, she
thought, if she had the voice. She would rouse more
than those faint " Wah! Woks" She would make the
fire come to men's eyes. In a sort of pet with her own
helplessness, she moved away and so, through another
room, went to stand at another lattice. It looked south
over a strip of garden, and there was an open square
left in the tracery through which a face might look, a
hand might pass. And as she stood she counted the re-
maining kerchiefs in the basket she still held. They were
all of bright green silk and bore the same lettering. It
was the Great Cry: " Deen! Decn! Futteh Mohammed!"
As dangerous a woman this, as Hussan Askuri was a
man; as dangerous, both of them, to peaceful life, as the

98 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

fabled bis-cobra, at the idea of which the foolish old King
had cried, " Ouee, Umma! " like any woman.

And now at last that wordy exordium must be over,
for, along the garden path, came the clank of accouter-
ments. Zeenut Maihl's listless figure seem galvanized
to sudden life, there was a flutter of green at the open
square, and her voice followed the shower of silk.
" These banners from the Defender to his soldiers."
But as she spoke, a stir of excitement, a subdued mur-
mur of expectation reached her ear from outside, and,
leaning forward, she caught a glimpse of a swinging lit-
ter coming along the path. Mahboob returned already!
Vexatious, indeed, when she had turned and planned
everything so as to be sure of having the King in her
apartments when the answer arrived. None others
would know it before she did — unless! — the thought ob-
literated all others, and she flew back to the further
lattice. The King, returning from the initiation, had
paused in the middle of the platform at the sight of the
approaching litter, and his courtiers, as if by instinct, had

frouped themselves round him, leaving him the central
gure. The cruel sunlight streamed down on the tawdry
court, on the worn-out old man.

It seemed interminable to the woman behind the lat-
tice, that pause while the fat eunuch was helped from his
litter. She could have screamed to him for the answer,
could have had at his fat carcass with her hands for its
slowness. But the old King had better blood in his
veins. He stood quietly, his tawdry court around him;
behind him the marble, and gold, and mosaics of his
ancestors.

" What news, slave? " he asked boldly.

"None, Light of the Faithful," replied the Chief
Eunuch.

" None! " The semi-circle closed in a little, every face
full of disappointed curiosity.

" I have a letter for the Lord of the World with me.
Its substance is this. The Sirkar will recognize no heir.
During the lifetime of our Great Master, whose life be
prolonged forever, the Sirkar will make no promise of
any kind, either to his majesty, or to any other member

IN THE CITY. 99

of the royal family. It is to remain as if there were no
succession."

No succession ! Above the sudden murmur of univer-
sal surprise and dissent, a woman's cry of inarticulate
rage came from behind the lattice. The King turned to-
ward the sound instinctively. " I must to the Queen,"
he murmured helplessly, " I must to the Queen."

CHAPTER II.

IN THE CITY.

" Come, beauty, rare, divine,
Thy lover like a vine
With tendril arms entwine ;
Lay rose red lips to mine,
Bewildering as wine."

THE song came in little insistent trills and quaverings,
and quaint recurring cadences, which matched the insist-
ency of the rhymes. The singer was a young man of
about three-and-twenty, and as he sang, seated on a
Persian rug on the top of a roof, he played an elaborate
symphony of trills and cadences to match upon a tink-
ling saringi. He was small, slight, with a bright, viva-
cious face, smooth shaven, save for a thin mustache
trimmed into a faint fine fringe. His costume marked
him as a dandy of the first water, and he smelled horribly
of musk.

The roof on which he sat was a secluded roof, pro-
tected from view, even from other roofs, by high latticed
walls; its only connection with the world below it being
by a dizzy brick ladder of a stair climbing down fearlessly
from one corner. Across the further end stretched a
sort of veranda, inclosed by lattice and screens. But
the middle arch being open showed a blue and white
striped carpet, and a low reed stool. Nothing more.
But a sweet voice came from its unseen corner.

" Art not ashamed, Abool, to come to my discreet
house among godly folk and sing lewd songs? Will

100 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

they not think ill of me? And if thou comest drunken
horribly with wine, as thou didst last week, claiming
audience of me, thine aunt, not all that title will save
me from aspersion. And if I lose this calm retreat,
whither shall poor Newasi go? "

"Nay, kind one!" cried Prince Abool-Bukr, "that
shall never be." So saying, he cast away the tinkling
saringi and from the litter of musical instruments around
him laid impulsive hands on a long-necked riddle with
a 'cello tone in it. " I would sing psalms to please mine
aunt," he went on in reckless gayety, " but that I know
none. Will pious Saadi suit your sober neighbors, since
lovelorn Hafiz shocks them? But no! I can never
stomach his sentimental sanctity, so back we go to the
wisest of all poets."

The high, thin tenor ran on without a break into
a minor key, and a stanza of the Great Tentmakers. And
as it quivered and quavered over the illusion of life, a
woman's figure came to lean against the central arch,
and look down on the singer with kindly eyes.

They were the most beautiful eyes in the world.
Such is the consensus of opinion among all who ever saw
them. Judged, indeed, by this standard, the Princess
Farkhoonda Zamani, alias Newasi Begum, the widow of
one of the King's younger sons, must have had that mys-
terious charm which is beyond beauty. But she was
beautiful also, though smallpox had left its marks upon
her. Chiefly, however, by a thickening of the skin,
which brought an opaque pallor, giving her oval face
a look of carved ivory. In truth, this memento of the
past tragedy, which at the age of thirteen had brought
her, the half-wedded bride, to death's door, and sent her
fifteen-year-old bridegroom from the festival to the
grave, enhanced, rather than detracted from her beauty.
Her lips were reddened after the fashion of court women,
her short-sighted hazel eyes were heavily blackened with
antimony; but she wore no jewels, and her graceful,
sweeping Delhi dress was of deadest, purest white, em-
broidered in finest needlework round hems and seams,
and relieved only by the lighter folds of her white, lace-
like veil. For she had forsworn colors when she fled from

IN THE CITY. 101

court-life and its many intrigues for an alliance with the
charming widow; and, on the plea of a call to a religious
and celibate life, had taken up her abode in the Mufti's
Alley. This was a secluded little lane off the bazaar,
which lies to the south of the Jumma Mosque, where a
score or two of the Mohammedan families connected
with the late chief magistrate of the city lived, decently,
respectably, respectedly. To do this, having sometimes
to close the gate at the entrance of the alley, and so shut
out the wicked world around them. But that whole
quarter of the city held many such learned, well-born,
well-doing folk. Hussan Askari's house lay within a
stone's throw of the Mufti's Alley; Ahsan-Oolah's not
far off, and, all about, rose tall, windowless buildings,
standing sentinel blindly over the naughtiness around
them; but they had eyes within, and ears also. So the
hands belonging to them were held up in horror over the
doings of the survival, and — despite race and religion —
an inevitably reluctant, yet inevitably firm adherence
was given to civilization. Even the womenfolk on the
high roofs knew something of the mysterious woman
across the sea, who reigned over the Huzoors and made
them pitiful to women. And Farkhoonda Zamani
read the London news, with great interest, in the news-
paper which Abool-Bukr used to bring her regularly.
Hers was the highest roof of all, save one at the back of
her veranda room; so close to it indeed that the same
neeni tree touched both.

It was not a quarter, therefore, in which the leader of
the fastest set in the palace might have been expected
to be a constant visitor. But he was. And the decorous
alley put up with his songs patiently. Partly, no doubt,
for his aunt's sake; more for his own charm of manner,
which always gained him a consideration better men
might have lacked. Being the late heir-apparent's eld-
est son, he was certain of succeeding to the throne if he
outlived all his uncles ; for the claims of the elder genera-
tion are, by Moghul law, paramount over those of the
younger. Now, the inevitable harking back to the eld-
est branch, after years of power enjoyed by the junior
ones, which this plan necessitates, being responsible for

102 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

half the wars and murders which mark an Indian succes-
sion, some of these learned progressive folk admitted
tentatively that the Western plan was better; and that if
Prince Abool-Bukr were only other than he was, he
might as well succeed now as later on.

The idea roused a like ambition in the young idler,
now and again, but as a rule he was content to be the best
musician in Delhi, the boldest gambler, the fastest liver.
Yet through all, he kept his hold on one kind woman's
hand; and those who knew the prince and princess
have never a word to say against the friendship which
led to that singing of Omar Khayyam upon the latticed
roof.

" Life could be better than that for thee, nephew, didst
thou but choose," said her soft voice, interrupting the
cynicism, while her delicate ringers, touching the singer's
shoulder as if in reproof, lingered there tenderly. He
bent his smooth cheek impulsively to caress the hand so
close to it, with a frank, boyish action. The next mo-
ment, however, he had started to his feet; the minor
tone changed to a dance measure, then ended in a wild
discord, and a wilder laugh. Her use of the word
nephew was apt to rouse his recklessness, for she was
but a month or two older than he.

" Thou canst not make me other than I was born "

he began; but she interrupted him quickly.

:< Thou wast born of good parts enough, God knows."

" But my father deemed me fool, therefore I was
brought up in a stable, mine aunt; and sang in brothels
ere I knew what the word meant. So 'tis sheer waste
time to interview my scandalized relations as thou dost,
and beg them to take me serious. By all the courtesans
in the Thunbi Bazaar, Newasi, I take not myself so. Nor
am I worse than the holy, pious aunt: I take paradise
now, and leave hell to the last. They choose the other
way. And make a better bargain for pleasure than I,
seeing that the astrologers give me a short life, a bloody
death."^

Newasi caught her hand back to another resting place
above her heart. "A — a bloody death!" she echoed;
" who— who told the lie? "

IN THE CITY. 103

Prince Abool-Bukr shook his head with a kindly smile.
" Oh ! heed it not, kind lady. Such is the fashion with
soothsayers nowadays. The heavens are black with
portents. Someone's cow hath three calves, someone's
child hath ten noses and a tail. Fire hath come from
heaven — thou thyself didst tell me some such wind-
sucker's tale — or from hell more likely "

" Nay! but it is true," she interrupted eagerly; " I had
it from the milkwoman, who comes from the village
where the suttee "

" The mouse began to gnaw the rope. The rope

began to bend the ox. The ox began " hummed

the prince irreverently.

Newasi stamped her foot. " But it is true, scoffer!
There is a festival of it to-day in some idol temple — may
it be defiled! The widow would have burned, after sin-
ful custom, but was prevented by the Huzoors. And
rightly. Yet, God knows — seeing the poor soul had to
burn sometime through being an idolater — they might
have let her burn with her love "

Abool laughed softly. " And yet thou wilt have
naught of Hafiz — Hafiz the love-lorn! Verily, Newasi,
thou art true woman."

She ignored the interruption. " So being hindered
she went to Benares, and there this fire fell on her
through prayer, and burned hands and feet "

" But not her face," cried Prince Abool, thrumming
the muted strings and making them sound like a tom-
tom. " I'll wager my best pigeon, not her face, if she
be a good-looking wench! And since fire follows on
other things besides prayer, she was a fool not to get
it, like me, through pleasure instead. To burn a virgin!
What a dreary tale! Look not so shocked, Newasi! a
man must enjoy these presents, when folk around him
waste half the time in dreaming of a future — of some-
thing better to come — as thou dost " He paused,

and a soft eager ring came to his voice. " If thou
couldst only forget all that — forget who I might be in
the years to come — forget what thou wouldst have been
had my respected uncle not preferred peace to pleasure —
for it never came to pass, remember, it never came to pass

104 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

— then we two, you and I " He paused again, per-
haps at the sudden shrinking in her eyes, and gave a
restless laugh. " As 'tis, the present must suffice," he
added lightly, " and even so thou dost mourn for what I
might be if the grace of God took me unawares. Thou
hast caught the dreaming trick, mayhap, from the Prince
of Dreamers yonder."

He moved over to the outer parapet and waved his
hand toward Hussan Askuri's house. Then his vagrant
attention turned swiftly to something which he could
see in a peep of bazaar visible from this new point of
view.

" Three, four, five trays of sweetstuffs ! and one of milk
and butter," he cried eagerly, " and by my corn-mer-
chant's bill — which I must pay soon or starve — the
carriers are palace folk! Is there, by chance, a marriage
in the clan? Why didst not tell me before, Newasi? then
I could have gone as musician and earned a few rupees."

He gave a flourish of his bow, so drawing forth a
lugubrious wail from the long-necked fiddle.

" No marriage that I wot of," she replied, smiling
fondly over his heedless gayety. :< The trays will be go-
ing to the PiV-sahib's house. They have gone every
Thursday these few weeks past, ever since the Queen took
ill on hearing the answer about the heirship. She vowed
it then every week, so that the holy man's prayer might
bring success to our cousin of Persia in this war. God
save the very dust of it from the winds of misfortune
s so long as dust and wind exist," she added piously.

Prince Abool-Bukr turned round on her sharply with
anxiety in his face.

"So! Thou too canst quote the proclamation like
other fools — a fool's message to other fools. Where
didst thou see it? "

Newasi looked at him disdainfully. " Can I not read,
nephew, and are there many in Delhi as heedless as thou?
Why, even the Mufti's people discuss such things."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Ay! they will talk.
Gossip hath a double tongue and wings too, nowadays.
In old time the first tellers of a tale had half forgot it, ere

IN THE CITY. 105

the last hearer heard it; now the whole world is agog
in half an hour. But it means naught. Even his heir-
ship. Who cares in Delhi? None! — out of the palace,
none! Not even I. Yet mischief may come of it; so
have naught to do with dreamings, Newasi, if only for
my sake. Remember the old saw, ' Weevils are ground
with the corn.' ':

" Thou canst scarce call thyself that, Abool, and thou
so near the throne," she said, still more coldly.

" Have me what pleaseth thee, kind one," he replied,
a trifle impatiently; " but remember also that ' the body
is slapped in the killing of mosquitoes/ " Then, sud-
denly, an odd change came to his mobile face. It grew
strained, haggard; his voice had a growing tremor in it.
" Lo ! I tell thee, Newasi, that Sheeah woman, Zeenut
Maihl, in her plots for that young fool, her son, will hang
the lot of us. I swear I feel a rope around my neck each
time I think of her. I who only want to be let live as I
like — not to die before my time — die and lose all the love
and the laughter; die mayhap in the sunlight; die when
there is no need; I seem to see it — the sunlight — and I
helpless— helpless!"

He hid his face in his shuddering hands as if to shut
out some sight before his very eyes.

"Abool! Abool! What is't, dear? Look not so
strange," she cried, stretching out her hand toward him,
yet standing aloof as if in vague alarm. Her voice
seemed to bring him back to realities; he looked up with
a reckless laugh.

: 'Tis the wine does it," he said. " If I lived sober —
with thee, mine aunt — these terrors would not come.
Nay! be not frightened. Hanging is a bloodless death,
and that would confound the soothsayer; so it cuts both
ways. And now, since I must have more wine or weep,
I will leave thee, Newasi."

' For the bazaar? " she asked reproachfully.

' For life and laughter. Lo ! Newasi, thou thyself
wouldst laugh at those new-come Bunjarah folk I told
thee of, who imitate the sahibs so well. But for their
eyes," here he nodded gayly to someone below, " they

Io6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

should get one of Mufti's folk to play," he added, his
attention as usual following the first lead. " Saw you
ever such blue ones as the boy has yonder? "

Newasi, drawing her veil tighter, stepped close to
his side and peered gingerly.

" His sister's are as blue, his cousin's also. It runs in
the blood, they say. I cannot like them. Dost thou
not prefer the dark also? "

She raised hers to his innocently enough, then shrank
back from the sudden passion of admiration she saw blaz-
ing in them. Shrank so that her arm touched his no
longer. The action checked him, made him savage.

" I like black ones best," he said insolently; " big, black,
staring eyes such as my mother swears my betrothed
has to perfection. Thou hast not seen her yet, Newasi;
so thou canst keep me company in imagining them lan-
guishing with love. They will not have to languish long
for — hast thou heard it? The King hath fixed the wed-
ding." He paused, then added in a low, cruel voice,
"Art glad, Newasi?"

But her temper could be roused too, and her heart had
beat in answer to his look in a way which ended calm.
" Ay! It will stop this farce of coming thither for study
and learning — as to-day — without a line scanned."

" Thou dost study enough for both, as thou art virtu-
ous enough for both," he retorted. " I am but flesh and
blood, and my small brain will hold no more than it can
gather from bazaar tongues."

" Of lies, doubtless."

" Lies if thou wilt. But they fill the mind as easily as
truth, and fit facts better. As the lie the courtesans tell of
my coming hither fits fact better than thy reason. Dost
know it? Shall I tell it thee?"

" Yea! tell it me," she answered swiftly, her whole face
ablaze with anger, pride, resentment. His matched it,
but with a vast affection and admiration added which
increased his excitement. "The lie, did I say?" he
echoed, "nay, the truth. For why do I come? Why
dost let me come? Answer me in truth?" There was
an instant's silence, then he went on recklessly: "What
need to ask? Wre both know. And why, in God's name,

IN THE CITY. 107

having come — come to see thy soft eyes, hear thy soft
voice, know thy soft heart, do I go away again like a
fool? I who take pleasure elsewhere as I choose. I will
be a fool no longer. Nay! do not struggle. I will but
force thee to the truth. I will not even kiss thee — God
knows there are women and to spare for that — there

is but one woman whom Abool-Bukr cares to " he

broke off, flung the hands he had seized away from him
with a muttered curse, and stepped back from her, calming
himself with an effort. " That comes of making Abool-
Bukr in earnest for once. Did I not warn thee it was not
wise?" he said, looking at her almost reproachfully, as
she stood trying to be calm also, trying to hide the beat-
ing of her heart.

' Tis not wise, for sure, to speak foolishness," she
murmured, attempting unconsciousness. " Yet do I
not understand "

He shook his delicate hand in derisive denial. " Why,
the Princess Farkhoonda refuses to marry! Nay,
Newasi, we are two fools for our pains. That is God's
truth between us. So now for lies in the bazaar."

" Peace go with thee." There was a sudden regret,
almost a wistful entreaty in the farewell she sent after
him. There was none in his reply, given with a back-
ward look as his gay figure went downward dizzily.
" Nay! Peace stays ever with thee."

It was true. Those other women of whom he had
spoken gave him kisses galore, but this one? It was a
refinement of sensuality, in a way, to go as he had come.
But Newasi went back to her books with a sigh, telling
herself that her despondency was due to Abool's hope-
less lack of ambition. If he would only show his
natural parts, only let these new rulers see that he had
the makings of a king in him! As for the other foolish-
ness, if the old King would give his consent — if it were
made clear that she was not really She pulled her-
self up with a start, said a prayer or two, and went on
with The Mirror of Good Behavior, through which she was
wading diligently. The writer of it had not been a
beautiful woman, widowed before she was a wife, but his
ideals were high.

ro8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Abool-Bukr meanwhile was already in a house with a
wooden balcony. There were many such in the Thunbi
Bazaar, giving it an airiness, a cleanliness, a neatness it
would otherwise have lacked. But Gul-anari's was the
biggest, the most patronized; not only for the tired
heads which looked out unblushingly from it, but for
the news and gossip always to be had there. The
lounging crowds looked up and asked for it, as they
drifted backward and forward aimlessly, indifferently,
among the fighting quails in their hooded cages, the
dogs snarling in the filth of the gutters, while a mingled
scent of musk, and drains, and humanity steamed
through the hot sunshine. Sometimes a corpse lay in
the very roadway awaiting burial, but it provoked no
more notice than a passing remark that Nargeeza or
Yasmeena had been a good one while she lasted. For
there was a hideous, horrible lack of humanity about
the Thunbi Bazaar; even in the very women themselves,
with their foreheads narrowed by plastered hair to a
mere wedge above a bar of continuous eyebrow, their
lips crimsoned in unnatural curves, their teeth reddened
with pan or studded with gold wire, their figures stiff-
ened to artificial prominence. It was as if humanity,
tired of its own beauty, sought the lack of it as a stimu-
lant to jaded sensuality.

"Allah! the old stale stories," yawned Gul-anari from
the broad sheet of native newspaper whence, between the
intervals of some of Prince Abool-Bukr's worst songs,
she had been reading extracts to her illiterate clients;
that being a recognized attraction in her trade. " Per-
sia! Persia! nothing but Persia! Who cares for it? I
dare swear none. Not even the woman Zeenut herself,
for all her pretense of sympathy with Sheeahs, who

" Have a care, mistress ! " interrupted an arrogant
looking man, who showed the peaked Afghan cap below
a regimental turban. He was a sergeant in a Pathan
company of the native troops cantoned outside Delhi
on the Ridge, and had been bickering all the afternoon
with a Rajpoot of the 38th N. I., who had ousted him in
his hostess' easy affections, being therefore in an evil

IN THE CITY. 109

temper, ready to take offense at a word. " I am of the
north — a Sheeah -myself, and care not to hear them mis-
called. And I have those who would back me," he con-
tinued, glaring at the Rajpoot, who sat in the place of
honor beside the stout siren ; " for yonder in the cor-
ner is another hill-tiger." He pointed to a man who had
just thanked one of the girls in Pushtoo for a glass of
sherbet she handed him.

" Hill-cat, rather! " giggled Gul-anari. " He brought
me this one, but yesterday, from a caravan new-come to
the serai," — she stroked the long fur of a Persian
kitten on her lap, — " and when I asked for news could
not give them. He scarce knew enough Urdu for the
settling of prices."

A coarse joke from the Rajpoot, suggesting that he
had found few difficulties of that sort in the Thunbi
Bazaar, made the sergeant scowl still more and swear
that he would get Mistress Gul-anari the news for mere
love. Whereat he called over, in Pushtoo, to the man
in the corner, who, however, took no notice.

" He is as deaf as a lizard! " giggled Gul-anari, enjoy-
ing the rejected one's discomfiture. " Get my friend
the corporal here to yell at him for thee, sergeant. His
voice goes further than thine! "

The favored Rajpoot squeezed the fat hand nearest to
him. " Go up and pluck him by the beard," he sug-
gested vaingloriously, " then we might see a Pathan
fight for once."

" Thou wouldst see a fair one, which is more than thou
canst among thine own people."

"Peace! Peace!" cried the courtesan, smiling to
see both men look round for a weapon. " I'll have no
bloodshed here. Keep that for the future." She dwelt
on the last word meaningly, and it seemed to have a
soothing effect, for the sepoys contented themselves
with scowls again.

"The future?" echoed a graybeard who had been
drinking cinnamon tea calmly. " God knows there will
be wars enough in it. Didst hear, Meean sahib? I
have it on authority — that Jam Larnce is to give Pesha-

110 OAT THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

wur to Dost Mohammed and take Rajpootana instead.
Take it as Oude was taken and Sambalpore, and Jhansi,
and all the others."

" Even so," assented a quiet looking man in spec-
tacles. " When the last La^-sahib went, he got much
praise for having taken five kingdoms and given them to
the Queen. Tiie new one was told he must give more.
This begins it."

" Let us see what we Rajpoots say first," cried the
corporal fiercely. " 'Tis we have fought the Sirkar's
battles, and we are not sheep to be driven against our
own."

Gul-anari leered admiringly at her new lover. " Nay!
the Rajpoots are men! and 'twas his regiment, my mas-
ters, who refused to fight over the sea, saying it was not
in the bond. Ay! and gained their point."

" That drop has gone over the sea itself," sneered a
third soldier. " The bond is altered now. Go we must,
or be dismissed. The Thakoor-;V? would not be so bold
now, I warrant."

The Rajpoot twirled his mustache to his very eyes
and cocked his turban awry.

" Ay, would I ! and more, if they dare touch our
privilege."

Gul-anari leered again, rousing the Pathan sergeant to
mutter curses, and — as if to change the subjecf — cross
over to the man in the corner, lay insolent hands on his
shoulder, and shout a question in his ear. The man
turned, met the arrogant eyes bent on him calmly, and
with both hands salaamed profusely but slowly with a
sort of measured rhythm. Apparently he had not
caught the words and was deprecating impatience. His
hands were fine hands, slender, well-shaped, and he
wore a metal ring on the seal-finger. It caught the light
as he salaamed.

"Louder, man, louder!" gibed the corporal. But
the sergeant did not repeat the question; he stood look-
ing at the upturned face awaiting an answer.

" Maybe he is Belooch, his speech not mine," he said
suddenly, yet with a strange lack of curiosity in his tone.
There was a faint quiver, as if some strain were over in

IN THE CITY, III

the face below, and the silence was broken by a rapid
sentence.

" Yea! Belooch! " he went on in a still more satisfied
tone, " I know it by the twang. So there is small use in
bursting my lungs."

Here Prince Abool-Bukr, who had been dozing
tipsily, his head against his fiddle, woke, and caught the
last words. " Ay, burst ! burst like the royal kettle-drums
of mine ancestors. Yet will I do my poor best to amuse
the company and — and instruct them in virtue."
Whereupon, with much maudlin emotion, he thrummed
and thrilled through a lament on the fallen fortunes of
the Moghuls written by that King of Poets his Grand-
papa. Being diffuse and didactic, it was met with
acclamations, and Abool, being beyond the stage of
discrimination, was going on to give an encore of a
very different nature, when a wild clashing of cymbals
and hooting of conches in the bazaar below sent every-
one to the balcony. Everyone save Abool, who, de-
prived of his audience, dozed off against his fiddle again,
and the man from the corner who, as he took advantage
of the diversion to escape, looked down at the hand-
some drunken face as he passed it and muttered, " Poor
devil! He rode honest enough always." Then the
Rajpoot's arrogant voice rising from the crush on the
balcony, he paused a second in order to listen — that
being his trade.

' 'Tis the holy Hindu widow to whom God sent fire
on her way to the festival. A saint indeed! I know
her brother, one Soma, a Yadubansi Rajpoot in the nth,
new-come to Meerut."

The clashings and brayings were luckily loud enough
to hide an irrepressible exclamation from the man be-
hind. The next instant he was halfway down the dark
stairs, tearing off cap, turban, beard, and pausing at the
darkest corner to roll his baggy northern drawers out
of sight, and turn his woolen green shawl inside out, thus
disclosing a cotton lining of ascetic ochre tint. It was
the work of a second, for Jim Douglas had been an apt
pupil. So, with a smear of ashes from one pocket, a
dab of turmeric and vermilion from another — put on as

112 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

he finished the stairs — he emerged into the street dis-
guised as a mendicant; the refuge of fools, as Tiddu had
called it. The easiest, however, to assume at an instant's
notice; and in this case the best for the procession
Jim Douglas meant to join. Careless and hurried
though his get-up was, he set the very thought of de-
tection from him as he edged his way among the stream-
ing crowd. For in that, so he told himself, lay the
Mysterious Gift. To be, even in your inmost thoughts,
the personality you assumed was the secret. Somehow
or another it impressed those around you, and even if a
challenge came there was no danger if the challenger
could be isolated — brought close, as it were, to your own
certainty. To this, so it seemed to him — the many-
faced one vehemently protesting^came all Tiddu's
mysterious instructions, which nevertheless he followed
religiously. For, be they what they might, they had
never failed him during the six months, save once, when,
watching a horse-race, he had lost or rather recovered
himself in the keen interest it awakened. Then his
neighbors had edged from him and stared, and he had
been forced into slipping away and changing his person-
ality; for it was one of Tiddu's maxims that you should
always carry that with you which made such change
possible. To be many-faced, he said, made all faces
more secure by taking from any the right of perma-
nence. Jim Douglas therefore joined the procession
and forced his way to the very front of it, where the red-
splashed figure of Durga Devi was being carried shoul-
ders high. It was garlanded with flowers and censed
by swinging censers, and behind it with widespread
arms to show her sacred scars walked Tara. She was
naked to the waist, and the scanty ochre-tinted cloth
folded about her middle was raised so as to show the
scars upon her lower limbs. The sunlight gleaming on
the magnificent bronze curves showed a seam or two
upon her breast also. No more. As Abool-Bukr had
prophesied, her face, full of wild spiritual exaltation,
was unmarred and, with the shaven head, stood out bold
and clear as a cameo.

Jail Jai! Durga mai ke jai (Victory to Mother
Durga).

IN THE CITY. 113

The cry came incessantly from her lips, and was
echoed not only by the procession, but by the spectators.
So from many a fierce throat besides the corporal's, who
from Gul-anari's balcony shouted it frantically, that
appeal to the Great Death Mother — implacable, athirst
for blood — came to light the sordid life of the bazaar
with a savage fire for something unknown — horribly
unknown, that lay beyond life. Even the Moham-
medans, though they spat in the gutter at the idol, felt
their hearts stir; felt that if miracles were indeed abroad
their God, the only true One, would not shorten His
Hand either. ,t

Jail Jail Durga mai ke jai.

The cry met with a sudden increase of volume as, the
procession passing into the wider space before the big
mosque, it was joined by a band of widows, who in rap-
turous adoration flung themselves before Tara's feet so
that she might walk over them if need be, yet somehow
touch them.

" Pigs of idolaters ! " muttered one of a group stand-
ing on the mosque steps; a group of men unmistakable
in their flowing robes and beards.

" Peace, Kasi-s&\\\\> ! " came a mellow voice. " Let
God judge when the work is done. * The clay is base,
and the potter mean, yet the pot helps man to wash and
be clean.' ':

The speaker, a tall, gaunt man, rose a full head above
the others, and Jim Douglas' keen eyes, taking in every-
thing as they passed, recognized him instantly. It was
the Moulvie of Fyzabad. It was partly to hear what he
had to say when he was preaching, partly to find out
how the people viewed the question of the heirship, which
had brought Jim Douglas to Delhi, so he was not sur-
prised.

And now the procession, reaching the Dareeba, that
narrowest of lanes hedged by high houses, received a
momentary check. For down it, preceded by grooms
with waving yak tails, came the Resident's buggy. He
was taking a lady to see the picturesque sights of the
city. This was one, with a vengeance, as the red-
splashed figure of the Death-Goddess jammed itself in the

H4 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

gutter to let the aliens pass, so getting mixed up with a
Mohammedan sign-board. And the crowd following
it, — an ignorant crowd agape for wonders, — stood for a
minute, hemmed in, as it were, between the buggy in
front and the mosque behind, with that group of Moul-
vies on its steps.

" Fire worship for a hundred years,
A century of Christ and tears,
Then the True God shall come again
And every infidel be slain,"

quoted he of Fyzabad under his breath, and the others
nodded. They knew the prophecy of Shah N'amut-
Oolah well. It was being bandied from mouth to mouth
in those days; for the Mohammedan crowd was also
agape for wonders.

CHAPTER III.

ON THE RIDGE.

"A MELLY Klistmus to zoo, Miffis Erlton! An' oh!
they's suts a lot of boo'ful, boo'ful sings in a velanda."

Sonny's liquid lisp said true. On this Christmas
morning the veranda of Major Erlton's house on the
Ridge of Delhi was full of beauties to childish eyes.
For, he being on special duty regarding a scheme for
cavalry remounts and having Delhi for his winter head-
quarters, there were plenty of contractors, agents,
troopers, dealers, what not, to be remembered by one
who might probably have a voice in much future patron-
age. So there were trays on trays of oranges and apples,
pistachios, almonds, raisins, round boxes of Cabul
grapes, all decked with flowers. And on most of them,
as the surest bid for recognition, lay a trumpery toy of
some sort for the Major sahib's little unknown son, whose
existence could, nevertheless, not be ignored by these
gift-bringers, to whom children are the greatest gift of
all.

And so, as they waited, with a certain child-like com-

ON THE RIDGE. 115

placency in their own offerings, for the recipients' tardy
appearance, they had smiled on little Sonny Seymour as
he passed them on his way to give greeting to his dearest
Mrs. Erlton. For the Seymours had had the expected
change to Delhi, and Sonny's mother was now com-
plaining of the climate, and the servants, and the babies,
in one of the houses within the Cashmere gate of the
city; a fact which took from her the grievance regarding
dog-carts, since it lay within a walk of her husband's
office.

So some of the smiles had not simply been given to a
child, but to a child whose father was a sahib known to
the smiler; and one broad grin had come because Sonny
had paused to say, with the quaint precision with which
all English children speak Hindustani.

"AH Bij Rao! tu kyon ate?" (Oh, Bij Rao, why
are you here?) The orderly's face, which Mrs. Sey-
mour had said gave her the shivers, had beamed over the
recognition ; he had risen and saluted, explaining gravely
to the chota sahib that he came from Meerut, because the
Major sahib was now his sahib for the time. Sonny had
nodded gravely as if he understood the position per-
fectly, and passed on to the drawing room, where Kate
Erlton was sticking a few sprigs of holly and mistletoe
round the portrait1 of another fair-haired boy; these same
sprigs being themselves a Christmas offering from the
Parsee merchant, who had a branch establishment at a
hill station. He sent for them from the snows every
year for his customers as a delicate attention. And this
year something still more reminiscent of home had
come with them : a real spruce fir for the Christmas tree
which Kate Erlton was organizing for the school chil-
dren. The tree in itself was new to India, and she had
suggested a- still greater innovation; namely, that all
children of parents employed in Government offices or
workshops should be invited, not only those with pre-
tensions to white faces. For Kate, being herself far
happier and more contented than she had been nine
months before, when she begged that last chance from
Jim Douglas, had begun to look out from her own
life into the world around her with greater interest. In

Ii6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

a way, it seemed to her that the phance had come. Not
tragically, as Jim Douglas had hinted, but easily, natu-
rally, in this special duty which had removed her
husband both from Alice Gissing and his own past
reputation.

It had sent him to Simla, where people are accepted
for what they are; and here his good looks, his good-
natured, devil-may-care desire for amusement had made
him a favorite in society, and his undoubted knowledge
of cavalry requirements stood him in good stead with
the authorities. So he had come down for the winter
to Delhi on a new track altogether. To begin with, his
work interested him and made him lead a more whole-
some life. It took him away from home pretty often, so
lessening friction ; for it was pleasant to return to a well-
ordered house after roughing it in out-stations. Then
it took him into the wilds where there was no betting or
card-playing. He shot deer and duck instead, and
talked of caps and charges, instead of colors and tricks.
To his vast improvement; for though the slaying in-
stinct may not be admirable in itself, and though the
hunter may rightly have been branded from the begin-
ning with the mark of Cain, still the shooter or fisher
generally lives straighter than his fellows, and murder
is not the most heinous of crimes. Not even. in regard
to the safety and welfare of the community.

So Kate l\ad begun to have those pangs of remorse
which come to women of her sort at the first symptom
of regeneration in a sinner. Pangs of pitiful considera-
tion for the big, handsome fellow who could behave so
nicely when he chose, vague questionings as to whether
the past had not been partly her fault; whether if this
were the chance, she ought not to forget and forgive—
many things.

He looked very handsome as he lounged in, dressed
spick and span in full uniform for church parade. And
she, poised on a chair, her dainty ankles showing, looked
spick and span also in a pretty new dress. He noticed
the fact instantly.

"A merry Christmas, Kate! Here! give me your
hand and I'll help you down."

ON THE RIDGE. H7

How many years was it since he had spoken like that,
with a glint in his eyes, and she had had that faint flush
in her cheek at his touch? The consciousness of this
stirring among the dry bones of something they had
both deemed dead, made her set to shaking some leaves
from her dress, while he, with an irrelevantly boisterous
laugh, stooped to swing Sonny to his shoulder. " You
here, jackanapes!" he cried. "A merry Christmas!
Come and get a sweetie — you come too, Kate, the beg-
gars will like to see the mem. By Jove! what a jolly
morning! "

A foretaste of the winter rains had fallen during the
night, leaving a crisp new-washed feeling in the air, a
heavy rime-like dew on the earth; the sky of a pale blue,
yet colorful, vaulted the wide expanse cloudlessly. And
from the veranda of the Erltons' house the expanse was
wide indeed; for it stood on the summit of the Ridge at
its extreme northern end — the end, therefore, furthest
from the city, which, nearly three miles away, blocked
the widening wedge of densely wooded lowland lying
between the rocky range and the river. The Ridge itself
was not unlike some huge spiny saurian, basking in the
sunlight; its tail in the river, its wider, flatter head,
crowned by Hindoo Rao's house, resting on the groves
and gardens of the Subz-mundi or Green Market, a
suburb to the west of the town. It is a quaint, fanciful
spot, this Delhi Ridge, even without the history of hero-
ism crystallized into its very dust. A red dust which
might almost have been stained by blood. A dust which
matches that history, since it is formed of isolated
atoms of rock, glittering, perfect in themselves, like the
isolated deeds which went to make up the finest record
of pluck and perseverance the world is ever likely to
see. Perseverance and pluck which sent more English-
men to die cheerfully in that red dust than in the de-
fenses and reliefs of Lucknow, Cawnpore, and the
subsequent campaigns all combined. Let the verdict
on the wisdom of those months of stolid endurance be
what it may, that fact remains. ,

And the quaintness of the Ridge lies in its individuality.
Not eighty feet above the river, its gradients so slight

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

•

that a driver scarce slackens speed at its steepest, there
is never a mistake possible as to where it begins or ends.
Here is the river bed, founded on sand; there, cleaving
the green with rough red shoulder, is the ridge of rock.

From the veranda, then, its stony spine split by a road
like a parting, it trended southwest, so giving room be-
tween it and the river for the rose-lit, lilac-shaded mass
of the town, with the big white bubble of the Jumma
mosque in its midst; the delicate domes fringing the
palace gateways showing like strings of pearls on the
blue sky. And beyond them, a dazzle of gold among
the green of the Garden of Grapes, marked that last
sanctuary of a deacl dynasty upon the city's eastern wall.

The cantonments lay ^o the back of the house on the
western slope of the Ridge and on the plain beyond.
This also was a widening wedge of green wooded land
cut off from the rest of the plain by a tree-set overflow
canal. The Ridge, therefore, formed the backbone of a
triangle protected by water on two sides. On the third
was the city and its suburbs. But — to carry out the
image of the lizard — a natural outwork lay like a huge
paw on either side of the head ; on the river side the spur
of Ludlow Castle, on the canal side the General's mound.

A brisk breeze was fluttering the flag on the tower
cresting the ridge, a few hundred yards from the house,
and as Major Erlton stepped into the veranda, a puff of
white smoke curled cityward, and the roll of the time-
gun reverberated among the rocks.

" By Jingo ! I must hurry up if I'm to have break-
fast before church," he exclaimed, as the circle of gift-
bringers, who had been waiting nearly half an hour,
rose" simultaneously with salaams and good wishes. The
sudden action made a white cockatoo perched in the
corner raise its flame-colored crest and begin to prance.

"Naughty Poll! Bad Poll!" came Sonny's mellif-
luous lisp from the Major's shoulder. " Zoo mufn't
make a noise and interrupt."

The admonition made the bird smooth its ruffled
temper and feathers. Not that there was much to inter-
rupt; the Major's halting acknowledgments being of the

ON THE RIDGE. 119

briefest; partly because of breakfast, partly from lack of
Hindustani, mostly from the inherent insular horror of
a function.

"Thank God! that's over," he said piously, when the
last tray had been emptied on the miscellaneous pile,
round which the servants were already hovering expect-
antly, and the last well-wisher had disappeared. " Still
it was nice of them to remember Freddy," he added,
looking at the toys — " Wasn't it, wife? "

She looked up almost scared at the title. " Very," she
replied, with a faint quiver in her voice. " We must
send some home to him, mustn't we? "

The pronoun of union made the Major, in his turn,
feel embarrassed. He sought refuge once more in
Sonny.

"You must have your choice first, jackanapes!" he
said, swinging the child to the ground again. " Which
is it to be? A box of soldiers or a monkey on a stick? "

"Fanks!" replied Sonny with honest dignity, "but
I'se gotted my plesy already. She's give-ded me the
polly — be-tos it 'oves me dearly."

Kate answered her husband's look with a half-
apology. " He means the cockatoo. I thought you
wouldn't mind, because it was so dreadfully noisy. And
it never screams at him. Sonny! give Polly an apple
and show Major Erlton how it loves you."

The child, nothing loth to show off, chose one from
the heap and went over fearlessly to the vicious bird;
the servants pausing to look admiringly. The cockatoo
seized it eagerly, but only as a means to draw the little
fellow's arm within reach of its clambering feet. The
next moment it was on the narrow shoulder dipping and
sidling among the golden curls.

" See how it 'oves me," cried Sonny, his face all
smiles.

Major Erlton laughed good-temperedly at the pretty
sight and went in to breakfast.

Then the dog-cart came round. It was the same one
in which the Major had been used to drive Alice Giss-
ing. But this Christmas morning he had forgotten the

120 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

fact, as he drove Kate instead, with Sonny, who was to
be taken to church as a great treat, crushing the flounces
of her pretty dress.

Yet the fresh wind blew in their faces keenly, and the
Major, pointing with his whip to the scudding squirrels,
said, " Jolly little beasts, aren't they, Kate," just as he
had said it to Alice Gissing. What is more, she replied
that it was jolly altogether, with much the same enjoy-
ment of the mere present as the other little lady had
done. For the larger part of life is normal, common to
all.

So they sped past the rocks and trees swiftly, down
and down, till with a rumble they were on the draw-
bridge, through the massive arch of the Cashmere gate,
into the square of the main-guard. The last clang of
the church bell seemed to come from the trees overhang-
ing it, and in the ensuing silence a sharp click of the
whip sounded like a pistol crack. The mare sped faster
through the wooden gate into the open. To the left the
Court House showed among tall trees, to the right Skin-
ner's House. Straight ahead, down the road to the Cal-
cutta gate and the boat bridge, stood the College, the
telegraph office, a dozen or so of bungalows in gardens,
and the magazine shouldering the old cemetery. Quite
a colony of Western ways and works within the city wall,
clinging to it between the water-bastion and the' Calcutta
gate.

Close at hand in a central plot of garden, circled by
roads, was the church, built after the design of St.
Paul's; obtrusively Occidental, crowned by a very large
cross.

As the mare drew up among the other carriages, the
first notes of the Christmas hymn pealed out among the
roses and the pointsettias, the glare and the green. Not
a Christmas environment; but the festival brings its own
atmosphere with it to most people, and Major Erlton,
admiring his wife's rapt face, remembered his own boy-
hood as he sang a rumbling Gregorian bass of two tones
and a semi-tone:

" Oh come, all ye faithful ! Joyful and triumphant."

ON THE RIDGE. 121

The words echoed confidently into the heart of the
great Mohammedan stronghold, within earshot almost
of the rose-red walls of the palace; that survival of all
the vices Christianity seeks to destroy.

" They have a new service to-night," yawned the
chaplain's groom to others grouped round a common
pipe. " I, who have served padres all my life — the pay is
bad but the kicks less — saw never the like. Tis a queer
tree hung with lights, and toys to bribe the children to
worship it. They wanted mine to go, but their mother
is pious and would not. She says 'tis a spell."

"Doubtless!" assented a voice. "The spell Kali's
priest, who came from Calcutta seeking aid against it,
warned us of — the spell which forces a body to being
Christian against his will."

A scornful cluck came from a younger, smarter man.
" Trra ! a trick that for offerings, Dittu. The priest
came to me also, but I told him my master was not that
sort. He goes not to church except on the big day."

" But the mem? " asked a new speaker enviously.
! Tis the mems do the mischief to please the padres;
just as our women do it to please the priests. My mem
reads prayers to her ayah."

" Paremeshwar be praised!" ejaculated the man to
whom the pipe belonged. " My master keeps no mem,
but the other sort. Though as for the ayah it matters
not, she has no caste to lose."

There was a grunt of general assent. The remark
crystallized the whole question to unmistakable form.
So long as a man could get a pull from his neighbor's
pipe and have a right to one in return, the master might
say and do what he chose. If not; then ?

An evil-faced man who still smarted from a righteous
licking, given him that morning for stealing his horse's
grain, put his view of what would happen in that case
plainly.

" Bullah ! " sneered a bearded Sikh orderly waiting to
carry his master's prayer-book. " You Poorbeahs can
talk glibly of change. And why not? seeing it is but a
change of masters to born slaves. Oil burns to butter!
butter to oil!"

122 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

The evil face scowled. " Thou wilt have to shave
under thy master, anyhow, Gooroo-jee! Ay! and dock
thy pigtail too."

This allusion to a late ruling against the Nazarene cus-
toms of the newly raised Sikh levies might have led to
blows — the bearded one being a born fighter — if, the
short service coming to an end, the masters had not
trooped out, pausing to exchange Christmas greetings
ere they dispersed.

" Never saw Mrs. Erlton looking so pretty," remarked
Captain Seymour to his wife, as, with the restored Sonny
between them, they moved off to their own house, which
stood close by, plumb on the city wall. He spoke in a
low voice, but Major Erlton happened to be within ear-
shot. He turned complacently to identify the speaker,
then looked at his wife to see if the remark was true.
Scarcely; to Herbert Erlton's quickened recollection of
the girl he had married. Yet she looked distinctly
creditable, desirable, as she stood, the center of a little
group of men and women eager to help her with the
Christmas tree. It struck him suddenly, not in the least
unpleasantly, that of late his wife had had no lack of
aids-de-camp, and that one, Captain Morecombe, the
pick of the lot, seemed to have little else to do. A symp-
tom which the Major could explain from his own ex-
perience, and which made him smile; he being of those
who admire women for being admired.

" I have arranged about the conjuror, Mrs. Erlton,"
said Captain Morecombe, who was, indeed, quite ready
to do her behests; " that sweep, Prince Abool-bukr, —
who is coming, by the way, to see the show, — has prom-
ised me the best in the bazaar. And some Bunjarab
fellows who act, and that sort of business."

" Better find out first what they do act," put in young
Mainwaring, who chafed under the superior knowledge
which the Captain claimed as interpreter to the Staff.
" I saw some of those brutes in Lucknow last spring,
and "

" Oh ! there is no fear," retorted the other with a con-
descending smile. " The Prince is no fool, and he is
responsible. It will most likely be something extremely

ON THE RIDGE. 123

instructive. Now, Mrs. Erlton, I will drive you round
to the College and you can show me anything else you
want done. I can drive you home afterward."

" Don't think we need trouble you, thanks, More-
combe," said a voice behind. " I'll drive my wife. I'll
stay as long as you like, Kate; and I can stick things
high up, you know."

There was no appeal in his tone, but Kate, looking up
at his great height, felt one; and with it came a fresh
spasm of that self-reproach. As she had knelt beside
him in church she had been asking herself if she was
not unforgiving; if it was not hard on him.

" That will be a great help," she said soberly.

So Mrs. Seymour, coming in daintily when the hard
work was over to put a Father Christmas on the topmost
shoot, wondered plaintively how she could have man-
aged it without Major Erlton, and put so much soft
admiration into her pretty eyes, that he could scarcely
fail to feel a fine fellow. He was in consequence a
better one for the time being. So that he insisted on re-
turning in the afternoon to hand the tea and cake, when
he made several black-and-tan matrons profusely apolo-
getic and proud at having the finest gentleman there to
wait upon them. For the Major was a very fine animal,
indeed. As Alice Gissing had told him frankly, over and
over again, his looks were his strong point.

The larger portion of the guests were of this black-
and-tan complexion. Of varying shades, however, from
the unmistakably pure-blooded native Christian, to the
pasty-faced baby with all the yellow tones of skin due to
its pretty, languid mother, emphasized by the ruddiness
of the English father who carried it.

They came chiefly from Duryagunj, a quarter of the
city close to the Palace, between the river and the Thunbi
Bazaar. It had once been the artillery lines, and now
its pleasant garden-set houses were occupied by clerks,
contractors, overseers, and such like. Then later on,
for the sports and games, came a contingent of College
lads, speaking English fluently, and younger boys
clinging affrightedly to their father's hand as he smirked
and bowed to the special master for whose favor he had

124 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

perhaps braved bitter tears of opposition from the
women at home. The mission school sent orderly
bands, and there was a ruck of servants' children, who
would have gone to the gates of hell for a gift.

" You will tire yourself to death, Kate"" called her
husband, as, quite in his element, he handicapped the
boys for the races. He spoke in a half-satisfied, half-
dissatisfied tone, for though her success pleased him, he
fancied she looked less dainty, less attractive.

" Come and see the play," suggested Captain More-
combe, who did not seem to notice anything amiss. " It
will be rest, and we needn't light up yet a while."

" I'm going wis zoo," said Sonny confidently, escap-
ing from his ayah as they passed; so, with the child's
hand in hers, Kate went on into the long narrow veranda
which had been inclosed by tent-walls as a theater.
Open to the sunlight at the entrance, it was dark enough
to make a swinging lamp necessary at the further end.
There was no stage, no scenery, only a coarse cotton
cloth with indistinguishable shadows and lights on it
hung over a rope at the very end. The place was nearly
empty. A few native lads squatted in front, a bench or
two held a sprinkling of half-castes, and at the entrance
a group of English ladies and gentlemen waited for the
performance to begin, laughing and talking the while.

" You look quite done," said Captain Morecombe
tenderly, as Kate sank back in the armchair he placed
for her halfway down, where a chink of light and air
came through a slit in the canvas.

" I didn't feel tired before," she replied dreamily. " I
suppose it is the quiet, and the giving in. Tell me about
the play, please," she went on more briskly. " If I don't
know something of the plot before it begins, I shall not
understand."

" I expect you will," he began; but at that moment a
cry for Captain Morecombe arose, and to his infinite
anger he had to go off and interpret for the Colonel and
Prince Abool-Bukr, who had just arrived. Kate, to tell
truth, felt relieved. After the clamor outside, and the
constant appeals to her, the peace within was delightful.
She leaned back, with Sonny in her arms, feeling so dis-

ON- THE RIDGE. 125

posed for sleep that her husband's loud voice coming
through the chink startled her.

" Can't possibly take that into consideration. The
race must be run on the runners' own merits only."

He was only, she knew, laying down the law of handi-
caps to some dissentient; but the words thrilled her.
Poor Herbert! What had his merits been? And then
she wondered how long it had been since she had
thought of him thus by his Christian name, as it were.
Would it be possible

" It's a story of Fate, really," said one of the spec-
tators at the entrance, to the ladies who were with him;
his voice clearly audible in a sudden hush which had
come to the dim veranda that grew dimmer and dimmer
to the end, despite the swinging lamp. " A sort of
miracle play, called ' The Lord of Life, and the Lord of
Death.' Yama and Indra of course. I saw it two days
ago, and one of the actors is the best pantomimist —
That's the man — now."

Kate turned her eyes instinctively to the open space
which was to do duty as a stage. The play had begun;
must have been going on while she was thinking, for a
scene was in full swing. A scene? A misnomer that,
surely! when there was no scenery, nothing but that
strange dim curtain with its indefinite lights and
shadows. Or was there some meaning in the dabs and
splashes after all? Was that a corn merchant's shop?
Yes, there were the gleaming pots, the cavernous
shadows, the piled baskets of flour and turmeric and
pulse, the odd little strings of dried cocoanuts and pipe
cups, the blocks of red rock-salt. And that — she gave
an odd little sigh of certainty — was the corn merchant
himself selling flour, with a weighted balance, to a poor
widow. What magnificent pantomime it was! And
what a relief that it was pantomime; so leaving her
no whit behind anyone in comprehension; but the equal
of all the world, as far as this story was concerned. And
it was unmistakable. She seemed to hear the chink of
money, to see the .juggling with the change, the substi-
tution of inferior flour for that chosen; the whole give
and take of cheating, till the ill-gotten gain was clutched

126 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

tight, and the robbed woman turned away patiently,
unconsciously.

An odd, doubtful murmur rose among the squatting
boys, checked almost as it began; for the shadowy cur-
tain behind wavered, seemed to grow dimmer, to curve
in cloud-like festoons, and then disclosed a sitting
figure.

There was a burst of laughter from the entrance.
" Rum sort of God, isn't he?" came the voice again.
But from the front rose an uneasy whisper. :< Yama!
Sri Yama himself; look at his nose! "

Viewed without reference to either remark, the figure,
if quaint, almost ludicrous, did not lack dignity. There
was impassiveness in the pea-green mask below the
miter-like gilt tiara, and impressiveness in the immova-
bility of the pea-green hands folded on the scarlet
draperies.

" He answers to Charoii, you know," went on the
voice again. " I suppose it means that the buniya-jee
will need all his ill-gotten gain to pay fare to Paradise."

Did it mean that? Kate wondered, as she leaned
back clasping Sonny tighter in her arms, or was it only
to show that Fate lay behind the daily life of every man.
Then what a farce it was to talk of chance ! Yet she had
pleaded for it, till she had gained it. " Let him have his
chance. Let us all have our chance. You and I into
the bargain. You and I ! " What made her think of
that now?

A snigger from the lads in front roused her to a new
scene; a serio-comic dispute, evidently, between a ter-
magant of a mother-in-law and a tearful daughter. Kate
found herself following it closely enough, even smiling
at it, but Sonny shifted restlessly on her knee. " I 'ikes
a funny man," he said plaintively. " Tell a funny man
to come again, Miffis Erlton."

"1 expect he will come soon, dear," she replied, con-
scious of a foolish awe behind her own words. Fate lay
there also, no doubt.

It did, but as the termagant triumphed and the duti-
ful daughter-in-law wept over her baking, the figure

ON THE RIDGE. 127

that showed wore a white mask, the rainbow-hued gar-
ments were hung with flowers, and the white hands
held a parti-colored bow.

The boys nodded and smiled. " Sri Indra himself,"
they said. " Look at his bow! "

"Who is Indra, Mr. Jones?" asked a feminine voice
from behind.

" Lord of Paradise. And that is the whole show. It
goes on and on. Some of the scenes are awfully funny,
but they wouldn't act the funniest ones here. And they
all end with the green or wrhite dummy; so it gets a bit
monotonous. Shall we go and look at the conjurors
now? "

The voices departed; once more to Kate's relief. She
felt that the explanation spoiled the play. And that was
no dummy! She could see the same eyes through the
mask; curious, steady, indifferent eyes. The eyes of a
Fate indifferent as to what mask it wore. So the play
went on and on. Some of the Eurasians slipped away,
but the boys remained ready with awe or rejoicing, while
Kate sat by the chink through which the light came
more and more dimly as the day darkened. She scarcely
noticed the actors; she waited dreamily for the Lord of
Life or the Lord of Death ; for there . was never any
doubt as to which was coming. But the child in her
lap waited indiscriminately for the funny man. The
thought of the contrast struck her, making her smile.
Yet, after all, the difference only lay in the way you
looked at life. There was no possibility of change to it;
the Great Handicap was run on its own merits. And
then, like an unseen hand brushing away the cobwebs
which of late had been obscuring the unalterable facts,
like a wave collapsing her house of sand, came the
memory of words which at the time they were spoken
had made her cry out on their cruelty. " What possible
right have you or I to suppose that anything you or .Lean
do now will alter the initial fact? " If he — that stranger
who had stepped in and laid rude touch on her very soul,
had been the Lord of Life or Death himself, could he have
been more remorseless? And what possessed her that

128 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

she should think of him again and again; that she
should wonder what his verdict would be on those vague
thoughts of compromise?

" Mrs. Erlton! Mrs. Erlton, everything is ready.
Everybody is waiting! I have been hunting for you
everywhere. It never occurred to me you would be here
after all this time. Why, you are almost alone ! " Cap-
tain Morecombe's aggrieved regret was scarcely appeased
by her hurried excuse that she believed she had been half-
asleep. For the Christmas tree was lit to its topmost
branch, the guests admitted, the drawings begun.

Perhaps it was the sudden change from dark to light,
silence to clamor, which gave Kate Erlton the dazed look
with which she came into that circle of radiant faces
where Prince Abool-Bukr was clapping his hands like a
child and thinking, as he generally did when his pleas-
ures could be shared by virtue, of how he would describe
it all to Newasi Begum on her roof. He drew a spotless
white lamb as his gift; Major Erlton its fellow, and the
two men compared notes in sheer laughter, broken Eng-
lish, and shattered Hindustani. And through the fun
and the pulling of crackers, Kate, who recovered herself
rapidly, flitted here and there, arranging, deciding, set-
ting the ball a-rolling. There was a flush on her cheek,
a light in her eyes which forced other eyes to follow her,
even among the packed, prying faces, peeping from every
door and window at the btrange sight, the strange spell.
One pair of eyes in particular, belonging to a slight,
clean-shaven man standing beside two others who carried
bundles in their hands, and who, having come from the
inside veranda, had found space to slip well to the front,
They were the actors in the now forsaken drama of Life
and Death. One of them, however, had evidently seen a
Christmas tree before, since he suddenly called out in the
purest English:

" The top branch on the left has caught! Put it out,
someone! "

The sound seemed to discomfit him utterly. He
looked round him quickly, then realizing that the crowd
was too dense for the voice to be accurately located save
by his immediate neighbors, gave a half apologetic sign

ON- THE RIDGE. 129

to the older of his two companions and slipped away.
They followed obediently, but once outside Tiddu shook
his head at his pupil.

" The Huzoor will never remember to forget. He will
get into trouble some day," he said reproachfully.

" Not if I stick to playing Yama and Indra," replied
Jim Douglas with a shrug of his shoulders. " The Mask
of Fate is apt to be inscrutable." He made the remark
chiefly for his own benefit; for he was thinking of the
strange chance of meeting those cold blue-gray eyes
again in that fashion. Beautiful eyes, brilliant eyes!
Then he smiled cynically. The chance he had given had
evidently borne fruit. She seemed quite happy, and
there was no mistaking the look on her owner's heavy
face. So the heroics had meant nothing, and he had
given up his chance for a vulgar kiss-and-make-it-up-
again !

It was too dark to see that look on Major Erlton's face,
but it was there, as, carrying Kate off with a certain air
of proprietorship from the compliments which had grown
stale, they went to find the dog-cart, which, in deference
to the mare's nerves, had been told to await them in a
quiet corner of the compound.

" You did it splendidly, Kate! "

His voice came contentedly through the soft darkness
which hid the easy arm which slipped to her waist, the
easy smiling face which bent to kiss hers.

"'Oh, don't! Please don't! " The cry, almost a sob,
was unmistakable. So was the start which made her
stumble over an unseen edging to the path. Even Her-
bert Erlton with his blunted delicacy could not misjudge
it. He stood silent for a moment, then gave a short hard
laugh.

" You haven't hurt yourself, I expect," he said dryly,
" so there's no harm done. I'll call that fellow with the
lantern to give us a light."

He did, and the vague shadow preceded by a swinging
light turned out to be young Mainwaring on his pony,
with the groom carrying a lantern.

" Mrs. Erlton," cried the lad, slipping to the ground,
"what luck! The very person I wanted. I was going

130 OAT THE FACE OF THE WATERS,

round by your house on the chance of catching you, as it
was useless trying to get in a quiet word this afternoon.
I want to ask if you know of any houses to let! I had a
letter this morning from Mrs. Gissing asking me to look
out one for her."

" For her? " The echo came in a dull voice. Kate had
scarcely recovered from her own recoil, from a vague
doubt of what she had done.

" Yes! Her husband had to go home on business and
won't be out till May. So, as the new people at Luck-
now seem a poor lot, and she has old friends at

Delhi " A remembrance that some of these old

friendships must be an unwelcome memory to his hearer
made the boy pause. But the man, smarting with resent-
ment, had no such scruples — what was the use of them?

" Coming here, is she?" he echoed. "Then we may
hope to have some fun in this deadly-lively stuck-up
place. I say, Mainwaring, would you mind driving my
wife home and lending me your pony to gallop round to
the mess. I must go there, and as it is getting late there
is no use dragging Mrs. Erlton all that way. And she
has a big Christmas dinner on, haven't you, Kate? "

As the young fellow climbed up into the dog-cart be-
side her, Kate Erlton knew that one chance had gone
irretrievably, irrevocably. Would there be another?
Suddenly in the darkness she clasped her hands tight and
prayed that there might be — that it might come soon!

And round them as they drove slowly to gain the city
gate, the half-seen crowd which had gathered to see the
strange spell were drifting homeward to spread the tale
of it from hearth to hearth.

CHAPTER IV.

IN THE VILLAGE.

THE winter rains had come and gone, leaving a legacy
of gold behind them. Promise of future gold in the
emerald sea of young wheat, guerdon of present gold in
the mustard blossom curving on the green, like the crests

IN THE VILLAGE. 131

of waves curving upon a wind-swept northern sea. Far
and near, wide as the eye could reach, there was nothing
to be seen save this — a waving sea of green wheat crested
by yellow mustard. But in the center, whence the eye
looked, stood a human ant-hill ; for the congeries of mud
alleys, mud walls, mud roofs, forming the village, looked
from a little distance like nothing else. Viewed broadly,
too, it was simply Earth made plastic by the Form-
bringer, Water, hardened again by the Sun-fire. The
triple elements combined into a shell for laboring life.
Like most villages in Northern India this one stood high
on its own ruins, girt round by shallow glistening tanks
which were at once its cradle and its grave. From them
the mud for the first and last house had been dug, to
them the periodical rains of August washed back the
village bit by bit.

There was scarcely a sign of life in the sky-encircled
plain. Scarcely a tree, scarcely a landmark. Nothing
far or near to show that aught lay beyond the pale hori-
zon. The crisp, cold air of a mid-January dawn held
scarcely a sound, for the village was still asleep. Here
and there, maybe, someone was stirring; but with that
deliberate calm which comes to those who by virtue
of early rising have the world to themselves. Here
and there, too, in the high stone inclosures serving at
once as a protection to the village and a cattlefold, some
goat, impatient to be roaming, bleated querulously; but
these sights and sounds only seemed to increase the still-
ness, the silence surrounding them. It is a scene
which to most civilized eyes is oppressive in its self-
centered isolation, its air of remoteness. The isolation
of a community, self-supporting, self-sufficing, the re-
moteness- of a place which cares not if, indeed, there be
a world beyond its boundaries. And this one, type of
many alike in most things — above all, in steadfast self-
absorption — shall be left nameless. We are in the vil-
lage, that is enough.

Suddenly an odd, clamorous wail rang from among
the green corn, and a band of gray cranes which had been
standing knee-deep in the wheat rose awkwardly and
headed, arrow-shaped, for the great Nujjufgurhjheel

I32 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

which they wotted of below the horizon: in this display-
ing a wider outlook than the villagers who toiled and
slept within sight of those fields, while the birds left them
at dawn for the sedgy stretches of another world.

At the sound a man, who had been crouching half-
asleep against a mud wall, rose to his feet and peered
drowsily over the fields. Something, he knew, must have
startled the gray cranes; and he was the village watch-
man. As his father had been before him, as his son, please
God, would be after him. He carried a short spear hung
with jingles as his badge of office, and he leaned upon it
lazily as he looked out into the gray dawn. Then he
wrapped his blanket closer round him, and walked
leisurely to meet the solitary figure coming toward him,
threading its way by an invisible path through the dew-
hung sea of wheat.

" Ari, brother," he called mildly when he reached ear-
shot, "is it well?"

" It is well/' came the answer. So he waited, leaning
on his spear, until the newcomer stood beside him, his
bare legs glistening and the folds of his drooping blanket
frosted with the dew. In one hand he, also, held a watch-
man's spear; in the other one of those unleavened cakes,
round and flat like a pancake, which form the daily bread
alike of rich and poor. This he held out, saying briefly :

" For the elders. From the South to the North.
From the East to the West."

" Wherefore? " The brief reply held vague curiosity;
no more. The cake had already changed hands, un-
challenged.

" God knows. It came to us from Goloowallah with
the message as I gave it. Thy folk will pass it on? "

" Likely; when the day's work is done. How go the
crops thy way? Here, as thou seest, 'tis God's dew on
God's grain."

" With us also. There will be marriages galore this
May." '

"Ay! if this bring naught." The speaker nodded
toward the cake which now lay on the ground between
them, for they had inevitably squatted down to take alter-
nate pulls at a pipe. " What can it bring? "

IN THE VILLAGE. 133

" God knows," replied the host in his turn. So the
two, with that final reference in their minds, sat looking
dully at the chupatti as if it were some strange wild fowl.
Sat silently, as men will do over a pipe, till a clinking of
anklets and a chatter of feminine voices came round the
corner, and the foremost woman of the troop on their
way to the tank drew her veil close swiftly at sight of a
stranger. Yet her voice came as swiftly. " What news,
brother? What news?"

" None for thee, Mother Kirpo," answered the resi-
dent watchman tartly. " Tis for the elders."

The titterings and tossings of veiled heads at this snub
to the worst gossip in the village, ended in an expectant
pause as a very old woman, with a fine-cut face which
had long since forsworn concealment, stepped up to
the watchman, and squatting down beside them, raised
the cake in her wrinkled hands.

" From the North to the South or the South to the
North. From the East to the West or the West to the
East. Which?" she asked, nodding her old head.

" Sure it was so, mother," replied the stranger, sur-
prised. " Dost know aught? "

"Know?" she echoed; "I know 'tis an old tale — an
old tale."

" What is an old tale, mother? " asked the women
eagerly, as, emboldened by the presence of the village
spey-wife, they crowded round, eying the cake curi-
ously.

She gave a scornful laugh, let the chupatti drop, and,
rising to her feet, passed on to the tank. It suited her
profession to be mysterious, and she knew no more than
this, that once, or at most twice in her long life, such a
token had come peacefully into the village, and passed
out of it as peacefully with its message.

" Mai Dhunnoo knows something, for sure," com-
mented a deep-bosomed mother of sons as the troop
followed their " chaperone's " lead, closer serried than
before, full of whispering surmise. "The gods send it
mean not smallpox. I will give curds and sugar to thee,
Mata jee, each Friday for a year! I swear it for safety
to the boys."

134 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" He slipped in a puddle and cried ' Hail to the
Ganges/ " retorted her neighbor, an ill-looking woman
blind of one eye. She had been the richest heiress in
the village, and was in consequence the wife of the hand-
somest young man in it; a childless wife into the bar-
gain. " Boys do not fill the world, Veru; not even thine!
Their welfare will not set tokens a-going. It needs some
real misfortune for that."

" Then thy life is safe for sure," began the other hotly,
when a peacemaker intervened.

" Wrangle not, sisters ! All are naked when their
clothes are gone; and the warning may be for us all.
Mayhap the Toorks are coming once more — Mai
Dhunnoo said 'twas an old tale. God send we be not all
reft from our husbands."

" That would I never be," protested the heiress, pro-
voking uproarious titterings among some girls.

" No such luck for poor Ramo," whispered one.
" And she sonless too! "

" He shaved for the heat, and then the hail fell on his
bald pate," quoted the prettiest callously. " Serve him
right, say I. He, at least, had two eyes."

The burst of laughter following this sally made the
peacemaker, who, as the wife of the headman, had
authority, turn in rebuke. 'Twas no laughing matter to
Jatnis, as they were, who did so much of the field work,
that a token, maybe of ill, should come to the village
when the harvest promised so well. The revenue had to
be paid, smallpox or no smallpox, Toork or no Toork.
And was not one of the Huzoors in camp already giving
an eye to the look of the crops, and the other to the
shooting of wild things? Could they not hear the sound
of his gun for themselves if they listened instead of chat-
tering? And truly enough, in the pause which came to
mirth, there echoed from the pale northern horizon, be-
yond which lay the big jheels, a shot or two, faint and
far; for all that dealing death to some of God's creatures.
And these listeners dealt death to none; their faith for-
bade it.

" Think you they will come our way and kill our deer
as they did once?" asked a slender slip of a girl anx-

IN THE VILLAGE. 135

iously. Her tame fawn had lately taken to joining the
wild ones when they came at dawn to feed upon the
wheat.

" God knows," replied one beside her. " They will
come if they like, and kill if they like. Are they not the
masters? "

So the final reference was in the women's minds also,
as, while the muddy water strained slowly into their pots
through a filtering corner of their veils, they raised their
eyes curiously, doubtfully, to the horizon which held the
master. It had held him always. To the north or to
the south, the east or the west. Mohammedan, Mah-
ratta, Christian. But always coming over the far
horizon and slaying something. In old days husbands,
brothers, fathers. Nowadays the herds of deer which
the sacredness of life allowed to have their full of the
wheat unchecked, or the peacocks who spread their tails,
securely vainglorious, on the heaps of corn upon the
threshing floors.

So the unleavened cake stayed in the village all day
long, and when the slant shadows brought leisure, the
headman's wife baked two cakes, one for the north the
other for the west, and Dittu the old watchman, and
the embryo watchman his son, set off with them to the
next village west and north, since that was the old cus-
tom. So much must be done because their fathers had
done it; for the rest, who could tell?

Nevertheless, as the messengers passed through the
village street where the women sat spinning, many paused
to look after them, with a vague relief that the unknown,
unsought, had gone out of their life. Then the moon
rose peacefully, and one by one the sights and sounds of
that life ceased. The latest of all was the hum of a mill
in one of the poorest houses, and a snatch of a harvest-
song in murmuring accompaniment:

" When the sickle meets the corn,
From their meeting joy is born ;
When the sickle smites the wheat,
Care is conquered, sorrow beat."

" Have a care, sister, have a care ! " came that rebuk-
ing voice from the headman's house close by. " Wouldst

136 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

bring ill-luck on us all, that grinding but millet thou
singest the song of wheat? "

And thereinafter there was no song at all, and sleep
settled on all things peacefully. The token had come
and gone, leaving the mud shell and the laboring life
within it as it had been before. Curiously impassive,
impassively curious. There was one more portent in the
sky, one more mist on the dim horizon. That was all.

So through the dew-hung fields the mysterious mes-
sage sped west and south.

Sent by whom? And wherefore?

The question was being asked by the masters in desul-
tory fashion as they sat round a bonfire, which blazed in
the center of the Resident's camp, on the banks of the
great jheel. It was a shooting camp, a standing camp,
lavish in comfort. The white tents were ranged symmet-
rically on three sides of a square, and, in the moonlight,
shone almost as brightly as the long levels of water
stretching away on the fourth side to the sedgy brakes and
isolated palms of the snipe marshes. Behind rose a heavy
mass of burnished foliage, and in front of the big mess-
tent the English flag drooped from its mast in the still
night air. Nearer the jheel again the bonfire flashed and
crackled, sending a column of smoke and sparks into the
star-set sky. The ground about it was spread with
carpets and Persian rugs, and here, in luxurious arm-
chairs, the comfortably-tired sportsmen were lounging
after dinner, some of them in mess uniform, some in
civilian black, but all in decorous dress; for not only
was the Brigadier present, but also a small sprinkling of
ladies wrapped in fur cloaks above their evening fineries.
Briefly, a company more suitable to the foyer of a theater
than this barbaric bonfire. But the whole camp, with its
endless luxury, stood out in keen contrast with the sor-
did savagery of a wretched hamlet which lay half-hidden
behind the trees.

The contrast struck Jim Douglas, who for that even-
ing only, happened to be the Resident's guest; for, hav-
ing been on the jheel in a very different sort of camp
when the Resident had invaded his solitude, the usual
invitation to dine had followed as a matter of course; as

IN THE VILLAGE. 137

it would have followed to any white face with pretensions
to be considered a gentleman's. He had accepted it, be-
cause, every now and again, a desire " to chuck " as he
expressed it, and go back to the ordinary life of his class
came over him. This mood had been on him per-
sistently ever since the Yama and Indra incident, so that,
for the time being, he had dismissed his scoundrels and
given up spying in disgust. He had, he told himself,
wasted his time, and the military magnate was justified
in politely dispensing with his further services. There
was, in truth, no need for them so far as he could see.
There was plenty of talk, plenty of discontent, but noth-
ing more. And even that anyone could observe and
gauge; for there was no mystery, no concealment. The
whole affair was invertebrate utterly, except every now
and again when you came upon the track of the Moulvie
of Fyzabad. It was conceivable that the aspect might
change, but for the present he was sick of the whole
thing, ambition and all. Horse-dealing was better. So
he had established himself in a small house in Duryagunj,
started a stable, and then taken a holiday in a shooting
pal among the j heels and jungles, where in his younger
days he had spent so much of his time.

Thus, after eating a first-class dinner, he was smoking
a first-class cigar, and, being a stranger to everyone
there, thinking his own thoughts, when the Resident's
voice came from the other side of the fire which, with its
dancing flame-light distorting every feature in myriad
variation, disguised rather than revealed the faces seen
by it.

. " You have bagged one or two in your district, haven't
you, Ford?"

" What, sir? Bustard? " inquired the Collector of the
next district, who had come over his border for a day or
two's shoot, and who had been engrossed in sporting
talk with his neighbor. There was a laugh from the
other side of the fire.

" No ! these clmpatties. The Brigadier was asking me
if they were as numerous as they are further south, and
Fraser, here, said none had come into the Delhi district
as yet."

I38 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" One came to-day into the hamlet behind the tents,"
said Jim Douglas quietly. " I met the man bringing it.
A watchman from over the border in Mr. Ford's district."

Half a dozen faces turned to the voice which spoke so
confidently, and then asked in whispers who the man
was? But there was nothing in the whispered replies to
warrant that tone of imparting information to others,
and a man in black clothes seemed to resent it, for he
appealed to the Resident rather fulsomely.

" It will be in the reports to-morrow, no doubt, sir.
For myself I attach no importance to it. The custom is
an old one. I remember observing it in Muttra when
smallpox was bad. But I should like to have your
opinion. You ought to know if anyone does."

The compliment was no idle flattery. None had a
better right to it than Sir Theophilus Metcalfe, whose
illustrious name had been a power in Delhi for two
generations, and whose uncle had been one of India's
most distinguished statesmen. So there was a hush for
his reply.

" I can't say," he answered deliberately. " Personally
I doubt the dissatisfaction ever coming to a head. There
is a good deal, of course, but of late, so it has seemed to
me, it is quieting down. People are getting tired of fer-
menting. As for the causes of the disaffection it is
patent. We can't, simply, do the work we are doing
without making enemies of those whose vested interests
we have to destroy. We may have gone ahead a little
too fast; but that is another question. As for the army,
I've no right to speak of it, but it seems to me it has been
allowed to get out of hand, out of touch. It will need
care to bring it into discipline, but I don't anticipate
trouble. Its mixed character is our safeguard. It would
be hard for even a good leader to hit on a general griev-
ance which would to'uch both the army and the civil
population, Hindoos and Mohammedans — and as a
matter of fact they have no leader at all."

" Have you ever come across the Moulvie of Fyzabad,
sir? " remarked Jim Douglas again. " If I had the
power I would shoot him like a mad dog. But for the
rest I quite agree."

IN THE VILLAGE. 139

Here a stir behind them distracted both his attention
and the attention of those who were listening to this
authoritative voice with bated breath.

" Is that the post? Oh, how delightful!" chorused
the ladies, and more than one added plaintively, " I won-
der if the English mail is in."

" Let's bet on it. Sir Theophilus to hold the stakes,"
cried a young fellow who had been yawning through
the discussion. But the subject was too serious for such
light handling, to judge by the eager faces which
crowded round, while the red-coated chuprassies poured
the contents of the bags into a heap on the carpet at their
master's feet. There is always a suspense about that
moment of search among the bundles of official cor-
respondence, the files, the cases which fill up the camp
mail, for the thin packet of private letters which is the
only tie between you and the world; but when hopes of
home news is superadded, the breath is apt to come
faster. And so a scene, trivial in itself, points an inex-
orable finger to the broad fact underlying all our Indian
administration, that we are strangers and exiles.

" Not in ! " announced the Resident, studiously cheer-
ful. " But there are heaps of letters for everybody.
Did the mem-sahib come in the carriage, Gamu?" he
added as he sorted out the owners.

" Huzoor! " replied the head orderly, who was also his
master's factotum, thrusting the remainder back in the
bags. " And the Major sahib also. According to
order, refreshments are being offered."

" Glad Erlton could come," remarked a voice to its
neighbor. " We want another good shot badly."

" And Mrs. Gissing is awfully good company too,"
assented the neighbor. Jim Douglas, who was sitting on
the other side, looked up quickly. The juxtaposition of
the names surprised him after what he had seen, or
thought he had seen at Christmas time.

" Is that Mrs. Gissing from Lucknow? " he asked.

" I believe so. She is a stranger here. Seems
awfully jolly, but the women don't like her. Do you
know anything of her? "

Jim Douglas hesitated. He could have easily satisfied

140 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the ear evidently agog for scandal; but what, after all,
did he know of her? What did he know of his own
experience? It seemed to him as if she stood there, de-
fiantly dignified, asking him the question, her china-blue
eyes flashing, the childish face set and stern.

" Personally I know little," he replied, " but that little
is very much to her credit."

As he relapsed into silence and smoke he felt that she
had once more walked boldly into his consciousness and
claimed recognition. She had forced him to acknowl-
edge something in her which corresponded with some-
thing in him. Something unexpected. If Kate Erltorfs
eyes with their cold glint in them had flashed like that,
\J he would not have wondered; but they had not. They
had done just the reverse. They had softened; they had
only looked heroic. Underneath the glint which had
sent him on a wild-goose chase had lain that common-
place indefinable womanhood, sweet enough, but a bit
sickly, which could be in any woman's eyes if you fancied
yourself in love with her. It had lain in the eyes belong-
ing to the golden curl, in poor little Zora's eyes, might
conceivably lie in half a dozen others.

" By George ! " came an eager voice from the group
of men who were reading their letters by the light of a
lamp held for the purpose by a silent bronze image of a
man in uniform. " I have some news here which will
interest you, sir. There has been a row at Dum-Dum
about the new Enfield cartridges."

"Eh! what's that?" asked the Brigadier, looking up
from his own correspondence. " Nothing serious, I
hope."

" Not yet, but it seems curious by the light of what we
were discussing, and what Mr. — er — Capt "

" Douglas," suggested the owner of the name, who at
the first words had sat up to listen intently. His face
had a certain anticipation in it; almost an eagerness.

" Thanks. It's a letter from the musketry depot.
Shall I read it, sir? "

The Brigadier nodded, one or two men looked up to
listen, but most went on with their letters or discussed
the chances of slaughter for the morrow.

IN THE VILLAGE. 141

" There is a most unpleasant feeling abroad respecting
these new cartridges, which came to light a day or two
ago in consequence of a high-caste sepoy refusing to let
a lower caste workman drink out of his cup. The man
retorted that as the cartridges being made in the Arsenal
were smeared with pig's grease and cow's fat there would
soon be no caste left in the army. The sepoy com-
plained, and it came out that this idea is already widely
spread. Wright denied the fact flatly at first, but found
out that large quantities of beef-tallow had been in-
dented for by the Ordnance. And that, of course, made
the men think he had lied about it. Bontein, the chief,
has wisely suggested altering the drill, since the men say
they will not bite the cartridges. If they do, their rela-
tions won't eat with them when they go home on leave.
You see, with this new rifle it is not really necessary to
bite the cartridge at all, so it would be a quite natural
alteration, and get us out of the difficulty without giving
in. The suggestion has been forwarded, and if it could be
settled sharp would smother the business; but what with

duffers and " The reader broke off, and a faint smile

showed even on the Brigadier's face as the former
skipped hurriedly to find something safer — " Old Gen-
eral Hearsey, who knows the natives like a book, says
there is trouble in it. He declares that the Moulvie of
Fyzabad — whoever that may be "

The faces looked at Jim Douglas curiously, but he was
too eager to notice it.

" Is at the bottom of the chupatties we hear are being
sent round up-country ; but that he is in league also with
the Brahmins in Calcutta — especially the priests at Kali's
shrine — over suttee and widow re-marriage and all that.
However, all I know is that both Hindoos and Moham-
medans in my classes are in a blue funk about the
cartridges, and swear even their wives won't live with
them if they touch them."

''' The common grievance," said Jim Douglas, in the
silence that ensued. " It alters the whole aspect of
affairs."

" Prepare to receive cavalry ! " yawned the man who
had suggested betting on the chance of the home-mail.

142 OJ\T THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

What was the use of a week's leave on the best snipe
jheel about, if it was to be spent in talking shop?

"No!" cried the man in black, not unwilling to
change the subject of which he had not yet official cogni-
zance. " Prepare to receive ladies. There is Mrs.
Gissing, looking as fresh as paint! "

She looked fresh, indeed, as she came forward; her
curly hair, rough when fashionable heads were smooth,
glistening in the firelight, the fluffy swansdown on her
long coat framing her childish face softly. Behind her,
heavy, handsome, came Major Erlton with the half-
sheepish air men assume when they are following a
woman's lead.

" Here I am at last, Sir Theophilus," she began, in a
gay artificial voice as she passed Jim Douglas, who stood
up, pushing his chair aside to give more room. " I'm so
glad Major Erlton managed to get leave. I'm such a
coward! I should have died of fright all by myself in
that long, lonely "

" Keep still ! " interrupted a peremptory voice behind
her, as a pair of swift unceremonious arms seized her
round the waist, and by sheer force dragged her back a
step, then held her tight-clasped to something that beat
fast despite the calm tone. " Kill that snake, someone!
There, right at her feet! It isn't a branch. I saw it
move. Don't stir, Mrs. Gissing, it's all right."

It might be, but the heart she felt beat hard; and the
one beneath his hand gave a bound and then seemed to
stand still, as the sticks and staves, hastily caught up,
smote furiously on her very dress, so close did certain
death lie to her. There was a faint scent of lavender
about that dress, about her curly hair, which Jim Doug-
las never forgot; just as he never forgot the passionate
admiration which made his hands relax to an infinite
tenderness, when she uttered no cry, no sound; when
there was no need to hold her, so still did she stand, so
absolutely in unison with the defiance of Fate which
kept him steady as a rock. Surely no one in all his life,
he thought, had ever stood so close to him, yet so
far off!

" God bless my soul! My dear lady, what an escape! "

IN THE VILLAGE. 143

The hurried faltering exclamation from a bystander her-
alded the holding up of a long limp rope of a thing hang-
ing helplessly over a stick. It was the signal for a
perfect babel. Many had seen the brute, but had thought
it a branch, others had similar experiences of drowsy
snakes scorched out of winter quarters in some hollow
log, and all crowded round Mrs. Gissing, loud in praise
of her coolness. Only she turned quickly to see who
had held her; and found Major Erlton.

"The brute hasn't touched you, has he?" he began
huskily, then broke into almost a sob of relief, " My
God ! what an escape ! "

She glanced at him with the faint distaste which any
expression of strong emotion showed toward her by a
man always provoked, and gave one of her high irrele-
vant laughs.

" Is it? I may die a worse death. But I want him —
where is he? "

" Slipped away from your gratitude, I expect," said the
Collector. " But I'll betray him. It was the man who
knew about the chupatties, Sir Theophilus; I don't know
his name."

" Douglas," said the host. " He is in camp a mile or
two down the jheel. I expect he has gone back. He
seemed a nice fellow."

Mrs. Gissing made a moue. " I would not have been
so grateful as all that ! I would only have said ' Bravo '
to him."

Her own phrase seemed to startle her, she broke off
with a sudden wistful look in her wide blue eyes.

" My dear Mrs. Gissing, have a glass of wine ; you
must indeed," fussed the Brigadier. But the little lady
set the suggestion aside.

"Douglas!" she repeated. "I wonder where he
comes from? Does anyone know a Douglas? "

" James Sholto Douglas," corrected the host. " It's
a good name."

" And I knew a good fellow of that name once ; but he
went under," said an older man.

" About what? " Alice Gissing's eyes challenged the
speaker, who stood close to her.

144 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" About a woman, my dear lady."

" Poor dear! Erlton, you must fetch him over to see
me to-morrow morning." She said it with infinite
verve, and her hearers laughed.

" Him! " retorted someone. " How do you know it's
the same man? "

She nodded her head gayly. " I've a fancy it is. And
I am bound to be nice to him anyhow."

She had not the chance, however. Major Erlton, rid-
ing over before breakfast to catch him, found nothing
but the square-shaped furrow surrounding a dry vacant
spot which shows where a tent has been.

For Jim Douglas was already on his way back to
Delhi, on his way back to more than Delhi if he suc-
ceeded in carrying out a plan which had suggested itself
to him when he heard of General Hearsey's belief that
the priests conducting the agitation against widow re-
marriage and the abolition of suttee were leagued with
the Mohammedan revival. Tara, the would-be saint,
was still in Delhi. He had not sought her out before,
being in truth angry with the woman's duplicity, and not
wanting to run the risk of her chattering about him.
Now, as he had said, the whole position was changed.
He had no common hold upon her, and might through
her get some useful hints as to the leading men in the
movement. She must have seen them when the miracle
took place at Benares. The thought made him smile
rather savagely. Decidedly she would not care to defy
his tongue; from saint to sinner would be too great a
fall.

So at dusk that very evening he was back in his mendi-
cant's disguise, begging at a doorway in one of the
oldest parts of Delhi. An insignificant doorway in an
insignificant alley. But there was a faded wreath of
yellow marigolds over the architrave, a deeper hollow in
the stone threshold; sure signs, both, that something to
attract worshiping feet lay within. Yet at first sight the
court into which you entered, after a brief passage barred
by blank wall, was much as other courts. It was set
round with high irregular houses, perfect rabbit-warrens
of tiny rooms, slips of roof, and stairs; all conglomerate,

IN THE VILLAGE. 145

yet distinct. Some reached from within, some from
without, some from neighboring roofs, and some, Heaven
knows how! possibly by wings, after the fashion of the
purple pigeons cooing and sidling on the purple brick
cornices. In one corner, however, stood a huge peepul-
tree, and partly shaded by this, partly attached to an
arcaded building of two stories, was a small, squalid-
looking, black stone Hindoo temple. It was not more
than ten feet square, triply recessed at each corner, and
with a pointed spire continuing the recesses of the base.
A sort of hollow monolith raised on a plinth of three
steps. In its dark windowless sanctuary, open to the
outside world by a single arch, stood a polished black
stone, resting on a polished black stone cup, like a large
acorn. For this was the oldest Shivala in Delhi, and in
the rabbit-warrens surrounding this survival of Baal
worship lived and lodged yogis, beggars, saints, half the
insanity and sacerdotalism of Delhi. It was not a place
into which to venture rashly. So Jim Douglas sat at the
gate begging while the clashings and brayings and drum-
ings echoed out into the alley. For the seven fold
circling of the Lamps was going on, and if Tara did not
pass to this evening service from outside, she most likely
lived within; that she lodged near the temple he knew.

So as he sat waiting, watching, the light faded, the
faint smell of incense grew fainter, the stream of wor-
shipers coming to take the holy water in which the god
had been washed slackened. Then by twos and threes
the Brahmins and yogis — the Dean and Chapter, as it
were — passed out clinking half-pennies, and carrying
the offertory in kind, tied up in handkerchiefs.

The service was over, and Tara must therefore live in
a lodging reached from within. And now, when the
coast was clearing, he might still have opportunity of
tracing her. So he rose and walked in boldly, disap-
pointed to find the courtyard was almost empty already.
There were only a few stragglers, mostly women, and
they in the white shroud of widows; but even in the
gloom and shadow he could see the tall figure he sought
was not among them, and he was about to slip away
when, following their looks, he caught sight of another

146 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

figure crouching on the topmost step of the plinth, right
in front of the sanctuary door, so that it stood faintly
outlined against the glimmer of the single cresset, which,
raised on the heap of half-dead flowers within, showed
them and nothing more — nothing but the shadows.

He drew back hastily into the empty arcade, and
waited for the widows' lingering bare feet — scarcely
heard even on those echoing stones — to pass out and
leave him and Tara alone. For it was Tara. That he
knew though her face was turned from him.

The feet lingered on, making him fear lest some of the
mendicants who must lodge in these arcades should re-
turn, after almsgiving time, and find him there. And
as they lingered he thought how he had best make him-
self known to the devotee, the saint. It must be some-
thing dramatic, something to tie her tongue at once,
something to bring home to her his hold upon her. The
locket! He slipped it from his neck and stood ready.
Then, as the last flutter of white disappeared, he stepped
noiselessly across the court.

And so, suddenly, between the rapt face and the dim
light on which its eyes were fixed, hung a dangling gold
oval, and the Englishman, bending over the woman's
shoulder from behind, could see the amaze flash to the
face. And his other hand was ready with the^clutch of
command, his tongue with a swift threat; but she was too
quick for him. She was round at his feet in an instant,
clasping them.

"Master! Master!"

Jim Douglas recoiled from that touch once more; but
with a half-shamed surprise, regret, almost remorse. He
had meant to threaten this woman, and now

She was up again, eager, excited. " Quick! The
Huzoor is not safe here. They may return any moment.
Quick! Quick! Huzoor, follow me."

And as, blindly, he obeyed, passing rapidly through a
low doorway and so up a dark staircase, he slipped the
locket back to its place with a sort of groan. Here was
another woman to be reckoned with, and though the dis-
covery suited his purpose, and though he knew himself
to be as safe as her woman's wit could make him, he

IN THE RESIDENCY. 147

wondered irritably if there was anything in the world
into which this eternal question of sex did not intrude.
And then, suddenly, he seemed to feel Alice Gissing's
heart beat beneath his hand; there had been no woman-
hood in that touch.

So he passed on. And next morning he was on his
way southward. Tara had told him what he wanted to
know.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE RESIDENCY.

" STRAWBERRIES! Oh, how delightful! "

Kate Erlton looked with real emotion at a plate of
strawberries and cream which Captain Morecombe had
just handed to her. " They are the first I have ever seen
in India," she went on in almost pathetic explanation of
her apparent greed. " Where could Sir Theophilus have
got them? "

" Meerut," replied her cavalier with a kindly smile.
" They grow up-country. But they put one in mind of
home, don't they?" He turned away, almost em-
barrassed, from the look in her eyes; and added, as if to
change the subject, " The Resident does it splendidly,
does not he? "

There could be no two opinions as to that. The park-
like grounds were kept like an English garden, the house
was crammed from floor to ceiling with works of art,
the broad verandas were full of rare plants, and really
valuable statuary. That toward the river, on the brink
of which Metcalfe House stood, gave on a balustraded
terrace which was in reality the roof of a lower story
excavated, for the sake of coolness, in the bank itself.
Here, among others, was the billiard room, from the bal-
cony of which you could see along the curved stone
embankment of the river to the Koodsia garden, which
lay between Metcalfe Park and the rose-red wall of the
city. It was an old pleasure-ground of the Moghuls,
and a ruined palace, half-hidden in creepers, half lost in

148 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

sheer luxuriance of blossom, still stood in its wilderness
of forest trees and scented shrubs; a very different style
of garden from that over which Kate Erlton looked, as it
undulated away in lawns and drives between the Ridge
and the river.

" Yes! " she said, " it always reminds me of England;
but for that — She pointed to the dome of a Moham-

medan tomb which curved boldly into the blue sky close
to the house.

" Yet that is the original owner," replied her com-
panion. " There is rather an odd story about that tomb,
Mrs. Erlton. It is the burial place of the great Akhbar's
foster-brother. Most likely he was a cowherd by caste,
for their women often go out as nurses, and the land
about here all belonged to these Goojers, as they are
called. But when we occupied Delhi, a civilian — one
Blake — fancied the tomb as a house, added to it, and
removed the good gentleman's grave-stone to make room
for his dining-table — a hospitable man, no doubt, as the
Resident is now. But the Goojers objected, appealed to
the Government agent. In vain. Curiously enough
both those men were, shortly afterward, assassinated."

" You don't mean to connect " began Kate in a

tone of remonstrance.

Captain Morecombe laughed. " In India, Mrs.
Erlton, it is foolish to try and settle which comes first, the
owl or the egg. You can't differentiate cause and effect
when both are incomprehensible. But if I were Resident
I should insure myself and my house against the act of
God and the Queen's enemies."

" But this house? " she protested.

" Is built on the site of a Goojer village, and they were
most unwilling to sell. One could hardly believe it now,
could one? Come and see the river terrace. It is the
prettiest place in Delhi at this time of the year."

He was right; for the last days of March, the first ones
of April are the crown and glory of a Northern Indian
garden. Perhaps because there is already that faint hint
of decay which makes beauty more precious. Another
short week and the flower-lover going the evening round
will find many a sun-weary head in the garden. But on

IN THE RESIDENCY. 149

this glorious afternoon,* when the Resident was entertain-
ing Delhi in right residential fashion, there was not a
leaf out of place, a blade of grass untrimmed. Long
lines of English annuals in pots bordered the broad
walks evenly, the scentless gardenia festooned the rows
of cypress in disciplined freedom, the roses had not a
fallen petal, though the palms swept their long fringes
above them boldly, and strange perfumed creepers leaped
to the branches of the forest trees. In one glade, beside
an artificial lake, some ladies in gay dresses were com-
peting for an archery prize. On a brick dais close to the
house the band of a native regiment was playing national
airs, and beside it stood a gorgeous marquee of Cashmere
shawls with silver poles and Persian carpets; the whole
stock and block having belonged to some potentate or
another, dead, banished, or annexed. Here those who
wished for it found rest in English chairs or Oriental
divans; and here, contrasting with their host and his
friends, harmonizing with the Cashmere shawl marquee,
stood a group of guests from the palace. A perfect bevy
of princes, suave, watchful, ready at the slightest
encouragement to crowd round the Resident, or the
Commissioner, or the Brigadier, with noiseless white-
stockinged feet. Equally ready to relapse into stolid
indifference when unnoticed. Here was Mirza Moghul,
the King's eldest son, and his two supporters, all with
lynx eyes for a sign, a hint, of favor or disfavor. And
here — a sulky, sickly looking lad of eighteen — was Jewun
Bukht, Zeenut Maihl's darling, dressed gorgeously and
blazing with jewels which left no doubt as to who would
be the heir-apparent if she had her way. Prince Abool-
Bukr, however, scented, effeminate, watched the proceed-
ings with bright eyes; giving the ladies unabashed
admiration and after a time actually strolling away to listen
to the music. Finally, however, drifting to the stables to
gamble with the grooms over a quail fight. Then there
were lesser lights. Ahsan-Oolah the physician, his lean
plausible face and thin white beard suiting his black
gown and skull-cap, discussed the system of Greek
medicine with the Scotch surgeon, whose fluent, trench-
ant Hindustani had an Aberdonian twang. Then there^

15° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

was Elahi Buksh, whose daughter was widow of the late
heir-apparent; a wily man, dogging the Resident's steps
. with persistent adulation, and watched uneasily by all the
other factions. A few rich bankers curiously obsequious
to the youngest ensign, and one or two pensioners owing
their invitations to loyal service, made up the company,
which kept to the Persian carpets so as to avoid the
necessity for slipping on and off the shoes which lay in
rows under Gamu the orderly's care, and the consequent
necessity for continual fees. For Gamu piled up the
shekels until his master, after the mutiny, had reluctantly
to hang him for extorting blood-, as well as shoe-money.

They were a curious company, these palace guests,
aliens in their own country, speaking to none save high
officials, caring to speak to none, and waiting wittf HP*
concealed yawns for the blunt dismissal or the cere-
monious leave-taking after a decent space of boredom
due to their rank.

" I wonder they come," said Mrs. Erlton, passing on
rapidly to escape from the loud remarks of two of her
countrywomen who were discussing Jewun Bukht's
jewels as if the wearer, standing within a yard of them,
was a lay figure: as indeed he was to them.

" Why does anyone come? " asked Captain More-
combe airily, as he followed her across the terrace, and,
leaning over the balustrade, looked down at the sand-
banks and streams below. " So far as I am concerned,"
he went on, " the reason is palpable. I came because I
knew you would be here, and I like to see my friends."

He was in reality watching her to see how she received
the remark, and something in her face made him con-
tinue casually. " And there, I should say, are some
other people who have similar excuse for temporary
aberration." He pointed to the figures of a man and
woman who were strolling toward the Koodsia along a
narrow path which curved below the embanking wall,
and his sentence ended abruptly. He turned hastily to
lean his back on the parapet and look parkward, adding
lightly, " And there are two more, and two more ! In
fact most people really come to see other people."

But Kate Erlton was proud. She would have no eva-

IN THE RESIDENCY. 151

sion, and the past three months since Christmas Day had
forced her to accept facts.

" It is my husband and Mrs. Gissing," she said, look-
ing toward the strolling figures. " I suppose he is see-
ing her home. I heard her say not long ago she was
tired. She hasn't been looking strong lately."

The indifference, being slightly overdone, annoyed
her companion. No man likes having the door slammed
in his sympathetic face. " She is looking extremely
pretty, though,' he replied coolly. " It softens her some-
how. Don't you agree with me?"

There was a pause ere Kate Erlton replied; and then
her eyes had found the far horizon instead of those lessen-
ing figures.

" I do. I think she looks a better woman than she
did — somehow." She spoke half to herself with a sort
of dull wonder in her voice. But the keenness of his,
shown in his look at her, roused her reserve instantly.
To change the subject would be futile; she had gone too
far to make that possible if he wished otherwise, without
that palpable refusal which would in itself be confession.
So she asked him promptly if he would mind bringing
her a glass of iced water, cup, anything, since she was
thirsty after the strawberries; and when he went off re-
luctantly, took her retreat leaning over the balustrade,
looking out to. the eastern plains beyond the river; to
that far horizon which in its level edge looked as if all or
nothing might lie behind it. A new world, or a great
gulf! '

Three months ! Three months since she had given up
that chance, such as it was, on Christmas Day. And
now her husband was honestly, truly in love with Alice
Gissing. Would he have been as honestly, as truly in
love with her if — if she could have forgotten? Had this
really been his chance, and hers? Had it come, some-
how? She did not attempt to deny facts; she was too
proud for that. It seemed incredible, almost impossible;
but this was no Lucknow flirtation, no mere sensual
liaison on her husband's part. He was in love. The
love which she called real love, which, given to her,
would, she admitted, have raised her life above the mere

15 2 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

compromise from which she had shrunk. But he had
never given it to her. Never. Not even in those first
days. And now, if that chance had gone, what re-
mained? What disgrace might not the future hold for
her boy's father with a man like Mr. Gissing, in a coun-
try where the stealing of a man's wife from him was a
criminal offense? Thank Heaven! Herbert was too
selfish to risk — she turned and fled, as it were, from that
cause for gratitude to find refuge in the certainty that
Alice Gissing, at least, would not lose her head. But the
chance! the chance was gone.

" Miffes Erlton," came a little silvery voice behind her.
"Oh, Miffes Erlton! He's giv-ded me suts a boo'ful
birdie."

It was Sonny clasping a quail in both dimpled hands.
His bearer was salaaming in rather a deprecatory man-
ner, and a few paces off, strolling back from the stables
with a couple of young bloods like himself, was Prince
Abool-Bukr. All three with a furtive eye for Kate Erl-
ton's face and figure.

" He giv-ded it to me be-tos it tumbied down, and
everybody laughed," went on Sonny confidently. " And
so I is do-ing to comfit birdie, and 'ove it."

" Sonny," exclaimed Kate, suddenly aghast, " what's
that on your frock — down your arm? "

It was blood. Red, fresh-spilled blood! She was on
her knees beside him in instant coaxing, comforting, un-
clasping his hands to see where they were hurt. The bird
fell from them fluttering feebly, leaving them all scarlet-
stained with its heart's blood, making Sonny shriek at
the sight, and hi4e face and hands in her muslin skirts.
She stood up again, her cheeks ablaze with anger, and
turned on the servant.

" How dare you ! How dare you give it to the chota-
sahib ? How dare you ! "

The man muttered something in broken English and
Hindustani about a quail fight, and not knowing the bird
was dying when the Mirza gave it; accompanying his
excuses with glances of appeal to Prince Abool-Bukr,
who, at Sonny's outburst, had paused close by. Kate's
eyes, following the bearer's, met those bright, dark, cruel

IN THE RESIDENCY. 153

ones, and her wrath blazed out again. Her Hindustani,
however, being unequal to a lecture on cruelty to ani-
mals, she had to be content with looks. The Prince re-
turned them with an indifferent smile for a moment, then
with a half-impatient shrug of his shoulders, he stepped
forward, lifted the dying quail gingerly between finger
and thumb, and flung it over the parapet into the river.

"Ab khutm piydree hissulli rukhiye! " (Now is it fin-
ished, dear one; take comfort!) he said consolingly,
looking at Sonny's golden curls. The liquid Urdu was
sheer gibberish to the woman, but the child turning his
head half-doubtfully, half-reassured, Abool-Bukr's face
softened instantly.

"Mujhe miiaaf. Murna sub ke hnkk hai " (Excuse me.
Death is the right of all), he said with a graceful salaam
as he passed on.

So the water Captain Morecombe brought back was
used for a different purpose than quenching pretended
thirst; and the bringer, hearing Kate's version of the
story, hastily asked Sonny — who by this time was hold
ing out chubby hands cheerfully to be dried and prattling
of dirty birdies — what the Prince had said. The child,
puzzled for an instant, smiled broadly.

" He said it was deaded all light."

Kate shivered. The incident had touched her on the
nerves, taking the color from the flowers, the brightness
from the sunshine.

" Come and have a turn," suggested Captain More-
combe; " they have began dancing in the saloon. It will
, change the subject."

But as she took his arm, she said in rather a tremulous
voice, " There is such a thing as a Dance of Death,
though."

" My dear lady," he laughed, " it is a most excellent
pastime. And one can dance anywhere, on the edge of
a volcano even, if one doesn't smell brimstone."

Kate, however, found otherwise, and when the waltz
was over, announced her intention of going off to take
Sonny home, and see Mrs. Seymour and the new baby.
But in this her cavalier saw difficulties. The mare was
evidently too fresh for a lady to drive, and Major Erlton,

154 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

returning, might need the dog-cart. It would be far
better for him to drive her in his, so far, and afterward let
the Major know he had to call for her. Kate assented
wearily. Such arrangements were part of the detail of
life, with a woman neglected as she was by her husband.
She could not deliberately avoid them, and yet keep the
unconsciousness her pride claimed. How could she,
when there were twenty men in society to one woman?
Twenty — for the most part — gentlemen, quite capable of
gauging a woman's character. So Captain Morecombe
drove her to the Seymour's house on the city wall by the
Water Bastion. There were several houses there, set so
close to the rampart that there was barely room for a
paved pathway between their back verandas and the
battlement. In front of them lay a metaled road and
shady gardens ; and at the end of this road stood a small
bungalow toward which Kate Erlton looked involun-
tarily. There was a horse waiting outside it. It was
her husband's charger. He must have arranged to
have it sent down, arranged, as it were, to leave her in
the lurch, and a sudden flash of resentment made her
say, as she got down at the Seymours' house, " You had
better call for me in half an hour; that will be best."

Captain Morecombe flushed with sheer pleasure.
Kate was not often so encouraging. But asjie drove
round to wait for her at a friend's house, close to the
Delhi Gazette press, he, too, noticed the Major's charger,
and swore under his breath. Before God it was too bad!
But if ever there were signs of a coming smash they were
to be seen here. Erlton, after years of scandal, had lost
his head — it seemed incredible, but there was a Fate in
such things from which mortal man could not escape.

And as he told himself this tale of Fate — the man's
excuse for the inexcusable which will pass current gayly
until women combine in refusing to accept it for them-
selves— another man, at the back of the little house past
which he was driving, was telling it to himself also. For
a great silence had fallen between Major Erlton and Alice
Gissing after she had told him something, to hear which
he had arranged to come home with her for a quiet talk.
And, in the silence, the hollow note of the wooden bells

IN THE RESIDENCY. 155

upon the necks of the cattle grazing below the battle-
ment, over which he leaned, seemed to count the slow
minutes. Quaintest, dumbest of all sounds, lacking-
vibration utterly, yet mellow, musical, to the fanciful ear,
with something of the hopeful persistency of Time in its
recurring beat.

Alice Gissing was not a fanciful woman, but as she lay
back in her long cane chair, her face hidden in its pillows
as if to shut out something unwelcome, her foot kept
time to the persistency on the pavement, till, suddenly,
she sat up and faced round on her silent companion.

" Well," she said impatiently. " Well! what have you
got to say? "

" I — I was thinking," he began helplessly, when she
interrupted him.

" What is the use of thinking? That won't alter facts.
As I told you, Gissing will be back in a month or so;
and then we must decide."

Major Erlton turned quickly. " You can't go back to
him, Allie; you weren't considering that, surely. You
can't — not — not now." His voice softened over the last
words: he turned away abruptly. His face was hidden
from her so.

She looked toward him strangely for a second, cov-
ered her face with her hands for another, then, changing
the very import of the action, used them to brush the hair
back from her temples; so, clasping them behind her
head, leaned back on the pillows, and looked toward him
again. There was a reckless defiance in her attitude and
expression, but her words did not match it.

u I suppose I can't," she said drearily, " and I suppose
you wouldn't let me go away by myself either."

Once more he turned. "Go!" he echoed quickly.
" Where would you go? "

"Somewhere!" — the recklessness had invaded her
voice now—" Anywhere ! Wherever women do go in
these cases. To the devil, perhaps."

He gave a queer kind of laugh ; this spirited effrontery
had always roused his admiration. " I dare say," he re-
plied, " for I'm not a saint, and you have got to come
with me, Allie. You must. I shall send in my papers,

IS6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and by and by, when all the fuss is over " — here he gave
a fierce sigh — " for I expect Gissing will make a fuss,
we can get married and live happily ever after."

She shook her head. " You'll regret it. I don't see
how you can help regretting it! "

He came over to her, and laid his big broad hand very
tenderly on her curly hair. " No! I shan't, Allie," he
replied in a low, husky voice, " I shan't, indeed. I never
was a good hand at sentiment and that sort, but I love
you dearly — dearly. All the more — for this that you've
told me. I'd do anything for you; Allie. Keep straight
as a die, dear, if you wanted it. And I wasn't regretting
— it — just now. I was only thinking how strange —

".Strange!" she interrupted, almost fiercely. "If it
is strange to you, what must it be to me? My God!- — I
wonder if any man will ever understand what thisltreans
to a woman? All the rest seems to pass her by, to leave
no mark — I — I — never cared. But this! Herbert!- I
feel sometimes as if I were Claude's wife again — Claude's
wife, so full of hopes and fears. And I dream of him too.
I haven't dreamed of him for years, and I learned to hate
him before he died, you know. I have gone back to that
old time, and nothing seems different. Nothing at all!
Isn't that strange? And the old Mai — she has gone
back, too — sees no difference either. She treats me just
as she did in those old, old days. She fusses round, and
cockers me up, and talks about it. There! she is com-
ing now with smelling-salts or sal-volatile or something!
Oh ! Go away, do, Mai, I don't want anything except to
be left alone!"

But the old ayah's untutored instincts were not to be
so easily smothered. Her wrinkled face beamed as she
insisted on changing the dainty laced shoes for easy
slippers, and tucked another pillow into the chair. The
mem was tired, she told the Major with a respectful
salaam, after her long walk; the faint resentment in her
tone being entirely for the latter fact.

" You see, don't you? " said Mrs. Gissing, with bright
reckless eyes, when they were alone once more. " She
doesn't mind. She has forgotten all the years between,
forgotten everything. And I — I don't know why — but

IN THE RESIDENCY. 157

there! What is the use of asking questions? I never
can answer even for myself. So we had better leave it
alone for the present. We needn't settle yet a while, and
there is always a chance of something happening."

" But you said your husband would be back " he

began.

" In a month — but we may all be dead and buried in a
month," she interrupted. " I only told you now, because
I thought you ought to know soon, so as not to be
hurried at the last. It means a lot, you see, for a man
to give up his profession for a woman; and it isn't like

England, you know " She paused, then continued in

an odd half-anxious voice, her eyes fixed on him inquir-
ingly as he stood beside her. " I shouldn't be angry,
remember, Herbert, if — if you didn't."

" Allie! What do you mean? Do you mean that you
don't care?" His tone was full of pained surprise, his
hand scarcely a willing agent as she drew it close to
caress it with her cheek.

" Care? of course I care. You are very good to me,
Herbert, far nicer to me than you are to other people.
And I can't say ' no ' if you decide on giving up for me.
I can't now. I see that. Only don't let us be in a hurry.
As that big fat man in the tight satin trousers said to the
Resident to-day, when he was asked what the people
in the city thought of the fuss down country, ' Delhi
dur ust.' ''

''Delhi dur ust? What the devil does that mean?"
asked the Major, his brief doubt soothed by the touch of
her soft cheek. " You are such a clever little cat, Allie!
You know a deuced sight more than I do. How you
pick it up I can't think."

She gave one of her inconsequent laughs. " Don't
have so many men anxious to explain things to you as
I have, I expect, sir! But if you ever spoke to a native
here — which you don't — you'd know that. Even my old
Mai says it — they all say it when they don't want to tell
the truth, or be hurried, and that is generally. ' Delhi
is far,' they say. Dr. Macintyre translates it as ' It's a
far cry to Lochawe ' ; but I don't understand that ; for it
was an old King of Delhi who said it first. People came

158 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and told him an enemy had crossed his border. ' Delhi
dur ust,' says he. Can't you see him, Herbert? An old
Turk of a thing- with those tight satin trousers! Then
they told him the enemy was in sight. ' Delhi dur ust,'
said he. And he said it when they were at the gate — he
said it when their swords — " the dramatic instinct in
her was strong, and roused her into springing to her
feet and mimicking the thrust. 'Delhi dur ust.' ''

Her gay mocking voice rang loud. Then she laid her
hand lightly on his arm. " Let us say it too, dear," she
said almost sharply. " I won't think — yet. * Delhi dur
ust.' "

The memory of the phrase went with him when he had
said good-by, and was pacing his charger toward the
Post Office. But it only convinced him that the Delhi
of his decision was reached; he would chuck everything
for Allie.

It was by this time growing dusk, but he could see two
figures standing in the veranda of the Press Office, and
one of them called him by name. He turned in at the
gate to find Captain Morecombe reading a proof-sheet
by the light of a swinging lamp; for Jim Douglas drew
back into unrecognizable shadow as he approached. He
had purposely kept out of Major Erlton's way during his
occasional returns to Delhi, and as he stepped back now
he asked himself if he hated the big man most for his
own sake, or for Kate's, or for that other little woman's.
Not that it mattered a jot, since he hated him cordially
on all three scores.

" Bad news from Barrackpore, Erlton," said the Cap-
tain, " and as I have to drive Mrs. Erlton home I thought
you might take it round to the Brigadier's. At least if
you have no objection, Douglas? "

" None. The telegram is all through the bazaar by
now. You can't help it if you employ natives."

" ' Through the medium of a private telegram/ " read
Captain Morecombe, " ' the following startling news has
reached our office. On Sunday (the 2Qth of March)
about 4.30 P. M., a Brahmin sepoy of the 34th N. I.'—
that's the missionary fellow's regiment, of course —
' went amuck, and rushing to the quarter-guard with his

m THE RESIDENCY. I $9

musket, ordered the bugler to sound the assembly to all
who desired to keep the faith of their fathers. The
guard, ordered to arrest him, refused. The whole regi-
ment being, it is said, in alarm at the arrival that morn-
ing of the first detachment of British troops, detailed to
keep order during the approaching disbandment of the
1 9th for mutiny; rumor having it that all sepoys then
refusing to become Christians would be shot down at
once. The mutineer, who had been drinking hemp,
actually fired at Sergeant-major Hewson, providentially
missing him; subsequently he fired at the Adjutant, who,
after a hand-to-hand scuffle with the madman, in which
Hewson joined, only escaped with his life through the
aid of a faithful Mohammedan orderly. Until, and, in-
deed, after Colonel Wheler the Commandant arrived on
the parade ground, the mutineer marched up and down
in front of the guard, flourishing his musket and calling
for his comrades to join him. The Colonel therefore
ordered the guard to advance and shoot the man down.
The men made show of obedience, but after a few steps
they refused to go on, unless accompanied by a British
officer. On this, Colonel Wheler, considering the risk
needless with an unreliable guard already half-mutinous,
rode off to report his failure to the Brigadier, who had
halted on the further side of the parade ground. At this
juncture (about 5.30 P. M.) matters looked most serious.
The 43d N. I. had turned out, and were barely restrained
from rushing their bells of arms by the entreaties of their
native officers. The 34th, beyond control altogether,
were watching the mutineer's unchecked defiance with
growing sympathy. Fortunately at this moment General
Hearsey, commanding the Division, rode up, followed
by his two sons as aides. Hearing what had occurred
from the group of officers awaiting further developments,
he galloped over to the guard, ordered them to follow
him, and made straight for the mutineer; shouting back,

"D n his musket, sir!" to an officer who warned

him it was loaded. But seeing the man kneel to take
aim he called to his son, " If I fall, John, rush in and put
him to death somehow." The precaution was, provi-
dentially, unnecessary, for the mutineer, seeing the re-

160 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

maining officers join in this resolute advance, turned his
musket on himself. He is not expected to live. Adju-
tant Baugh, a most promising young officer, is, we
regret to say, dangerously wounded.' "

"Treacherous black devils! I'd shoot 'em down like
dogs — the lot of them," said Major Erlton savagely.
He had slipped from his horse and now stood in the
veranda overlooking the proof, his back to Jim Douglas.
Perhaps it was the closer sight of his enemy's face which
roused the latter's temper. Anyhow he broke into the
conversation with that nameless challenge in his voice
which makes a third person nervous.

" It is a pity you were not at Barrackpore. They seem
to have been in need of a good pot-shot — even of an
officer to be potted at — till Hearsey came to the front."

Captain Morecombe turned quickly to put up his sword
as it were. " By the way, Erlton," he said hastily, " I
don't think you know Douglas, though you tried to see
him at Nujjufghur after he saved Mrs. Gissing from
that snake."

But Jim Douglas' temper grew, partly at his own
fatuity in risking the now inevitable encounter; and he
had a vile, uncontrollable temper when he was in the
wrong.

" Major Erlton and I have met before," he interrupted,
turning to go; "but I doubt if he will recognize me.
Possibly his horse may."

He paused as he spoke before the Arab which stood
waiting. It whinnied instantly, stretching its head to-
ward its old master. Major Erlton muttered a startled
exclamation, but regained his self-possession instantly.
" I beg your pardon — Mr. — er — Douglas, I think you
said, Morecombe; but I did not recognize you."

The pause was aggressive to the last degree.

" Under that name, you mean," finished Jim Douglas,
white with anger at being so obviously at a disadvantage.
" The fact is, Captain Morecombe, that as the late King
of Oude's trainer I called myself James Greyman. I sold
that Arab to Major Erlton under that name, and under —
well — rather peculiar circumstances. I am quite ready
to tell them if Major Erlton thinks them likely to interest
the general public."

IN THE RESIDENCY. 161

His eyes met his enemy's, fiercely getting back now
full measure of sheer, wild, vicious temper. Everything
else had gone to the winds, and they would have been at
each other's throats gladly; scarcely remembering the
cause of quarrel, and forgetting it utterly with the first
grip, as men will do to the end of time.

Then the Major, being less secure of his ground since
fighting was out of the question, turned on his heel.
" So far as I'm concerned," he said, " the explanation is
sufficient. Give the devil his due and every man his
chance."

The innuendo was again unmistakable; but the words
reminded Jim Douglas of an almost-forgotten promise,
and he bit his lips over the necessity for silence. But in
that — as he knew well — lay his only refuge from his own
temper; it was silence, or speech to the uttermost.

" If you have quite done with the proof, Captain
Morecombe," he said very ceremoniously.

" Certainly, certainly. Thanks for letting me see it,"
interrupted the Captain, who had been looking from one
to the other doubtfully, as most men do even when their
dearest friends are implicated, if the cause of a quarrel
is a horse. " It is a serious business," he went on
hurriedly to help the diversion. " After all the talk and
fuss, this cutting down of an officer "

" Is first blood," put in Jim Douglas. " There will be
more spilled before long."

" Disloyal scoundrels! " growled Major Erlton wrath-
f ully. " Idiots! As if they had a chance! "

" They have none. That's the pity of it," retorted his
adversary as he rode off quickly.

Ay! that was the pity of it! The pity of blood to be
spilled needlessly. The thought made him slacken speed,
as if he were on the threshold of a graveyard ; though he
could not foresee the blood to be spilled so wantonly in
that very garden-set angle of the city, so full now of the
scent of flowers, the sounds of security. From far came
the subdued hum which rises from a city in which there
is no wheeled traffic, no roar of machinery; only the feet
of men, their tears, their laughter, to assail the irrespon-
sive air. Nearer, among the scattered houses hidden by

162 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

trees, rose children's voices playing about the servants'
quarters. Across the now empty playground of the Col-
lege the outlines of the church showed faintly among the
fret of branches upon the dull red sky, which a cloud-
less sunset leaves behind it. And through the open arch
of the Cashmere gate, the great globe of the full moon
grew slowly from the ruddy earth-haze, then loud and
clear came the chime of seven from the mainguard gong,
the rattle of arms dying into silence again. The peace
of it all seemed unassailable, the security unending.

" Delhi dur ust! "

The words were called across the road in a woman's
voice, making him turn to see a shadowy white figure
outlined against the dark arches of a veranda close upon
the road. He reined up his horse almost involuntarily, re-
membering as he did so that this was Mrs.Gissing's house.

" I beg your pardon " he began.

" I beg yours," came the instant reply. " I mistook
you for a friend. Good-night! "

" Good-night!"

As he paced his horse on, choosing the longer way
to Duryagunj, by the narrow lanes clinging to the city
wall, the remembrance of that frank good-night lingered
with him. For a friend! What a name to call Herbert
Erlton! Poor little soul! The thought, by its very
intolerableness, drove him back to the other, roused by
her first words:

" Delhi dur ust"

True! Even this Delhi lying before his very eyes was
far from him. How would it take the news whfth by
now, as he had said, must have filtered through the
bazaar? He could imagine that. He knew, also, that
the Palace folk must be all discussing the Resident's gar-
den party, with a view to their own special aims and
objects. But what did they think of the outlook on the
future? Did they also say Delhi dur ust?

One of them was saying it on a roof close by. It was
Abool-Bukr, who, on his way home, had given himself
the promised pleasure of retailing his virtuous afternoon's
experiences to Newasi ; for his two-months-wed bride had
not broken him of his habit of coming to his kind one,

IN THE RESIDENCY. 163

though it had made her graver, more dignified. Still she
broke in on his thick assertion — for he had drunk brandy
in his efforts to be friendly with the sahibs — that he had
seen an Englishwoman of her sort, with the quick query :

" Like me! How so? "

He laughed mischievously. " And thou art not jeal-
ous of my wife! — or sayest thou art not! She was but
like thee in this, aunt, that she is of the sort who would
have men better than God made them "

" No worse, thou meanest," she replied.

He shook his head. " Women, Newasi, are as the
ague. A man is ever being made better or worse till he
knows not if he be well or ill. And both ways God's
work is marred, a man driven from his right fate "

" But if a man mistakes his fate as thou dost, Abool,"
she persisted. " Sure, if Jewun Bukht with that evil
woman, Zeenut "

He started to his feet, thrusting out lissome hands
wildly, as if to set aside some thought. " Have a care,
Newasi, have a care! " he cried. :< Talk not of that arch
plotter, arch dreamer. Nay! not arch dreamer! 'tis thou
that dreamest most. Dreamest war without blood, men
without passion, me without myself! Was there not
blood on my hands ere ever I was born — I, Abool-Bukr,
of the race of Timoor — kings, tyrants, by birth and trade?
The blood of those who stood in my father's way and
my father's fathers. I tell thee there is too much tinder

yonder " He pointed to where, across the flat

chequers of moonlit roofs, inlaid by the shadows of the
intersecting alleys the cupolas of the Palace gates
rose upon the sky. :' There is too much tinder here/'
he struck his own breast fiercely, " for such fiery
thoughts. Why canst not leave me alone, woman? "

She drew back coldly. " Do I ask thee to come
thither? Thy wife "

He gave a half-maudlin laugh. " Nay, I mean not
that ! Sure thou art very woman, Newasi ! That is why
I love mine aunt! That is why I come to see her —
that "

She interrupted him hastily; but her eyes grew soft,
her voice trembled.

164 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" And I do but goad thee for thine own good, Abool.
These are strange times. Even the Mufti sahib —

" Ah! defend me from his wise saws. I know the ring
of them too well as 'tis. Even that I endure — for mine
aunt's sake. Though, by the faith, if he and others of
his kidney waylay me as they do much longer, I will
have a rope ladder to thy roof and scandalize them all.
I can stomach thy wisdom, dear; none else. So tell them
that Abool-Bukr can quote saws as well as they. Tell
them he lives for Pleasure, and Pleasure lives in the pres-
ent. For the rest, "Delhi dur ust! Delhi dur ust! "

His reckless, unrestrained voice rang out over the
roofs, and into the alley below where Jim Douglas was
telling himself, that with his finger on the very pulse of
the city he had failed to count its heart beats.

He looked up quickly. "Delhi dur ust!" All the
world seemed to be saying it that night; though the first
blood had been shed in the quarrel.

CHAPTER VI.

THE YELLOW FAKIR.

THE days passed to weeks, the weeks to a month, after
that shedding of first blood, and no more was spilled,
save that of the shedders. Two of them were hanged, the
regiment ordered to be disbanded. For the rest, though
causeless fires broke out in every cantonment, though
a Sikh orderly divulged to his master some tale of a con-
certed rising, though the dread of the greased cartridge
grew to a perfect panic, even Jim Douglas, with his eyes
wide open, was forced to admit that, so far as any chance
of action went, the reply might still be " Delhi dur ust."
The sky was dark indeed, there were mutterings on the
horizon; but he and others remembered how often
in India, even when rain is due, the clouds creep up and
up day by day, darker and more lowering, until the yel-
lowing crops seem to grow greener in sheer hope of the
purple pall above them. And then some unseen hand
juggles those portentous rain-clouds into the daily dark-

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 165

ness of night, and some dawn rises clear and dry to show,
in its fierce blaze of sunlight, how the yellow has gained
on the green.

So, day by day, the impression grew among the
elect that the storm signals would pass; that the best
policy was to tide over the next few months somehow.
In pursuance of which a sepoy who ventured to draw
attention to the state of feeling in one regiment was pub-
licly told he need expect no promotion.

But there were dissentients to this policy, apparently.
Anyhow, in the end of April, Colonel Carmichael Smyth,
commanding the 3d Bengal Cavalry at Meerut, returned
from leave one evening, and ordered fifteen men from
each troop to be picked out to learn the use of the new
cartridge next morning, and then went to bed comfort-
ably. The men, through their native officers, appealed
to their captain for delay. They were neither prepared
to take nor refuse the cartridges, old or new. No answer
was given them. They marched to the parade obedi-
ently at sunrise, and eighty-five of the ninety men picked
from a picked regiment for smartness and intelligence
refused to take the cartridges, even from their Colonel's
or their Adjutant's hand. Their own troop officers were
not present. They were at once tried by a court-
martial of native officers, some of whom came from
the regiments at Delhi; but thirty odd miles off along
a broad, level driving road. They were sentenced
to ten years' penal servitude, and a parade of all troops
was ordered for sunrise on the Qth of May, to put the
sentence into force.

So the night of the 8th found Jim Douglas riding-
over from Delhi in the cool to see something which, if
anything could, ought to turn mere talk into action. It
had brought a new sound into the air already. The
clang of cold iron upon hot, rising from the regimental
smithy, where the fetters for the eighty-five were being
forged. A cruel sound at best, proclaiming the in-
dubitable advantage of coolness and hardness over glow
and plasticity. Cruel indeed when the hardness and
insistency goes to the forging of fetters for emotion and
ignorance.

1 66 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The sound rang out into the hot airless night, rang
out into the gusty dawn; for it takes time to forge eighty-
five pairs of shackles. Rang out to where a mixed guard
of the nth and 2oth Regiments of Native Infantry were
waiting round the tumbrils for the last fetter. The gray
of dawn showed the rest piled on the tumbrils, showed
two English officers on horseback talking to each other
a little way off, showed the faces of the guard dark and
lowering like the dawn itself.

" Loh! sergeant jee! there is the last," said the master-
armorer cheerfully. His task was done, at any rate.

Soma took it from him silently, and flung it on the
others almost fiercely; it settled among them with a
clank. His regiment, the nth, had but newly come to
Meerut, and therefore had as yet no ties of personal com-
radeship with the eighty-five, but fetters for any sepoys
were enough to make the pulse beat full and heavy.

"The last, thank Heaven!" said the Captain, giving
his bridle rein a jag. " All right forward, Jones! Then
fall in, men. Quick march! We are late enough
as it is."

The disciplined feet fell in without a waver; the tum-
brils moved on with a clank and a creak.

Quick march! Soma's mind, fair reflection of the
minds of all about him, was full of doubt. Was that
indeed the last fetter, or did Rumor say sooth when it told
of others being secretly forged? WTho could say in these
days, when the Huzoors themselves had taken to telling
lies. Not his Huzoors as yet; his Colonels and Captains
and Majors, even the little sahib, who laughed over his
own mistakes on parade, told the truth still. But the
others lied. Lied about enlistment, about prize-money
and leave, about those cartridges. At least, so the men
in the 2oth said; the sergeant marching next to him be-
hind the tumbril most of all.

: 'Tis but three weeks longer, comrade," said this man
suddenly in a low whisper. They were treading the dim,
deserted outskirts of the cantonment bazaar, and Soma
looked round nervously at the officers behind. Had they
heard? He frowned at the speaker and made no reply.

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 167

He gave a deaf ear, when he could, to the talk in the 2Oth;
but that was not always, for its sepoys were a part of the
Bengal army. That army which was not — as a European
army is — a mere chance collection of men divided from
each other in the beginning and end of life, associated
loosely with each other in its middle, and using military
service as a make-shift; but, to a great extent, a guild,
following the profession of arms by hereditary custom
from the cradle to the grave.

Quick march! A woman, early astir, peered at the
little procession through the chink of a door, and whis-
pered to an unseen companion behind. What was she
saying? What, by implication, would other women, who
peeped virtuously — women he knew — say of his present
occupation? That he was a coward to be guarding his
comrades' fetters? No doubt; since others with less
right would say it too. All the miserable, disreputable
riff-raff, for instance, which had drifted in from the neigh-
borhood to see the show. The bazaar had been full of it
these three days past. Even the sweepers, pariahs, out-
castes, would snigger over the misfortunes of their
betters — as those two ahead were doubtless sniggering
already as they drew aside from their slave's work of
sweeping the roadway, to let the tumbrils pass. Drew
aside with mock deference, leaving scantiest room for
the twice-born following them. So scant, indeed, that
the outermost tip of a reed broom, flourished in insolent
salaam, touched the Rajput's sleeve. It was the veriest
brush, no more than a fly's wing could have given; butT
the half-stifled cry from Soma's lips meant murder —
nothing less. His disciplined feet wavered, he gave a
furtive glance at his companions. Had they seen the
insult? Could they use it against him?

" Eyes front, there; forward!" came the order from
behind, and he pulled himself together by instinct and
went on.

" Only three weeks longer, brother ! " said that voice
beside him meaningly; and a dull rage rose in Soma's
heart. So it had been seen. . It might be said of him,
Soma, that he had tamely submitted to a defiling
touch, He did not look round at his officers this time.

1 68 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

They might hear if they chose, the future might hold
what it chose. Mayhap they had seen the insult and
were laughing at it. They were not his Huzoors; they
belonged to the man at his side, who had the right to
taunt him. As a matter of fact, they were discussing the
chances of their ponies in next week's races; but Soma,
lost in a great wrath, a great fear, made it, inevitably,
the topic of the whole world.

Hark! The bugle for the Rifles to form; they were to
come to the parade loaded with ball cartridge. And that
rumble was the Artillery, loaded also, going to take up
their position. By and by the Carabineers would sweep
with a clatter and a dash to form the third side of the
hollow square, whereof the fourth was to be a mass of
helpless dark faces, with the eighty-five martyrs jmd
tumbrils in the middle. Soma had seen it all in gener.il
orders, talked it over with his dearest friend, and catted
it tyranny. And now the tumbrils clanked past a Tittie--
heap of smoldering ashes, that but the day before had
been a guard-house. The lingering smoke from this last
work of the incendiary drifted northward, after the fet-
ters, making one of the officers cough. But he went on
talking of his ponies. True type of the race which lives
to make mistakes, dies to retrieve them. Quick march!

Streams of spectators bound for the show began to
overtake them, ready with comments on what Soma
guarded. And on the broad white Mall, dividing the
native half of the cantonments and the town of Meerut
from the European portion, more than one carriage with
a listless, white-faced woman in it dashed by, on its way
to see the show. The show!

Quick march! Whatever else might be possible in
the future, that was all now, midway between the barracks
of -the Rifles and the Carabineers, with the church-
mute symbol of the horror which, day by day, month by
month, had been closing in round the people — blocking
the way in front. So they passed on to the wide north-
ern parade ground, with that hollow square ready;
three sides of it threatening weapons, the fourth of un-
armed men, and in the center the eighty-five picked men
of a picked regiment.

The knot of European spectators round the flag

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 169

listened with yawns to the stout General's exordium.
The eighty-five being hopelessly, helplessly in the wrong
by military law, there seemed to be no need to insist on
the fact. And the mass of dark faces standing within
range of loaded guns and rifles, within reach of glistening
sabers, did not listen at all. Not that it mattered, since
the units in that crowd had lost the power of accepting
facts. Even Soma, standing to attention beside the tum-
brils, only felt a great sense of outrage, of wrong, of in-
justice somewhere. And there was one Englishman, at
least, rigid to attention also before his disarmed, dis-
mounted, yet loyal troop, who must have felt it also,
unless he was more than human. And this was Captain
Craigie, who, when his men appealed to him to save
them, to delay this unnecessary musketry parade, had
written in his haste to the Adjutant, " Go to Smyth at
once! Go to Smyth!" and Smyth was his Colonel!
Incredible lack of official etiquette. Repeated hardily,
moreover. " Pray don't lose a moment, but go to Smyth
and tell him." What? Only " that this is a most serious
matter, and we may have the whole regiment in open
mutiny in half an hour if it is not attended to." Only
that! So it is to be hoped that Captain Craigie had the
official wigging for his unconventional appeal in his
pocket as he shared his regiment's disgrace, to serve him
as a warning — or a consolation.

And now the pompous monotone being ended, the
silence, coming after the clankings, and buglings, and
trampings which had been going on since dawn, was
almost oppressive. The three sides of steel, even the
fourth of faces, however, showed no sign. They stood
as stone while the eighty-five were stripped of their uni-
forms. But there was more to come. By the General's
orders the leg-irons were to be riveted on one by one;
and so, once more, the sound of iron upon iron recurred
monotonously, making the silence of the intervals still
more oppressive. For the prisoners at first seemed
stunned by the isolation from even their as yet unfettered
comrades. But suddenly from a single throat came that
cry for justice, which has a claim to a hearing, at least,
in the estimation of the people of India,

1 7° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Dohai! Dohai! Dohai! "

Soma gave a sort of sigh, and a faint quiver of expec-
tation passed over the sea of dark faces.

Clang! Clang! The hammers, going on unchecked,
were the only answer. Those three sides of stone had
come to see a thing done, and it must be done; the sooner
the better. But the riveting of eighty-five pairs of leg-
irons is not to be done in a moment; so the cry grew
clamorous. Dohai! Dohai! Had they not fought
faithfully in the past? Had they not been deceived?
Had they had a fair chance?

But the hammers went on as the sun climbed out of
the dust-haze to gleam on the sloped sabers, glint on the
loaded guns, and send glittering streaks of light along
the rifles.

So the cry changed. Were their comrades cowards to
stand by and see this tyranny and raise no finger of help?
Oh ! curses on them ! 'Tis they who were degraded, dis-
honored. Curses on the Colonel who had forced them
to this! Curses on every white face! — curses on every
face which stood by!

One, close to the General's flag, broke suddenly into
passionate resentment. Jim Douglas drew out his
watch, looked at it, and gathered his reins together.
" An hour and forty-five minutes already. I'm off,
Ridgeway. I can't stand this d d folly any more."

" My dear fellow, speak lower! If the General —

" I don't care who hears me," retorted Jim Douglas
recklessly as he steered through the crowd, followed by

his friend, " I say it is d d inconceivable folly and

tyranny. Come on, and let's have a gallop, for God's
sake, and get rid of that devilish sound."

The echo of their horses' resounding hoofs covered,
obliterated it. The wind of their own swiftness seemed
to blow the tension away. So after a spin due north for
a mile or two they paused at the edge of a field where the
oxen were circling placidly round on the threshing-
floors and a group of women were taking advantage of
the gustiness to winnow. Their bare, brown arms glist-
ened above the falling showers of golden grain, their
unabashed smiling faces showed against the clouds of
golden chaff drifting behind them.

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 171

Jim Douglas looked at them for a moment, returned
the salaam of the men driving the oxen and forking the
straw, then turned his horse toward the cantonment
again.

"It is nothing to them; that's one comfort," he said.
" But they will have to suffer for it in the end, I expect.
Who will believe when the time comes that this " — he
gave a backward wave of his hand — " went on unwit-
tingly of that? "

His companion, following his look ahead, to where, in
the far distance, a faint cloud of dust, telling of many feet,
hung on the horizon, said suddenly, as if the sight
brought remembrance: "By George! Douglas, how
steady the sepoys stood! I half expected a row."

" Steadier than I should," remarked the other grimly.
" Well, I hope Smyth is satisfied. To return from leave
and drive your regiment into mutiny in twelve hours is
a record performance."

His hearer, who was a civilian, gave a deprecating
cough. " That's a bit hard, surely. I happen to know
that he heard while on leave some story about a con-
certed rising later on. He may have done it purposely,
to force their hands."

Jim Douglas shrugged his shoulders. " Did he warn
you what he was about to do? Did he allow time to pre-
pare others for his private mutiny? My dear Ridgeway,
it was put on official record two months ago that an
organized scheme for resistance existed in every regiment
between Calcutta and Peshawur ; so Smyth might at least
have consulted the colonels of the other two regiments
at Meerut. As it is, the business has strained the loyalty
of the most loyal to the uttermost; and we deserve to
suffer, we do indeed."

" You don't mince matters, certainly," said the civilian
dryly.

" Why should anybody mince them? Why can't we
admit boldly — the C.-in-C. did it on the sly the other day
— that the cartridges are suspicious? that they leave the
muzzle covered with a fat, like tallow? Why don't we
admit it was tallow at first. Why not, at any rate, admit
we are in a hole, instead of refusing to take the common

I72 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

precaution of having an ammunition wagon loaded up
for fear it should be misconstrued into alarm? Is there
no medium between bribing children with lollipops and
torturing them — keeping them on the strain, under fire,
as it were, for hours, watching their best friends pun-
ished unjustly? "

"Unjustly?"

" Yes. To their minds unjustly. And you know what
forcible injustice means to children — and these are really
children — simple, ignorant, obstinate."

They had come back to cantonments again and were
rapidly overtaking the now empty tumbrils going home,
for the parade was over. Further down the road, raising
a cloud of dust from their shackled feet, the eighty-five
were being marched jailward under a native escort.

" Well," said the civilian dryly, " I would give a great
deal to know what those simple babes really thought
of us."

" Hate us stock and block for the time. I should,"
replied Jim Douglas. They were passing the tumbrils
at the moment, and one of the guard, in sergeant's uni-
form, looked up in joyful recognition.

"Huzoor! It is I, Soma."

The civilian looked at his companion oddly when,
after a minute or two spent in answering Soma's inquir-
ies as to where and how the master was to be found, Jim
Douglas rode alongside once more.

" Out a bit, eh? " he said dryly.

''Very much out; but they are a queer lot. Do you
remember the story of the self-made American who
was told his boast relieved the Almighty of a great
responsibility? Well, he is only responsible for one-
half of the twice-born. The other is due to humanity,
to heredity, what you will! That is what makes these
high-caste men so difficult to deal with. They are twice
born. Yes! they are a queer lot."

He repeated the remark with even greater fervor
twelve hours later, when, about midnight, he started on
his return ride to Delhi. For though he had spent the
whole day in listening, he had scarcely heard a word of
blame for the scene which had roused him to wrath that

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 173

morning. The sepoys had gone about their duties as if
nothing had happened; and despite the undoubted pres-
ence of a lot of loose characters in the bazaar, there had
been no disturbance. He laughed cynically to himself
at the waste of a day which would have been better spent
in horse dealing. This, however, settled it. ,If this in-
tolerable tyranny failed to rouse action there could be no
immediate danger ahead. To a big cantonment like
Meerut, the biggest in Northern India, with two thousand
British troops in it, even the prospect of a rising was not
serious; at Delhi, however, where there were only native
troops, it might have been different. But now he felt
that a handful of resolute men ought to be able to hold
their own anywhere against such aimless invertebrate
discontent. He felt a vague disappointment that it
should be so, that the pleasant cool of night should be
so quiet, so peaceful. They were a poor lot who could
do nothing but talk!

As he rode through the station the mess-houses were
still alight, and the gay voices of the guests who had been
dining at a large bungalow, bowered in gardens, reached
his ears distinctly.

" It's the Sabbath already," said one. " Ought to be
in our beds ! "

" Hooray! for a Europe morning," came a more boyish
one breaking into a carol, " of all the days within the
week I dearly love "

"Shut up, Fitz!" put in a third, "you'll wake the
General!"

"What's the odds? He can sleep all day. I'm sure
his buggy charger needs a rest."

" Do shut up, Fitz ! The Colonel will hear you."

" I don't care. It's Scriptural. Thou and thy ox and
thy ass "

"You promised to come to evening church, Mr. Fitz-
gerald," interrupted a reproachful feminine voice ; " you
said you would sing in the choir."

"Did I? Then I'll come. It will wake me up for
dinner; besides, I shall sit next you."

The last words came nearer, softer. Mr. Fitzgerald
was evidently riding home beside someone's carnage.

174 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Pleasant and peaceful indeed! that clank of a sentry,
here and there, only giving a greater sense of security.
Not that it was needed, for here, beyond cantonments,
the houses of the clerks and civilians lay as peaceful, as
secure. In the veranda of one of them, close to the
road, a bearer was walking up and down crooning a
patient lullaby to the restless fair-haired child in his arms.

No! truly there could be no fear. It was all talk!
He set spurs to his horse and went on through the silent
night at a hand-gallop, for he had another beast await-
ing him halfway, and he wished to be in Delhi by dawn.
There was a row of tall trees bordering the road on
either" side, making it dark, and through their swiftly
passing boles the level country stretched to the paler
horizon like a sea. And as he rode, he sat in judgment
in his thoughts on those dead levels and the people who
lived in them.

Stagnant, featureless! A dead sea! A mere waste of
waters without form or void! Not even ready for a
spirit to move over them; for if that morning's work
left them apathetic, the Moulvie of Fyzabad himself need
preach no voice of God. For this, surely — this sense of
injustice to others, must be the strongest motive, the sur-
est word to conjure with. That dull dead beat of iron
upon the fetters of others, — which he still seemed to
hear, — the surest call to battle.

He paused in his thought, wondering if what he fancied
he heard was but an echo from memory or real sound!
Real ; undoubtedly. It was the distant clang of the iron
bells upon oxen. That meant that he must be seven or
eight miles out, halfway to the next stage, so meeting the
usual stream of night traffic toward Meerut. He passed
two or three strings of large, looming, half-seen wains
without drawing bridle, then pulled up almost involun-
tarily to a trot at the curiously even tread of a drove of
iron-shod oxen, and a low chanted song from behind it.
Bunjarah folk! The rough voice, the familiar rhythm
of the hoofs, reminded him of many a pleasant night-
march in their company.

"A good journey, brothers! " he called in the dialect.
The answer came unerringly, dark though it was.

THE YELLOW FAKIR. i?5

" The Lord keep the Huzoor safe! "

It made him smile as he remembered that of course a
lone man trotting a horse along a highroad at night was
bound to be alien in a country where horses are
ambled and travelers go in twos and threes. So the
rough, broad faces would be smiling over the surprise
of a sahib knowing the Bunjarah talk; unless, indeed, it

happened to be The possibility of its being the

tanda he knew had not occurred to him before. He
pulled up and looked round. A breathless shadow was
at his stirrup, and he fancied he saw a shadow or two
further behind.

'' The Huzoor has mistaken the road," came Tiddu's
familiar creak. " Meerut lies to the north."

Breathless as he was, there was the pompous mystery
in his voice which always prefaced an attempt to ex-
tort money. And Jim Douglas, having no further use
for the old scoundrel, did not intend to give him any, so
he simulated an utter lack of surprise.

" Hello, Tiddu! " he said. " I had an idea it might be
you. So you recognized my voice? "

The old man laughed. " The Huzoor is mighty
clever. He knows old Tiddu has eyes. They saw the
Huzoor' s horse — a bay Wazeerie with a white star none
too small, and all the luck-marks — waiting at the fifteenth
milestone, by Begum-a-bad. But the Huzoor, being so
clever, is not going to ride the Wazeerie to-night. He is
going to ride the Belooch he is on back to Meerut,
though the star on her forehead is too small for safety;
my thumb could cover it."

" It's a bit too late to teach me the luck-marks, Tiddu,"
said Jim Douglas coolly. " You want money, you
ruffian; so I suppose you have something to sell. What
is it? If it is worth anything, you can trust me to pay,
surely."

Tiddu looked round furtively. The other shadow,
Jhungi or Bhurtgi, or both, perhaps — the memory made
Jim Douglas smile — had melted away into the darkness.
He and Tiddu were alone. The old man, even so,
reached up to whisper.

" Tis the yellow fakir, Huzoor! He has come."

I76 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" The yellow fakir! " echoed his hearer; " who the devil
is he? And why shouldn't he come, if he likes?"

Tiddu paused, as if in sheer amaze, for a second.
" The Huzoor has not heard of the yellow fakir? The
dumb fakir who brings the speech that brings more than
speech. Wah!"

" Speech that is more than speech," echoed Jim Doug-
las angrily, then paused in his turn; the phrase reminded
him, vaguely, of his past thoughts.

Tiddu's hand went out to the Belooch's rein ; his voice
lost its creak and took a soft sing-song to which the mare
seemed to come round of her own accord.

;< Yea! Speech that is more than speech, though he is
dumb. Whence he comes none know, not even I, the
Many-Faced. But I can see him when he comes,
Huzoor! The others, not unless he wills to be seen. I
saw him to-night. He passed me on a white horse not
half an hour agone, going Meerutward. Did not the
Huzoor see him? That is because he has learned from
old Tiddu to make others see, but not to see himself.
But the old man will teach him this also if he is in Meerut
by dawn. If he is there by dawn he will see the yellow
fakir who brings the speech that brings more than
speech."

The sing-song ceased ; the Belooch was - stepping
briskly back toward Meerut.

" You infernal old humbug! " began Jim Douglas.

" The Huzoor does not believe, of course," remarked
Tiddu, in the most matter-of-fact creak. " But Meerut
is only eight miles off. His other horse can wait; and if
he does not see the yellow fakir there is no need to open
the purse-strings."

The Englishman looked at his half-seen companion
admiringly. He was the most consummate scoundrel!
His blending of mystery and purely commercial com-
monplace was perfect — almost irresistible. There was
no reason why he should go on; the groom, halfway,
had his usual orders to stay till his master came. For
the rest, it would be pleasant to renew the old pleasant
memory — pleasant even to renew his acquaintance with
Tiddu's guile, which struck him afresh each time he came
across it.

THE YELLOW FAKIR. 177

He slipped from his horse without a word, and was
about to pull the reins over her head so as to lead her,
when Tiddu stopped short.

" Jhungi will take her to the rest-house, Huzoor, or
Bhungi. It will be safer so. I have a clean cotton quilt
in the bundle, and the Huzoor can have my shoes and
rub his legs in the dust. That will do till dawn."

He gave a jackal's cry, which was echoed from the
darkness.

" Leave her so, Huzoor! She is safe," said Tiddu;
and Jim Douglas, as he obeyed, heard the mare whinny
softly, as if to a foal, as a shadow came out of the bushes.
Junghi or Bhungi, no doubt.

Five minutes after, with a certain unaccountable pleas-
ure, he found himself walking beside a laden bullock, one
arm resting on its broad back, his feet keeping step with
the remittent clang of its bell. A strange dreamy com-
panionship, as he knew of old. And once more the stars
seemed, after a time, to twinkle in unison with the bell,
he seemed to forget thought, to forget everything save
the peaceful stillness around, and his own unresting
peace.

So, he and the laden beast went on as one living,
breathing mortal, till the little shiver of wind came, which
comes with the first paling of the sky. It was one of
those yellow dawns, serene, cloudless, save for a puff or
two of thin gray vapor low down on the horizon, looking
as if it were smoke from an unseen censer swinging be-
fore the chariot of the Sun which heads the procession of
the hours. He was so absorbed in watching the yellow
light grow to those clouds no bigger than a man's hand ;
so lost in the strange companionship with the laden beast
bound to the wheel of Life and Death as he was, yet ask-
ing no question of the future, that Tiddu's hand and
voice startled him.

" Huzoor! " he said. " The yellow fakir! "

They were close on the city of Meerut. The road,
dipping down to cross a depression, left a bank of yellow
dust on either side. And on the eastern one, outlined
against the yellow sunrise, sat a motionless figure. It
was naked, and painted from head to foot a bright yellow

i?8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

color. The closed eyes were daubed over so as to hide
them utterly, and on the forehead, as it is in the image of
Siva, was painted perpendicularly a gigantic eye, wide,
set, stony. Before it in the dust lay the beggar's bowl
for alms.

" The roads part here, Huzoor," said Tiddu. " This
to the city; that to the cantonments."

As he spoke, a handsome young fellow came swagger-
ing down the latter, on his way evidently to riotous liv-
ing in the bazaar. Suddenly he paused, his hand went
up to his eyes as if the rising sun were in them. Then
he stepped across the road and dropped a coin into the
beggar's bowl. Tiddu nodded his head gravely.

" That man is wanted, Huzoor. That is why he saw.
Mayhap he is to give the word."

"The word?" echoed Jim Douglas. "You said he
was dumb ? "

" I meant the trooper, Huzoor. The fakir wanted
him. To give the word, mayhap. Someone must
always give it."

Jim Douglas felt an odd thrill. He had never thought
of that before. Someone, of course, must always give
the word, the speech which brought more than speech.
What would it be? Something soul-stirring, no doubt;
for Humanity had a theory that an angel must trouble
the waters and so give it a righteous cause for stepping
in to heal the evil. ,

But what a strange knack the old man had of stirring
the imagination with ridiculous mystery! He felt vexed
with himself for his own thrill, his own thoughts. " He
is a very ordinary yogi, I should say," he remarked, look-
ing toward the yellow sunrise, but the figure was gone.
He turned to Tiddu again, with real annoyance. " Well!
Whoever he is, he cannot want me. And I certainly
saw him."

"I willed the Huzoor to see!" replied Tiddu with
calm effrontery.

Jim Douglas laughed. The man was certainly a con-
summate liar; there was never any possibility of catch-
ing him out.

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 179

CHAPTER VII.

THE WORD WENT FORTH.

THE Procession of the Hours had a weary march of
it between the yellow sunrise and the yellow sunset
of the loth of May, 1857; for the heavens were
as brass, the air one flame of white heat. The
mud huts of the sepoy lines at Meerut looked and
felt like bricks baking in a kiln ; yet the torpor which the
remorseless glare of noon brings even to native humanity
was exchanged for a strange restlessness. The doors
stood open for the most part, and men wandered in and
out aimlessly, like swarming bees before the queen ap-
pears. In the bazaar, in the city too, crowds drifted
hither -and thither, thirstily, as if it were not the fast
month of Rumzan, when the Mohammedans are denied
the solace of even a drop of water till sundown. Drifted
hither and thither, pausing to gather closer at a hint of
novelty, melting away again, restless as ever.

Mayhap it was but the inevitable reaction after the
stun and stupefaction of Saturday, the sudden awaken-
ing to the result — namely, that eighty-five of the best,
smartest soldiers in Meerut had been set to toil for ten
years in shackles because they refused to be defiled, to
become apostate. On the other hand, the old Baharupa
may have been right about the yellow fakir: the silent,
motionless figure might have set folk listening and wait-
ing for the word. It was to be seen by all now sitting
outside the city; at least Jim Douglas saw it several
times. Saw, also, that the beggar's bowl was fuller and
fuller; but the impossibility of asserting that all the
passers-by saw it, as he did, haunted him, once the idea
presented itself to his mind. It was always so with
Tiddu's mysteries ; they were no more susceptible to dis-
proof than they were to proof. You could waste time,
of course, in this case by waiting and watching, but in
the natural course of events half the passers-by would go
on as if they saw nothing, and only one in a hundred or
so would give an alms. So what would be the good?

180 ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

No one else, however, among the masters troubled
himself to find a cause for the restlessness; no one
even knew of it. To begin with, it was a Sunday, so
that even the bond of a common labor was slackened be-
tween the dark faces and the light. Then a mile or more
of waste deserted land and dry watercourse lay on either
side of the. broad white road which split the cantonment
into halves. So that the North knew nothing of what
was going on in the South, and while men were swarm--
ing like bees in the sun on one side, on the other they
were shut up in barracks and bungalows gasping with
the heat, longing for the sun to set, and thanking their
stars when the chaplain's memo came round to say that
the evening service had been postponed for half an hour
to allow the seething, glowing air to cool a little.

It was not the heat, however, which prevented Major
Erlton from taking his usual siesta. It was thought.
He had come over from Delhi on inspection duty a few
days before and had intended returning that evening;
but the morning's post had brought him a letter which
upset all his plans. Alice Gissing's husband had come
out a fortnight earlier than they had expected, and was
already on his way up-country. The crisis had come,
the decision must be made. It was not any hesitation,
however, which sent the heavy handsome face to rest in
the big strong hands as he rested his elbows on a sheet
of blank paper. He had made up his mind on the very
day when Alice Gissing had first told him why she could
not go back to her husband. The letter forwarding his
papers for resignation was already sealed on the table
beside him; and the surprise was rather a gain than
otherwise. Alice could join him at Meerut now, and
they could slip away together to Cashmere or any out
of the way place where there was shooting. That would
save a lot of fuss; and the fear of fuss was the only one
which troubled the Major, personally. He hated to
know that even his friends would wonder — for the matter
of that those who knew him best would wonder most-
why he was chucking everything for a woman he had
been mixed up with for years. Yet he had found no
difficulty in writing that official request; none in telling

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 181

little Allie to join him as soon as she could. It was this
third letter which could not be written. He took up the
pen more than once, only to lay it down again. He
began, " My dear Kate," once, only to tear the sheet to
pieces. How could he call her his when he was going
to tell her that she was his no longer; that the best thing
she could do was to divorce him and marry some other
chap to be a father to the boy.

The thought sent the head into the hands again; for
Herbert Erlton was a healthy animal and loved his off-
spring by instinct. He had, in truth, a queer upside-
down notion of his responsibilities toward them. If the
fates had permitted it he would have done his best by
Freddy. Shown him the ropes, given him useful tips,
stood by his inexperience, paid his reasonable debts —
always supposing he had the wherewithal.

Then how was he to tell Kate all the ugly story. He
had left her in his thoughts so completely, she had been
so far apart from him for so many years now, that he
hesitated over telling her the bare facts, just as — being
conventionally a perfectly well-bred man — he would
have hesitated how to tell them to any innocent woman
of his acquaintance. Rather more so, for Kate — though
she was sentimental enough, he told himself, for two —
had never been sensible and looked things in the face.
If she had, it might all have been different. Then with a
rush came the remembrance that Allie did — that she
knew him every inch and was yet willing to come with
him. While he? He would stick through thick and
(thin to little Allie, who never made a man feel a fool or
a beast. Something in the last assertion seemed to
harden his heart; he took up his pen and began to
write :

"MY DEAR KATE: I call you that because I can't
*Mnk of any other beginning that doesn't seem foolish;
but it means nothing, and I only want to tell you that
circumstances over which we had no control (he felt
rather proud of this circumlocution for a circumstance
due entirely to his volition) make it necessary for me to
leave you. It is the only course open to me as a gentle.-

1 82 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

man. Besides I want to, for I love Alice Gissing dearly.
I am going to marry her, D. V., as soon as I can. Mr.
Gissing may make a fuss — it is a criminal offense, you
see, in India — but we shall tide over that. Of course
you could prevent me too, but you are not that sort. So
I have sent in my papers. It is a pity, in a way, because
I liked this work. But it is only a two-year appoint-
ment, and I should hate the regiment after it. For the
rest, I am not such a fool as to think you will mind;
except for the boy. It is a pity for him too, but it isn't
as if he were a girl, and the other may be. It will do no
good to say I'm sorry. Besides, I don't think it is all
my fault, and I know you will be happier without me.
" Yours sincerely,

" HERBERT ERLTON.

" P. S. — It's no use crying over spilled milk. I believe
you used to think I would get the regiment some day,
but they would never have given it to me. I made a bit
of a spurt lately, but it couldn't have lasted to the finish,
and after all, that is the win or the lose in a race.

" H. E."

The postscript was added after re-reading the rest with
an uncomfortable remembrance that it was the last letter
he meant to write to her. Then he threw it ready for the
post beside the others, and lay down feeling that he had
done his duty. And as he dozed off his own simile
haunted him. From start to finish! How few men
rode straight all the way; and the poor beggars who
came to grief over the last fence weren't so far behind
those who came in for the clapping. It was the finish
that did it; that was the win or the lose. But he would
run straight with little Allie — straight as a die! So he
lost consciousness in a glow of virtuous content with the
future, and joined the whole of the northern half of
Meerut in their noontide slumbers; for the future out-
look, if not exactly satisfying, was not sufficiently
dubious to keep it awake.

But in the southern half, humanity was still swarming
in and out, waiting, listening. In one of the mud-huts,

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 183

however, a company of men gathered within closed
doors had been listening to some purpose. Listening
to an eloquent speaker, the accredited agent of a down-
country organization. He had arrived in Meerut a day
or two before, and had held one meeting after another in
the lines, doing his utmost to prevent any premature
action; for the fiat of the leaders was that there should
be patience till the 3ist of May. Then, not until then,
a combined blow for India, for God, for themselves,
might be struck with chance of success.

" Ameen! " assented one old man who had come with
him. An old man in a huge faded green turban with
dyed red hair and beard, and with a huge green waist-
band holding a curved scimitar. Briefly, a Ghazee or
Mohammedan fanatic. " Patience, all ye faithful, till
Sunday, the 3ist of May. Then, while the hell-doomed
infidels are at their evening prayer, defenseless, fall on
them and slay. God will show the right! This is the
Moulvie's word, sent by me his servant. Give the Great
Cry, brothers, in the House of the Thief! Smite ye of
Meerut, and we of Lucknow will smite also." His wild
uncontrolled voice rolled on in broad Arabic vowels from
one text to another.

" And we of Delhi will smite also," interrupted the
wearer of a rakish Moghul cap impatiently. " We will
smite for the Queen."

"The Queen?" echoed an older man in the same
dress. " What hath the Sheeah woman to do with the
race of Timoor? "

" Peace! peace! brothers," put in the agent with
authority. " These times are not for petty squabbles.
Let who be the heir, the King must reign."

A murmur of assent rose; but it was broken in upon
by a dissentient voice from a group of troopers at the
door.

:< Then our comrades are to rot in jail till the 3ist?
That suits not the men of the 3d Cavalry." <

" Then let the 3d Cavalry suit itself," retorted the
agent fearlessly. " We can stand without them. Can
they stand without us? Answer me, men of the 2oth;
men of the nth."

1 84 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" There be not many of us here," muttered a voice
from a dark corner; " and maybe we could hold our own
against the lot of you." It was Soma's, and the man
beside him frowned. But the agent who knew every
petty jealousy, every private quarrel of regiment with
regiment, went on remorselessly. " Let the 3d swagger
if it choose. The Rajpoots and Brahmins know how to
obey the stars. The 3ist is the auspicious day. That is
the word. The word of the King, of the Brahmins, of
India, of God!"

"The 3ist! Then slay and spare not! It is jehad!
Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed! " said the Ghazee.

The cry, though a mere whisper, electrified the
Mohammedans, and an older man in the group of dis-
sentients at the door muttered that he could hold his
troop — if others who had risen to favor quicker than
he — could hold theirs.

" I'll hold mine, Khan sahib, without thine aid," re-
torted a very young smart-looking native officer angrily.
" That is if the women will hold their tongues. But,
look you, my troop held the hardest hitters in the 3d.
And Nargeeza's fancy is of those in jail. Now Nargeeza
leads all the other town-women by the nose; and that
means much to men who be not all saints like Ghazee-
jee yonder, who ties the two ends of life with, a ragged
green turban and a bloody banner! "

" And I see not why our comrades should stay yonder
for three weeks, when there is but a native guard to hold
them, and I and mine have made the Sirkar what it is,"
put in a man with arrogance and insolence written on
him from top to toe; a true type of the pampered Brah-
min sepoy.

" Rescue them if thou wilt, Havildar-;V<?," sneered the
agent. " But the man who risks our plot will be held
traitor by the Council. And the men of the nth," he
added sharply, turning to the corner whence Soma's
voice had come, " may remember that also. They have
had the audacity to stipulate for their Colonel's life."

" For our officers lives, baboo-jee," came the voice
again, bold as the agent's. " We of the I ith kill not men
who have led us to victory. And if this be not under-

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 185

stood I, Soma, Yadubansi, go straight to the Colonel
and tell him. We are not butchers in the nth: Oh,
priest of Kali!"

The agent turned a little pale. He did not care to have
his calling known, and he saw at a glance that his chal-
lenger had the reckless fire of hemp in his eyes. He
had indeed been drinking as a refuge from the memory
of the sweeper's broom and from the taunts and threats
which had been used to force him to join the malcon-
tents. Such a man was not safe to quarrel with, nor was
the audience fit for a discussion of that topic; there was
already a stir in it, and mutterings that butchery was one
thing, fighting another.

" Pay thy Colonel's journey home if thou likest, Raj-
poot-/^," he said with a sneer. "Ay! and give him
pension, too! All we want is to get rid of them. And
there will be plenty of loot left when the pension is paid,
for it is to be each man for himself when the time comes.
Not share and share alike with every coward who will
not risk his life in looting, as it is with the Sirkar."

It was a deft red-herring to these born mercenaries,
and no more was said. But as the meeting dispersed by
twos and threes to avoid notice, the agent stood at the
door giving the word in a final whisper:

" Patience till the 3ist."

" Willst take a seat in our carriage, Ghazee-/^," said
a fat native officer as he passed out. ' 'Tis at thy service
since thou goest to Delhi and we must return to-night.
God knows we have done enough to damn us at Meerut
over this court-martial! But what would you? If we
had not given the verdict for the Huzoors there would
have been more of us in jail. So we bide our time like
the rest. And to-morrow there is the parade to hear the
sentence on the martyrs at Barrackpore. Do the sahibs
think us cowards that they drive us so? God smite their
souls to hell!"

" He will, brother, he will. The Cry shall yet be heard
in the House of the Thief," said the Ghazee fiercely, his
eyes growing dreamy with hope. He was thinking of a
sunset near the Goomtee more than a year ago, when he
had bid every penny he possessed for his own, in vain.

1 86 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Well, come if thou likest," continued the native
officer. " That camel of thine yonder is lame, and we
have room. 'Twas Erlton sahib's dak by rights, but he
goes not; so we got it cheap instead of an ckka"

" Erlton sahib's!" echoed the fanatic, clutching at
his sword. " Ay! Ay! " he went on half to himself. " I
knew he was at Delhi, and the mem who laughed, and the
other mem who would not listen. Nay! Soubadar-/??/
I travel in no carriage of Erlton sahib's. My camel
will serve me."

" Tis the vehicle of saints," sneered the owner of the
rakish Moghul cap. " Verily, when I saw thee mounted
on it, Ghazee-;>e, I deemed thee the Lord Ali."

" Peace! scoffer," interrupted the fanatic, " lest I mis-
take thee for an infidel."

The Moghul ducked hastily from a wild swing of the
curved sword, and moved off swearing such firebrands
should be locked up; they might set light to the train ere
wise men had it ready.

"No fear!" said the smart young troop-sergeant of
the 3d. " Who listens to such as he save those whose
blood has cooled, and those whose blood was never hot?
The fighters listen to women who can make their flame."

Soma, who was drifting with them toward the drug-
shops of the city, scowled fiercely. " That may -suit thee,
Mussulman-/??, who art casteless, and can sup shares
with sweeper women in the bazaar; but the Rajpoot
needs no harlot to teach him courage. The mothers of
his race have enough and to spare."

" Loh! hark to him!" jibed the corporal of the 2oth,
who was sticking to his prey like a leech. " Ask him,
Havildar-/??, if he prefers a sweeper's broom to a
sweeper's lips."

There was a roar of laughter from the group.

Soma gave a beast-like cry, looked as though he were
about to spring, then — recognizing his own helpless-
ness— flung himself away from all companionship and
walked home moodily. They had driven him too far;
he would not stand it. If that tale was spread abroad,
he would side with the Huzoors who did not believe such
things — with the Colonel who understood, like the Colo-

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 187

nel before him who had gone home on pension; for the
nth had a cult of their officers. And these fools, his
countrymen, thought to make him a butcher by threats;
sought to make him take revenge for what deserved
revenge. For it was the Sirkar's fault — it was the
Sirkar's fault.

In truth a strange conflict was going on in this man's
mind, as it was in many another such as his, between
inherited traditions, making alike for loyalty and dis-
loyalty. There was the knowledge of his forbears' pride
in their victories, in their sahibs who had led them to
victory, and the knowledge of their pride in the veriest
jot or tittle of ceremonial law. A dull, painful amaze filled
him that these two broad facts should be in conflict ; that
those, whom in a way he felt to be part of his life, should
be in league against him. All the more reason, that,
for showing them who were the better men ; for standing
up fairly to a fair fight. By all the delights of Swarga!
he would like to stand up fair, even to the master — the
man who, in his presence, had shot three tigers on foot
in half an hour — the demi-god of his hunting yarns for
years.

And then, suddenly, he remembered that this hero of
his might be shot like a dog on the 3ist at Delhi — would
be shot, since he was certain to be in the front of any-
thing. Soma's heat-fevered, hemp-drugged brain seized
on the thought fiercely, confusedly. That must not be!
The master, at any rate, must be warned. He would go
down when the sun set, and see if he were still where
he had been the day before; and if not? — Why! then it
must be two days leave to Delhi! He was not going to
butcher the master for all the sweepers' brooms in the
world. Fools! those others, to think to drive him,
Soma, Chundrabansi! So he flung himself on his string
bed to sleep till the sunset came, and the tyranny of heat
be overpast.

But there was one, close by in the cantonment bazaar,
who waited for sunset with no desire for it to bring cool-
ness. She meant it to bring heat instead. And this was
Nargeeza the courtesan. She was past the prime of
everything save vice, a woman who, once all-powerful,

i88 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

could not hope for many more lovers; and hers, a man
rich beyond most soldiers, lay in jail for ten years. No
wonder, then, that as she lay half-torpid among a heap
of tawdry finery in the biggest house of the lane set apart
by regulation for such as she, there was all the venom of
a snake in her drowsy brain. The air of the low room
was deadly with a scent of musk and roses and orange-
blossom-oil. The half-dozen girls and women who
lounged in it, or in the balcony, were half undressed, their
bare brown arms flung carelessly upon dirty mats and
torn quilts. Their harvest time was not yet; that would
come later when sunsetting brought the men from the
lines. This, then, was the time for sleep. But Nargeeza,
recognized head of the recognized regimental women,
sat up suddenly and said sharply:

" Thou didst not tell me, Nasiban, what Gulabi said.
Is she of us?"

A drowsy lump of a girl stirred, yawned, and answered
sullenly, " Yea! Yea! she is of us. She claims our right
to kiss no cowards — no cowards."

The voice tailed off into sleep again, and Nargeeza lay
back with a smile of content to wait also. So, after a
time, folk began to stir in the bungalows. First in the
rest-house, where, oddly enough, Jim Douglas occupied
one end of the long low barrack of a place, and Herbert
Erlton the other. The former having come back from
the city in an evil temper to get something to eat before
starting for Delhi, had found his horse, the Belooch,
unaccountably indisposed; Jhungi, who had brought her
there safely, professing entire ignorance of the cause, or,
on pressure, suggesting the nefarious Bhungi. Tiddu
asserting — with a calm assumption of superior knowl-
edge, for which Jim Douglas could have kicked him —
that the mare had been drugged. As if anybody could
not tell that? And that the drug had been opium. To
which the old scoundrel had replied affably that in that
case the effects would pass off during the night, and the
mare be none the worse; no one be any the worse, since
the Huzoor was quite comfortable in Meerut, and could
easily stay another day. It was a nicer place than Delhi;

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 189

there were more sahibs in it, and the presence of the
" ghora logue " (i. e., English soldiers) kept everyone
virtuous.

His hearer looked at him sharply. Here was some
other trick, no doubt, to cozen him out of another five
rupees; for something, maybe, as useless as the yellow
fakir. And there was really no reason for delay; it was
only a case of walking the mare quietly. For the matter
of that, the exercise would do her good, and help her to
work off the effects of the drug. So he would start
sooner, that was all. Nevertheless he gave an envious
look at the Major's little Arab in the next stall. It
would most likely be marching back to Delhi that night,
and he would have given something to ride it again. But
as he was returning from the stables, he learned by
chance that the Major's plans had been altered. An
orderly was coming from his room with letters and a
telegram, and knowing the man, Jim Douglas asked him
to take one for him also, and so save trouble. It did not
take long to write, for it only contained one word, " No."
It was in reply to one he had received a few hours before
from the military magnate, asking him to do some more
work. And as the orderly stowed away the accompany-
ing rupee carefully, Jim Douglas — waiting to make over
the paper — saw quite involuntarily that the Major's tele-
gram also consisted of one word, " Come." And he saw
the name also; big, black, bold, in the Major's handwrit-
ing.. " Gissing, Delhi."

He gave a shrug of his shoulders as he turned away to
get ready for his start. So that was it; and even Kate
Erlton had not benefited by his sacrifice. No one had
benefited. There had been no chance for any of them.
" Come ! " That ended Kate Erlton's hope of conceal-
ment, the Major's career. " No! " That ended his own
vague ambitions. Still, it was a strange chance in itself
that those two laconic renunciations should go the same
day by- the same hand. No stranger telegrams, he
thought, could have left Meerut, or were likely to leave
it that night.

He was wrong, however. An hour or two later, the

1 90 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

strangest telegram that ever came as sole warning to an
Empire that its very foundation was attacked, left Meerut
for Agra; sent by the postmaster's niece.

" The Cavalry," it ran, " have risen, setting fire to their
own houses besides having killed and wounded all Euro-
pean officers and soldiers they could find near the lines.
If Aunt intends starting to-morrow, please detain her, as
the van has been prevented from leaving the station."

For, as Jim Douglas paced slowly down the Mall to-
ward Delhi, and Soma, his buckles gleaming, his belts
pipe-clayed to dazzling whiteness, was swaggering
through the bazaar on his way to the rest-house with his
word of warning — the word which would have given Jim
Douglas the power for which he had longed — another
word was being spoken in that lane of lust, where the
time had come for which Nargeeza had waited all day.
But she did not say it. It was only a big trollop of a girl
hung with jasmine garlands, painted, giggling.

" We of the bazaar kiss no cowards," she said deris-
ively. " Where are your comrades? "

The man to whom she said it, a young dissolute-faced
trooper, dressed in the loose rakish muslins beloved of
his class — the very man, perchance, who had gone city-
ward that morning, and dropped an alms into the yellow
fakir's bowl — stood for a second in the stifling,^madden-
ing atmosphere of musk and rose and orange-blossom;
stood before all those insolent allurements, balked in his
passion, checked in his desires. Then, with an oath, he
dashed from her insulting charms; dashed into the street
with a cry:

'' To horse! To horse, brothers! To the jail! to our
comrades! "

The word had been spoken. The speech which brings
more than speech, had come from the painted lips of a
harlot.

The first clang of the church bell — which the chaplain
had forgotten to postpone — came faintly audible across
the dusty plain, making other men pause and look at
each other. Why not? It was the hour of prayer — the
appointed time. Their comrades could be easily res-
cued— there was but a native guard at the jail. And

THE WORD WENT FORTH. 191

hark! from another pair of painted derisive lips came
the same retort, flung from a balcony.

" Trra! We of the bazaar kiss no cowards!"

" To horse ! To horse ! Let the comrades be rescued

first; and then "

The word had been spoken. Nothing so very soul-
stirring after all. No consideration of caste or religion,
patriotism or ambition. Only a taunt from a pair of
painted lips.

BOOK III.

FROM DUSK TO DAWN.

CHAPTER I.

NIGHT.

"To the rescue! To the rescue! "

The cry was no more than that at first. To the rescue
of the eighty-five martyrs, the blows upon whose shackles
still seemed to echo in their comrades' ears. Even so,
the cry heard by Soma as he passed through the bazaar
meant insubordination — the greatest crime he knew — and
sent him flying to his own lines to give the alarm. Sent
him thence by instinct, oblivious of that promise for the
3 ist — or perhaps mindful of it and seeing in this outburst
a mere riot — to his Colonel's house with twenty jor thirty
comrades clamoring for their arms, protesting that with
them they would soon settle matters for the Huzoors.
But suspicion was in the air, and even the Colonel of the
nth could not trust all his regiment. Ready for church,
he flung himself on his horse and raced back with the
clamoring men to the lines.

And by this time there was another race going on.
Captain Craigie's faithful troop of the 3d Cavalry were
racing after his shout of " Dau-ro! bhai-yan, Dau-ro! "
(Ride, brothers, ride!) toward the jail in the hopes of
averting the rescue of their comrades. For, as the
records are careful to say, he and his troop " were dressed
as for parade " — not a buckle or a belt awry — ready to
combat the danger before others had grasped it, and
swiftly, without a thought, went for the first offenders.
Too late! the doors were open, the birds flown.

192

NIGHT. J93

What next was to be done? What but to bring the
troop back without a defaulter — despite the taunts of
escaping convicts, the temptations of comrades flushed
by success — to the parade ground for orders. But there
was no one to give them, for when the 3d Cavalry led the
van of mutiny at Meerut their Colonel was in the Euro-
pean cantonment as field officer of the week, and there
he " conceived it his duty to remain." Perhaps rightly.
And it is also conceivable that his absence made no dif-
ference, since it is, palpably, an easier task to make a
regiment mutiny than to bring it back to its allegiance.

Meanwhile the officers of the other regiments, the nth
and the 2oth, were facing their men boldly; facing the
problem how to keep them steady till that squadron of
the Carabineers should sweep down, followed by a com-
pany or two of the Rifles at the double, and turn the
balance in favor of loyalty. It could not be long now.
Nearly an hour had passed since the first wild stampede
to the jail. The refuse and rabble of the town were by
this time swarming out of it, armed with sticks and
staves; the two thousand and odd felons released from
the jails were swarming in, seeking weapons. The dan-
ger grew every second, and the officers of the nth,
though their men stood steady as rocks behind them,
counted the moments as they sped. For on the other
side of the road, on the parade ground of the 2Oth regi-
ment, the sepoys, ordered, as the nth had been, to turn
out unarmed, were barely restrained from rushing the
bells by the entreaties of their native officers; the Euro-
pean ones being powerless.

" Keep the men steady for me," said Colonel Finnis to
his second in command; " I'll go over and see what I
can do/'

He thought the voice of a man loved and trusted by
one regiment, a man who could speak to his sepoys with-
out an interpreter, might have power to steady another.

Jai bahaduri! (Victory to courage!) muttered Soma
under his breath as he watched his Colonel canter quietly
into danger. And his finger hungered on that hot May
evening for the cool of the trigger which was denied him.

Jai bahaduri I A murmur seemed to run through the

194 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

ranks, they dressed themselves firmer, squarer. Colonel
Finnis, glancing back, saw a sight to gladden any com-
mandant's heart. A regiment steady as a rock, drawn
up as for parade, absolutely in hand despite that strange
new sound in the air. The sound which above all
others gets into men's brains like new wine. The sound
of a file upon fetters — the sound of escape, of freedom, of
license! It had been rising unchecked for half an hour
from the lines of the 3d, whither the martyrs had been
brought in triumph. It was rising now from the bazaar,
the city, from every quiet corner where a prisoner might
pause to hack and hammer at his leg-irons with the first
tool he could find.

What was one man's voice against this sound,
strengthened as it was by the cry of a trooper galloping
madly from the north shouting that the English were in
sight? What more likely? Had not ample time passed
for the whole British garrison to be coming with fixed
bayonets and a whoop, to make short work of unarmed
men who had not made up their minds?

That must be no longer!

"Quick! brothers. Quick! Kill! Kill! Down with
the officers ! Shoot ere the white faces come ! "

It was a sudden wild yell of terror, of courage, of sheer
cruelty. It drowned the scream of the Colonel's horse
as it staggered under him. It drowned his steady ap-
pealing voice, his faint sob, as he threw up his hands at
the next shot, and fell, the first victim to the Great
Revolt.

It drowned something else also. It drowned Soma's
groan of wild, half-stupefied, helpless rage as he saw his
Colonel fall, — the sahib who* had led him to victory, — the
sahib whom he loved, whom he was pledged to save.
And his groan was echoed by many another brave man
in those ranks, thus brought face to face suddenly with
the necessity for decision.

" Steady, men, steady! "

That call, in the alien voice, echoed above the whist-
ling of the bullets as they found a billet here and there
among the ranks; for the men of the 2oth, maddened by
that fresh murder, now shot wildly at their officers.

NIGHT. 195

" Steady, men! Steady, for God's sake!"

The entreaty was not in vain; they were steady still.
Ay, steady, but unarmed! Steady as a rock still, but
helpless!

Helpless, unarmed! By all the gods all men wor-
shiped, men could not suffer that for long, when bullets
were wrhistling into their ranks.

So there was a waver at last in the long line. A faint
tremble, like the tremble of a curving wave ere it falls.
Then, with a confused roar, an aimless sweeping away of
all things in its path, it broke as a wave breaks upon a
pebbly shore.

:< To arms, brothers! Quick! fire! fire! "

Upon whom?* God knows! Not on their officers,
for these were already being hustled to the rear, hustled
into safety.

" Quick, brothers, quick ! Kill ! Kill ! "

The cry rose on all sides now, as the wave of revolt
surged on. But there was none left to kill; for the work
was done in the 2oth lines, and no new white faces came
to stem the tide. Two thousand and odd Englishmen
who might have stemmed it being still on the parade-
ground by the church, waiting for orders, for ammu-
nition, for a General, for everything save — thank
Heaven ! — for courage.

So the wave surged on, to what end it scarcely knew,
leaving behind it groups of sullen, startled faces.

"Whose fault but their own?" muttered an old man
fiercely; an old man whose son served beside him in the
regiment, whose grandson was on the roster for future
enlistment. " Why were we left helpless as new-born
babes?"

"Why?" echoed a scornful voice from the gathering
clusters of undecided men, waiting, with growing fear,
hope, despair, or triumph, for what was to come next:

* This question is one which must be asked as we look back through
the years on this pitiful spectacle of the loyal regiment, unarmed, facing
the disloyal one shooting down its officers. Briefly, on whom would the
seventy men of the nth, who never left the colors, the hundred and
twenty men who returned to them after the short night of tumult was
over, have fired if a company of English troops had come up to turn the
balance in favor of loyalty ?

196 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

waiting, briefly, for the master to come, or not to come.
"Why? because they were afraid of us; because their
time is past, baba jee. Let them go! "

Let them go. Incomprehensible suggestion to that
brave worn stiff in the master's service; so, with a great
numb ache in an old heart, an old body strode away,
elbowing younger ones from its path savagely.

" Old Dhurma hath grown milksop," jeered one
spectator; " that is with doing dry-nurse to his Captain's
babies."

The words caught the old man's ear and sent a quick
decision to his dazed face. The baba logue ! Yes ; they
'must be safeguarded; for ominous smoke began to rise
from neighboring roof-trees, and a strange note of sheer
wild-beast ferocity grew to the confused roar of the
drifting, shifting, still aimless crowd.

"Quick, brothers, quick! Kill, root and branch!
Why dost linger? Art afraid? Afraid of cowards?
Quick — kill everyone!"

The cry, boastful, jeering, came from a sepoy in the
uniform of the 2Oth, who, with a face ablaze with mad ex-
ultation, forced his way forward. There was something
in his tone which seemed to send a shiver of fresh ex-
citement through his comrades, for they paused in their
strange, aimless tumult, paused and listened to- the jeers,
the reproaches.

"What! art cowards too?" he went on. :< Then fol-
low me. For I began it — I fired the first shot — I killed
the first infidel. I—

The boast never ended, for above it came a quicker cry:

"Kill, kill, kill the traitor! Kill the man who
betrayed us."

There was a rush onward toward the boastful, arrogant
voice, the report of half a dozen muskets, and the crowd
surged on to revolt over the body of the man who had
fired the first shot of the mutiny.

For it was a strange crowd indeed; most of it power-
less for good or ill, sheep without a shepherd, wandering
after the rabble of escaped convicts and the refuse of the
bazaars as they plundered and fired the houses. Joining
in the license helplessly, drifting inevitably to violence,

NIGHT. 197

so that some looked on curiously, unconcernedly, while
others, maddened by the smell of blood, the sounds of
murder, dragged helpless Englishmen and Englishwomen
from their carriages and did them to death savagely.

But there were more like Soma, who, as the darkness
deepened and the glare and the dire confusion and dis-
may grew, stood aloof from it voluntarily, waiting, with
a certain callousness, to see if the master would come,
or if folk said true when they declared his time was
past, his day done.

Where was he? He should have come hours ago,
irresistible, overwhelming. But there was no sign. Not
a hint of resistance, save every now and again a clatter
of hoofs through the darkness, an alien voice calling
" Maro! Maro! " to those behind him, and a fierce howl
of an echo, " Maro! Maro! Ma-roh! " from the faithful
troop. For Captain Craigie, finding none to help him,
had changed his cry. It was " kill, kill, kill " now. And
the faithful troop obeyed orders.

Soma when he heard it gave a great sigh. If there had
been more of that sort of thing he would dearly have
loved to be in it; but the other was butchery. So he
wandered alone, irresolute, drifting northward from the
dire confusion and dismay, and crossing the Mall to ques-
tion a sentry of his own regiment as to what had hap-
pened to the masters. But the man replied by eager
questions as to what had happened to the servants. And
they both agreed that if the two thousand could not quell
a riot it would be idle to help them, the Lord's hand be-
ing so palpably against them.

Nevertheless, half an hour afterward the sentry still
waited at his post, and the guard over the Treasury
saluted as if nothing unusual was afoot to a group of
Englishmen galloping past.

" Those men know nothing," called Major Erlton to
another man. " It can't be so bad. Surely something
can be done! "

" Something should have been done two hours ago,"
came a sharp voice. " However, the troops have started
at last. If anyone "

The remainder was lost in the clatter. But more than

I98 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

one man's voice had been lost in those two hours at
Meerut on the loth of May, 1857; indeed, everything
seems to have been lost save — thank Heaven once more!
— personal courage.

It was now near eight o'clock, and Soma, skulking
by the Mall, midway between the masters and the men,
still irresolute, still uncertain, heard the first cry of " To
Delhi! to Delhi!" which, as the night wore on, was to
echo so often along that road. The cry which came un-
bidden as the astounding success of the revolt brought
thoughts of greater success in the future.

The moon was now rising to silver the dense clouds
of smoke which hung above the pillars of flame, and
give an additional horror of light to the orgies going on
unchecked. It showed him a group of 3d Cavalry troop-
ers galloping madly down the Mall. It showed them
the glitter of his buckles, making them shout again:

:< To Delhi, brother, to Delhi! "

Not yet. He had not seen the upshot yet. He must
go and see what was going on in the lines first. So he
struck rapidly across the open as the quickest way. And
then behind him, close upon him, came another
clatter of hoofs, a very different cry.

" Shah bash! bhaiydn. Maro! Maro!"

Remembering the glitter of his buckles, he turned and
ran for the nearest cover. None too soon, for a Mo-
hammedan trooper was after him, shouting " Deen!
Deen! Death to the Hindoo pig! " For any cry comes
handy when the blood is up and there is a saber in the
hand. Soma had to double like a hare, and even so,
when he paused to get his breath in a tangle of lime-
bushes there was a graze on his cheek. He had judged
his distance in one of those doubles a hair's breadth
too little. The faint trickle of blood sent a spasm of old
inherited race hatred through him. The outcaste should
know that the Hindoo pig shot straight. The means of
showing this were not far to find in the track of the faith-
ful troop. Five minutes after, Soma, with a musket
dragged from beneath something which lay huddled up
face down upon Mother Earth, was crouching in a belt
of cover, waiting for the troop to come flashing through

NIGHT. 199

the glare seeking more work. For there had been yells
and screams enough round that bungalow to stop looting
there. And as it came number seven bent lower to his
saddle bow suddenly, then toppled over with a clang.

"Left wheel! clear those bushes!" came the order
sharply. But Soma was too quick for that.

" Close up. Forward! " came the order again, as Cap-
tain Craigie's faithful troop went on, minus a man, and
Soma, stumbling breathlessly in safety, knew that the die
was cast. There was an answering quiver in his veins
which comes when like blood has been spilled. He knew
his foe now; he could go to Delhi now. And hark!
There was a regular rattle of musketry, at last — not the
dropping fire of mere butchery, but a regular volley. He
gripped his musket tighter and listened : if the battle had
begun he must be in it. The air was full of cracklings
and hissings — an inarticulate background to murderous
yells, terrified screams, horrors without end; but no more
volleys came to tell of retribution.

What did it mean? Soma held his breath hard.
Hark! what was that? A louder burst of that recurring
cry, " To Delhi! to Delhi! " as the last stragglers of the
3d Cavalry, escaping from the lines at the long-delayed
appearance there of law and order, followed their com-
rades' example.

So that the two thousand coming down in force found
nothing but the women and children; poor, frightened,
terror-struck hostages, left behind, inevitably, in the un-
foreseen success.

But Soma, knowing nothing of this, waited — that grip
on his musket slackening — for the next volley. But
none came. Only, suddenly, a bugle call.

The retreat!

Incredible! Impossible! Yes! Once, twice, thrice —
the retreat! The masters were not going to fight at
Meerut then, and he must try Delhi. So, turning
swiftly, he cut into the road behind the cry.

''' My God, Craigie! what's that? Not the retreat,
surely ! " came a boyish voice from the clatter and rattle
of the faithful troop.

" Don't know! Hurry up all you can, Clark! There's

200 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

more of the devils needing cold steel yonder, and I'd like
to see to my wife's safety as soon as I can. Shah bash
bhaiyan Ddn-ro. Maro."

" Maro — Ma — ro — Ma roh!" echoed the howl.

What was the retreat to them when their Captain's voice
called to them as brothers? It is idle to ask the question,
but one cannot help wondering if the Captain's pocket
still held the official wigging. For the sake of pictur-
esque effect it is to be hoped it did.

Nevertheless it was the retreat. A council of officers
had suggested that since the mutineers were not in their
lines, they might be looting the European cantonments.
So the two thousand returned thither, after firing that one
volley into a wood, and then finding all quiet to the north
proceeded to bivouac on the parade ground for the night.
Not a very peaceful spot, since it was within sight and
sound of blazing roof-trees and plundering ruffians.
The worst horrors of that night, we are told, can never
be known. Perhaps some people beg to differ, holding
that no horror can exceed the thought of women and
children hiding like hares on that southern side, creeping
for dear life from one friendly shadow to another, and
finding help in dark hands where white ones failed them,
within reach of that bivouac. But the faithful troop
did good service, and many another band of independent
braves also. Captain Craigie, finding leisure at last,
found also — it is a relief to know — that some of his own
men had sneaked away from duty to secure his wife's
safety when they saw their Captain would not. And if
anything can relieve the deadly depression which sinks
upon the soul at the thought of that horrible lack of
emotion in the north, it is to picture that very different
scene on the south, when Captain Craigie, seeing his only
hope of getting the ladies safely escorted to the Euro-
pean barracks lay in his troopers, brought the two Eng-
lishwomen out to them and said, simply, " Here are the
mems! Save them."

And then the two score or so of rough men, swash-
bucklers by birth and training, flung themselves from
their horses, cast themselves at those alien women's feet
with tears and oaths. Oaths that were kept.

NIGHT. 201

But, on the other side, people were more placid. One
reads of Englishmen watching " their own sleeping chil-
dren with gratitude in their hearts to God," with wonder-
ings as " to the fate of their friends in the south," with
anticipations of " what would befall their Christian breth-
ren in Delhi on the coming morn, who, less happy than
ourselves, had no faithful and friendly European bat-
talions to shield them from the bloodthirsty rage of the
sepoys."

What, indeed? considering that for two hours bands of
armed men had clattered and marched down that divid-
ing road crying " To Delhi, to Delhi! " But no warning
of the coming danger had been sent thither; the con-
fusion had been too great. And now, about midnight,
the telegraph wires had been cut. Yet Delhi lay but
thirty miles off along a broad white road, and there were
horses galore and men ready to ride them. Men ready
for more than that, like Captain Rosser of the Carabin-
eers, who pleaded for a squadron, a field battery, a troop,
a gun — anything with which to dash down the road and
cut off that retreat to Delhi. But everything was refused.
Lieutenant Mohler of the nth offered to ride, and at
least give warning; but that offer was also set aside. And
many another brave man, no doubt, bound to obey
orders, ate his heart out in inaction that night, possess-
ing himself in some measure of patience with the thought
that the dawn must see them on that Delhi road.

But there was one man who owed obedience to none;
who was free to go if he chose. And he did choose.
Ten minutes after it dawned upon Herbert Erlton that
no warning had been given, that no succor would be sent,
he had changed horses for the game little Arab which
had once belonged to Jim Douglas, and was off, to reach
Delhi as best he could; for a woman slept in the very city
itself exposed to the first assault of ruffianism, whom he
must save, if he could. So he set his teeth and rode
straight. At first down the road, for the last of the
fugitives had had a good hour's start of him, and he
could count on four or five miles plain sailing. Then,
since his object was to head the procession, and he did
not dare to strike across country from his utter ignor-

202 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

ance both of the way or how to ask it, he must give the
road a half-mile berth or so, and, keeping it as a guide,
make his way somehow. There were bridges he knew
where he must hark back to the only path, but he must
trust to luck for a quiet interval.

The plan proved more difficult than he expected.
More than once he found himself in danger from being
too close to the disciplined tramp which he began to over-
take about six miles out, and twice he lost himself from
being too far away, by mistaking one belt of trees for
another. Still there was plenty of time if the Arab held
out with his weight. The night was hot and stifling,
but if he took it coolly till the road was pretty clear again
he could forge ahead in no time; for the Arab had the
heels of every horse in Upper India. Major Erlton knew
this, and bent over to pat its neck with the pride of cer-
tainty with which he had patted it before many a race
which it had won for him since it had lost one for Jim
Douglas.

So he saved it all he knew; but he rode fourteen stone,
and that, over jumps, must tell. There was no other way,
however, that he knew of, by which an Englishman
could head that procession of shouting black devils.

One headed already, as it happened; though he was
unaware of the supreme importance of the fact; ignorant
of what lay behind him. Jim Douglas, who had left
Meerut all unwitting of that rescue party on its way to
the jail, was still about a mile from the halfway house
where he expected to find his relay. He had had the
greatest difficulty in getting the drugged mare to go
at all at first, and more than once had regretted having
refused old Tiddu's advice. She had pulled herself to-
gether a bit, but she was in a drip of sweat and still shaky
on her feet. Not that it mattered, he being close now to
Begum-a-bad, with plenty of time to reach Delhi by
dawn.

He rather preferred to pace slowly, his feet out of the
stirrups, his slight, easy figure dressed, as it always was
when in English costume, with the utmost daintiness,
sitting well back in the saddle. For the glamour of the
moonlight, the stillness of the night, possessed him.

NIGHT. 203

Everything so soundless save when the jackals began;
there were a number of them about. A good hunting
country ; the memory of many a run in his youthful days,
with a bobbery pack, came to him. After all he had had
the cream of life in a way. Few men had enjoyed theirs
more, for even this idle pacing through the stillness was
a pleasure. Pleasure? How many he had had! His
mind, reverting from one to another, thought even of
the owner of the golden curl without regret. She had
taught him the religion of Love, the adoration of a spot-
less woman. And Zora, dear little Zora, had taught him
the purity of passion. And then his mind went back
suddenly to a scene of his boyhood. A boy of eighteen
carrying a girl of sixteen who held a string of sea-trout
midway in a wide, deep ford. And he heard, as if it had
been yesterday, the faint splash of the fish as they slipped
one by one into the water, and felt the fierce fighting of
the girl to be set down, his own stolid resistance, their
mutual abuse of each other's obstinacy and carelessness.
Yes! he would like to see his sisters again, to know that
pleasure again. Then his mind took another leap.
Alice Gissing had not struggled in his hold, because she
had been in unison with his ideal of conduct; but if she
had not been, she would have fought as viciously, as un-
consciously as any sister. Alice Gissing, who He

settled his feet into the stirrups sternly, thinking of that
telegram with its one word " Come," which ended so
many chances.

Hark! What was that? A clatter of hoofs behind.
And something more, surely. A jingle, a jangle, familiar
to a soldier's ears. Cavalry at the gallop. He drew
aside hastily into the shadow of the arcaded trees and
waited.

Cavalry, no doubt. And the moon shone on their
drawn sabers. By Heaven! Troopers of the 3d!
Half a dozen or more!

" Shah bash, brothers," cried one as they swept past,
" we can breathe our beasts a bit at BegUm-a-bad and
let the others come up; no need to reach Delhi ere dawn.
The Palace would be closed."

Delhi! The Palace! And who were the others?

204 ON THE FACE OF 7^HE WATERS.

That, if they were coming behind, could soon be settled.
He turned the Belooch and trotted her back in the
shadow, straining eyes and ears down the tree-fringed
road which lay so still, so white, so silent.

Something was on it now, but something silent, almost
ghost-like, — -an old man, muttering texts, on a lame
camel which bumped along as even no earthly camel
ought to bump. That could not be the " others."

No! Surely that was a thud, a jingle, a clatter once
more. And once more the glitter of cold steel in the
moonlight. Forty or fifty of the 3d this time, with
stragglers calling to others still further behind, " To
Delhi! To Delhi! To Victory or Death! "

As he stood waiting for them all to pass ere he moved,
his first thought was, that with all these armed men at
Begum-a-bad there would be no .chance of a remount.
Then came a swift wonder as to what had happened. A
row of some sort, of course, and these men had fled. Ere
long, no doubt, a squadron of Carabineers would come
rattling after them. No! That was not cavalry. That
was infantry in the distance. Quite a number of men
shouting the same cry. Men of the 2oth, to judge by
what he could see. Then the row had been a big one.
Still the men were evidently fugitives. There was that
in their recurring cry which told of almost 'hopeless,
reckless enthusiasm.

And how the devil was he to get his remount? It was
to be at the serai on the roadside, the very place where
these men would rest. Yet he must get to Delhi, he
must get there sharp! The possibility that Delhi was
unwarned did not occur to him; he only thought how
he might best get there in time for the row which must
come. Should he wait for the English troops to come
up, and chance his remount being coolly taken by the
first rebel who wanted one? Or, Delhi being not more
than fifteen miles off across country, should he take the
mare as far as she would go, leave her in some field, and
do the rest on foot? He looked at his watch. Half-past
one! Say five miles in half an hour. The mare was good
for that. Then ten miles, at five miles an hour. The

NIGHT. 205

very first glimmer of light should see him at the boat-
bridge if — if the mare could gallop five miles.

He must try her a bit slowly at first. So, slipping
across the broad, white streak of road to the Delhi side,
he took her slanting through the tall tiger grass, for they
were close on a nullah which must be forded by a rather
deep ford lower down, since the bridge was denied to
him. About half a mile from the road he came upon the
track suddenly, in the midst of high tamarisk jungle
growing in heavy sand, and the next moment was on the
shining levels of the ford. The mare strained on his
hand, and he paused to let her have a mouthful of water.
As she stood there, head down, a horseman at the canter
showed suddenly, silently, behind him, not five yards
away, his horse's hoofs deadened by the sand.

There was a nasty movement, an ominous click on
both sides. But the moon was too bright for mistakes;
the recognition was mutual.

" My God, Erlton! " he cried, as the other, without a
pause, went on into the ford. " What's up? "

" Is it fordable? " came the quick question, and as Jim
Douglas for an answer gave a dig with his spurs, the
Major slackened visibly; his eye telling him that the
depth could not be taken, save at a walk.

" What's up? " he echoed fiercely. " Mutiny! murder!
I say, how far am I from Delhi? "

" Delhi ! " cried Jim Douglas, his voice keen as a knife.
" By Heaven! you don't mean they don't know — that they
didn't wire — but the troops "

" Hadn't started when I left," said the Major with a
curse. " I came on alone. I say, Douglas," he gave
a sharp glance at the other's mount and there was a
pause.

" My mare's beat — been drugged," said Jim Douglas
in the swish-swish of the water rising higher and higher
on the horses' breasts, and there was a curious tone in
his voice as if he was arguing out something to him-
self. " I've a remount at the serai, but the odds are a
hundred to one on my getting it. I'd given up the
chance of it. I meant to take the mare as many miles
across country as she'd go — more, perhaps — for she

206 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

feels like falling at a fence, and walk the rest. I didn't

know then He paused and looked ahead. The

water, up to the girths, made a curious rushing sound,
like many wings. The long, shiny levels stretched away
softly, mysteriously. The tamarisk jungle reflected in
the water seemed almost as real as that which edged the
shining sky. A white egret stood in the shallows; tall,
ghostly.

" I thought it was only — a row."

The voice ceased again, the breathings of the tired
horses had slackened ; there was no sound but that rush-
ing, as of wings, as those two enemies rode side by side,
looking ahead. Suddenly Jim Douglas turned.

" You ride nigh four stone heavier than I do, Major
Erlton."

The heavy, handsome face came round swiftly, all
broken up with sheer passion.

" Do you suppose I haven't been thinking that ever
since I saw your cursed face. And you know the coun-
try, and I don't. You know the lingo, and I don't.
And — and — you're a deuce sight better rider than I am,

d n you! But for all that, it's my chance, I tell you.

My chance, not yours."

A great surge of sympathy swept through the other
man's veins. But the water was shallowing rapidly.
A step or two and this must be decided.

" It's yours more than mine," he said slowly, " but it
isn't ours, is it? It's the others', in Delhi."

Herbert Erlton gave an odd sound between a sob and
an oath, a savage jag at the bridle as the little Arab, over-
weighted, slipped a bit coming up the bank. Then, with-
out a word, he flung himself from the saddle and set to
work on the stirrup nearest him.

" How many holes? " he asked gruffly, as Jim Doug-
las, with a great ache in his heart, left the Belooch stand-
ing, and began on the other.

" Three; you're a good bit longer in the leg than I am."

" I suppose I am," said the Major sullenly; but he held
the stirrup for the other to mount.

Jim Douglas gathered the reins in his hand and
paused.

NIGHT. 207

" You had better walk her back. Keep more to the
left ; it's easier."

" Oh! I'll do," came the sullen voice. " Stop a bit, the
curb's too tight."

" Take it off, will you? he knows me."

Major Erlton gave an odd, quick, bitter laugh. " I
suppose he does. Right you are."

He stood, putting the curb chain into his pocket,
mechanically, but Jim Douglas paused again.

" Good-by! Shake hands on it, Erlton."

The Major looked at him resentfully, the big, coarse
hand came reluctantly; but the touch of that other like
iron in its grip, its determination, seemed to rouse some-
thing deeper than anger.

" The odds are on you," he said, with a quiver in his
voice. " You'll look after her — not my wife, she's in can-
tonments— but in the city, you know."

The voice broke suddenly. He threw out one hand
in a sort of passionate despair, and walked over to the
Belooch.

" I'll do everything you could possibly do in my place,
Erlton."

The words came clear and stern, and the next instant
the thud of the Arab's galloping hoofs filled the still
night air. The sound sent a spasm of angry pain
through Major Erlton. The chance had been his, and
he had had to give it up because he rode three stone
heavier; and, curse it! knew only too well what a dif-
ference a pound or two might make in a race.

Nevertheless Jim Douglas had been right when he
said the chance was neither his nor the Major's. For,
less than an hour afterward, riding all he knew, doing
his level best, the Arab put his foot in a rat hole just as
his rider was congratulating himself on having headed
the rebels, just as, across the level plain stretching from
Ghazeabad to the only bridge over the Jumna, he fancied
he could see a big shadowy bubble on the western sky,
the dome of the Delhi mosque. Put its foot in a rat hole
and came down heavily! The last thing Jim Douglas
saw was — on the road which he had hoped to rejoin in
a minute or two — a strange ghostlike figure. An old

2o8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

man on a lame camel, which bumped along as even no
earthly camel ought to bump. •

As he fell, the rushing roar in his ears which heralds
unconsciousness seemed by a freak of memory to take a
familiar rhythm:

• ' La ! il-lah-il-Ullaho ! La ! il-lah-il-Ul-la-ho ! "

CHAPTER II.

DAWN.

THE chill wind which comes with dawn swayed the tall
grass beyond the river, and ruffling the calm stretches
below the Palace wall died away again as an oldish man
stepped out of a reed hut, built on a sandbank beside the
boat-bridge, and looked eastward. He was a poojari,
or master of ceremonial at the bathing-place where,
with the first streak of light, the Hindoos came to per-
form their religious ablutions. So he had to be up be-
times, in order to prepare the little saucers of vermilion
and sandal and sacred gypsum needed in his profession;
for he earned his livelihood by inherited right of hall-
marking his fellow-creatures with their caste-signs when
they came up out of the water. Thus he looked out over
those eastern plains for the dawn, day after day. He looks
for it still; this account is from his lips. And this dawn
there was a cloud of dust no bigger than a man's hand
upon the Meerut road. Someone was coming to Delhi.

But someone was already on the bridge, for it creaked
and swayed, sending little shivers of ripples down the
calm stretches. The poojari turned and looked to see
the cause; then turned eastward again. It was only a
man on a camel with a strange gait, bumping noiselessly
even on the resounding wood. That was all.

The city was still asleep; though here and there a
widow was stealing out in her white shroud for that
touch of the sacred river without which she would indeed
be accursed. And in a little mosque hard by the road
from the boat-bridge a muezzin was about to give the

DA WN. 209

very first call to prayer with pious self-complacency.
But someone was ahead of him in devotion, for, upon the
still air, came a continuous rolling of chanted texts. The
muezzin leaned over the parapet, disappointed, to see
who had thus forestalled him at heaven's gate; stared,
then muttered a hasty charm. Were there visions about?
The suggestion softened the disappointment, and he
looked after the strange, wild figure, half-seen in the
shimmering, shadowy dawn-light, with growing and
awed satisfaction. This was no mere mortal, this green-
clad figure on a camel, chanting texts and waving a
scimitar. A vision has been vouchsafed to him for his
diligence ; a vision that would not lose in the telling. So
he stood up and gave the cry from full lungs.

" Prayer is more than sleep! than sleep! than sleep! "
The echo from the rose-red fortifications took it up
first; then one chanting voice after another, monoto-
nously insistent.

" Prayer is more than sleep! than sleep! than sleep! "
And the city woke to another day of fasting. Woke
hurriedly, so as to find time for food ere the sun rose,
for it was Rumzan, and one-half of the inhabitants would
have no drop of water till the sun set, to assuage the
terrible drought of every living, growing thing beneath
the fierce May sun. The backwaters lay like a steel
mirror reflecting the gray shadowy pile of the Palace, the
poojari — waist-deep in them — was a solitary figure fling-
ing water to the sacred airts, absorbed in a thorough puri-
fication from sin.

Then from the serrated line of the Ridge came a bugle
followed by the roll of a time gun. All the world was
waking now. Waking to give orders, to receive them;
waking to mark itself apart with signs of salvation ; wak-
ing to bow westward and pray for the discomfiture of the
infidel; waking to stand on parade and salute the royal
standard of a ruler, hell-doomed inevitably, according
to both creeds.

A flock of purple pigeons, startled by the sound, rose
like cloud flakes on the light gray sky above the glimmer-
ing dome of the big mosque, then flew westward toward
the green fields and groves on the further side of the

210 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

town. For the roll of the gun was followed by a rever-
berating roll, and groan, and creak, from the boat-bridge.
The little cloud on the Meerut.road had grown into five
troopers dashing over the bridge at a gallop recklessly.
The poojari, busy now with his pigments, followed them
with his eyes as they clattered straight for the city gate.
They were waking in the Palace now, for a slender hand
set a lattice wide. Perhaps from curiosity, perhaps
simply to let in the cool air of dawn. It was a lattice in
the women's apartments.

The poojari went on rubbing up the colors that were to
bring such spiritual pride to the wearers, then turned to
look again. The troopers, finding the city gate closed,
were back again; clamoring for admittance through the
low arched doorway leading from Selimgarh to the
Palace. And as the yawning custodian fumbled for his
keys, the men cursed and swore at the delay ; for in truth
they knew not what lay behind them. The two thou-
sand from Meerut, or some of them, of course. But at
what distance?

As a matter of fact only one Englishman was close
enough to be considered a pursuer, and he was but a
poor creature on foot, still dazed by a fall, striking
across country to reach the Raj -ghat ferry below the
city. For when Jim Douglas had recovered conscious-
ness it had been to recognize that he was too late to be
the first in Delhi, and that he could only hope to help in
the struggle. And that tardily, for the Arab was dead
lame.

So, removing its saddle and bridle to give it a better
chance of escaping notice, he had left it grazing peace-
fully in a field and stumbled on riverward, intending to
cross it as best he could; and so make for his own house
in Duryagunj for a fresh horse and a more suitable kit.
And as he plodded along doggedly he cursed the sheer
ill-luck which had made him late.

For he was late.

The five troopers were already galloping through the
grape-garden toward the women's apartments and the
King's sleeping rooms.

Their shouts of "The King! The King! Help for

DAWN. 211

the martyrs! Help for the Holy War!" dumfoundered
the court muezzin, who was going late to his prayers
in the Pearl Mosque; the reckless hoofs sent a squatting
bronze image of a gardener, threading jasmine chaplets
for his gods peacefully in the pathway, flying into a
rose bush.

"The King! The King! Help! Help!"

The women woke with the cry, confused, alarmed, sur-
prised; save one or two who, creeping to the Queen's
room, found her awake, excited, calling to her maids.

" Too soon ! " she echoed contemptuously. " Can
a good thing come too soon? Quick, woman — I must
see the King at once — nay, I will go as I am if it comes
to that."

" The physician Ahsan-Oolah hath arrived as usual
for the dawn pulse-feeling," protested the shocked
tirewoman.

" All the more need for hurry," retorted Zeenut Maihl.
"Quick! Slippers and a veil! Thine will do, Fatma;

sure what makes thee decent " She gave a spiteful

laugh as she snatched it from the woman's head and
passed to the door; but there she paused a second. " See
if Hafzan be below. I bid her come early, so she should
be. Tell her to write word to Hussan Askuri to dream as
he never dreamed before! And see," her voice grew
shriller, keener, " the rest of you have leave. Go ! cozen
every man you know, every man you meet. I care not
how. Make their blood flow! I care not wherefore, so
that it leaps and bounds, and would spill other blood
that checked it." She clenched her hands as she passed
on muttering to herself. " Ah ! if he were a man — if his
blood were not chilled with age — if I had someone "

She broke off into smiles; for in the anteroom she
entered was, man or no man, the representative of the
Great Moghul.

" Ah, Zeenut! " he cried in tones of relief. " I would
have sought thee." The trembling, shrunken figure in
its wadded silk dressing gown paused and gave a back-
ward glance at Ahsan-Oolah, whose shrewd face was full
of alarm.

"Believe nothing, my liege!" he protested eagerly.

212 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" These rioters are boasters. Are there not two thousand
British soldiers in Meerut? Their tale is not possible.
They are cowards fled from defeat; liars, hoping to be
saved at your expense. The thing is impossible."

The Queen turned on him passionately. " Are not all
things possible with God, and is not His Majesty the
defender of the faith ! "

" But not defender of five runaway rioters," sneered
the physician. "My liege! Remember your pension."

Zeenut Maihl glared at his cunning; it was an argu-
ment needing all her art to combat.

"Five!" she echoed, passing to the lattice quickly.
" Then miracles are about — the five have grown to fifty.
Look, my lord, look ! Hark! How they call on the de-
fender of the faith."

With reckless hand she set the lattice wide, so becom-
ing visible for an instant, and a shout of "The Queen!
The Queen!" mingled with that other of "The Faith!
The Faith! Lead us, Oh! Ghazee-o-din-Bahadur-shah,
to die for the faith."

Pale as he was with age, the cry stirred the blood in
the King's veins and sent it to his face.

" Stand back," he cried in sudden dignity, waving
both counselors aside with trembling, outstretched hands.
" I will speak mine own words."

But the sight of him, rousing a fresh burst of enthusi-
asm, left him no possibility of speech for a time. The
Lord had been on their side, they cried. They had
killed every hell-doomed infidel in Meerut! They would
do so in Delhi if he would help! They were but an ad-
vance guard of an army coming from every cantonment
in India to swear allegiance to the Padishah. Long live
the King! and the Queen!

In the dim room behind, Zeenut Maihl and the phy-
sician listened to the wild, almost incredible, tale which
drifted in with the scented air from the garden, and
watched each other silently. Each found in it fresh
cause for obstinacy. If this were true, what need to be
foolhardy? time would show, the thing come of itself
without risk. If this were true, decisive action should
be taken at once; and would be taken.

DAWN. 213

But the King, assailed, molested by that rude inter-
rupting loyalty, above all by that cry of the Queen, felt
the Turk stir in him also. Who were these intruders in
the sacred precincts, infringing the seclusion of the Great
Moghul's women? Trembling with impotent passion,
inherited from passions that had not been impotent, he
turned to Ahsan-Oolah, ignoring the Queen, who, he
felt, was mostly to blame for this outrage on her modesty.
Why had she come there? Why had she dared to be
seen?

" ^our Majesty should send for the Captain of the
Palace Guards and bid him disperse the rioters, and force
them into respect for your royal person," suggested the
physician, carefully avoiding all but the immediate
present, " and your Majesty should pass to the Hall of
Audience. The King can scarce receive the Captain-
sahib here in presence of the Consort." He did not
add — " in her present costume " — but his tone implied
it, and the King, with an angry mortified glance toward
his favorite, took the physician's arm. If looks could
kill, Ahsan-Oolah would not, he knew, have supported
those tottering steps far; but it was no time to stick at
trifles.

When they had passed .from the anteroom Zeenut
Maihl still stood as if half stupefied by the insult. Then
she dashed to the open lattice again, scornful and defiant;
dignified into positive beauty for the moment by her
recklessness.

" For the Faith ! " she cried in her shrill woman's
voice, " if ye are men, as I would be, to be loved of
woman, as I am, strike for the Faith ! "

A sort of shiver ran through the clustering crowd of
men below; the shiver of anticipation, of the marvelous,
the unexpected. The Queen had spoken to them as
men; of herself as woman. Inconceivable! — improper
of course — yet exciting. Their blood thrilled, the in-
stinct of the man to fight for the woman rose at once.

"Quick, brothers! Rouse the guard! Close the
gates ! Close the gates ! "

It was a cry to heal all strife within those rose-red
walls, for the dearest wish of every faction was to close

214 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

them against civilization; against those prying Western
eyes and sniffing Western noses, detecting drains and
sinks of iniquity. So the clamor grew, and faces which
had frowned at each other yesterday sought support in
each other's ferocity to-day, and wild tales began to pass
from mouth to mouth. Men, crowding recklessly over
the flower-beds, trampling down the roses, talked of
visions, of signs and warnings, while the troopers, dis-
mounting for a pull at a pipe, became the center of eager
circles listening not to dreams, but deeds.

" Dost feel the rope about thy neck, Sir Martyr? "
said a bitter jeering voice behind one of the speakers.
And something gripped him round the throat from be-
hind, then as suddenly loosed its hold, as a shrouded
woman's figure hobbled on through the crowd. The
trooper started up with an oath, his own hand seeking
his throat involuntarily.

"Heed her not!" said a bystander hastily, " 'tis the
Queen's scribe, Hafzan. She hath a craze against men.
One made her what she is. Go on! Havildar-jee. So
thou didst cut the mem down, and fling the babe "

But the doer of the deed stood silent. He did in truth
seem to feel the rope about his neck. And he seemed to
feel it till he died ; when it was there.

But Hafzan had passed on, and there were -no more
with words of warning. So the clamor grew and grew,
till the garden swarmed with men ready for any deed.

Ahsan-Oolah saw this, and laid a detaining hand on
the Captain of the Guard's arm, who, summoned in hot
haste from his quarters over the Lahore gate, came in by
the private way, and proposed to go down and harangue
the crowd.

" It is not safe, Huzoor," he cried. " My liege, detain
him. These men by their own confession are mur-
derers "

The King looked from one to the other doubtfully.
Someone must get rid of the rioters; yet the physician
said truth.

" And if aught befall," added the latter craftily, " your
Majesty will be held responsible."

The old man's hand fell instantly on the Englishman's

DAWN-. 215

arm. " Nay, nay, sahib ! go not. Go not, my friend !
Speak to them from the balcony. They will not dare to
violate it."

So, backed by the sanctity of the Audience Hall of a
dead dynasty, the Englishman stood and ordered the
crowd to desist from profaning privacy in the name of
the old man behind him; whose power he, in common
with all his race, hoped and believed to be dead.

It was sufficient, however, to leave some respect for
the royal person, and make the crowd disperse. To
little purpose so far as peace and quiet went, since the
only effect was to send a leaven of revolt to every cor-
ner of the Palace. And the Palace was so full of malcon-
tents, docked of power, privilege, pensions; of all that
makes life in a Palace worth living.

So the cry " Close the gates " grew wider. The dazed
old King clung to the Englishman's arm imploring him
to stay; but now a messenger came running to say that
the Commissioner-sahib had called and left word that the
Captain was to follow without delay to the Calcutta gate
of the city. The courtiers, who had begun to assemble,
looked at each other curiously; the disturbance, then,
had spread beyond the Palace. Could, then, this amaz-
ing tale be true? The very thought sent them cringing
round the old man, who might ere long be King indeed.

Yet as the Captain dashed at a gallop past the sentries
standing calmly at the Lahore gate, there was no sign
of trouble beyond, and he gave a quick glance of relief
back at those cool quarters of his over the arched tunnel
where the chaplain, his daughter, and her friend were
staying as his guests. He felt less fear of leaving them
when he saw that the city was waking to life as always,
buckling down quietly to the burden and heat of a new
day. It was now past seven o'clock, and the sunlight,
still cool, was bright enough to cleave all things into
dark or light, shade or shine. Up on the Ridge, the
brigade, after listening to the sentence on the Barrack-
pore mutineers, was dispersing quietly; many of the men
with that fiat of patience till the 3ist in their minds, for
the carriage-load of native officers returning from the
Meerut court-martial had come into cantonments late

2l6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the night before. On the roofs of the houses in the
learned quarter women were giving the boys their break-
fasts ere sending them off to school. The milkwomen
were trooping in cityward from the country, the fruit-
sellers and hawkers trooping out Ridge-way as usual.
The postman going his rounds had left letters, written in
Meerut the day before, at two houses. And Kate Erl-
ton returning from early church had found hers and was
reading it with a scared face. Alice Gissing, however,
having had that laconic telegram, had taken hers coolly.
The decision had had to be made, since nothing had hap-
pened; and Herbert had the right to make it. For her
part, she could make him happy; she had the knack of
making most men happy, and she herself was always
content when the people about her were jolly. So she
was packing boxes in the back veranda of the little house
on the city wall.

Thus she did not see the man who, between six and
seven o'clock, ran breathlessly past her house, as a short-
cut to the Court House from the bridge, taking a mes-
sage from the toll-keeper to the nearest Huzoor, the
Collector, who was holding early office, that a party of
armed troopers had come down the Meerut road, that
more could be seen coming, and would the Huzoor
kindly issue orders. That first and final suggestion of
the average native subordinate in any difficulty.

Armed men? That might mean much or nothing.
Yet scarcely anything really serious, or warning would
have been sent. The Commissioner, anyhow, must be
told. So the Collector flung himself on his horse, which,
in Indian fashion, was waiting under a tree outside the
Court House, and galloped toward Ludlow Castle. No
need for that warning, however, for just by the Cashmere
gate he met the man he sought driving furiously down
with a mounted escort to close the city gates. He had
already heard the news.*

* (How ? His house lay a mile at least further off, and the Collector's
office was on the only route a messenger could take. No record explains
this. But the best ones mention casually that a telegram of warning
came to Delhi in the early morning of the nth. Whence? the wires
to Meerut were cut. Lahore, Umballa, Agra, did not know the news

DAWN. 217

Gathering graver apprehensions from this hasty meet-
ing, the Collector was off again to warn the Resident,
then still further to beg help from cantonments. No
delay here, no hesitation. Simply a man on a horse
doing his best for the future, leaving the present for
those on the spot.

Nor was there delay anywhere. The Commissioner,
calling by the way for the Captain of the Guard, the
nearest man with men under him, was at the gate, giving
on the bridge of boats, by half-past seven. The Resi-
dent, calling on his way at the magazine for two guns to
sweep the bridge, joined him there soon after. Too late.
The enemy had crossed, and were in possession of the
only ground commanding the bridge. Nothing re-
mained but to close the gate and keep the city quiet till
the columns of pursuit from Meerut should arrive; for
that there was one upon the road no one doubted. The
very rebels clamoring at the gate were listening for the
sound of those following footsteps. The very fanatics,
longing for another blow or two at an infidel to gain
Paradise withal ere martyrdom was theirs, listened too;
for during that moonlit night the certainty of failure had
been as myrrh and hyssop deadening them to the sacri-
fice of life.

So the little knot of Englishmen, looking hopefully
down the road, looked anxiously at each other, and
closed the river gate; kept it closed, too, even when the
2oth claimed admittance from their friends the guard
within. For the 38th regiment, whose turn it was for
city work, was also rotten to the core.

But they could not close that way through Selimgarh,
though it, in truth, brought no trouble to the town. The

themselves. Can the story — improbable in any other history, but in this
record of fatal mistakes gaining a pathetic probability — which the old
folk in Delhi tell be true ? The story of a telegram sent unofficially from
Meerut the night before, received while the Commissioner was at dinner,
put unopened into his pocket, &&& forgotten.

Not susceptible of proof or disproof, it certainly explains three things :

1. Whence the warning telegram came.

2. Why the Commissioner received information before a man a good
mile nearer the source.

3. Why the Collector at once sought for military aid.)

2l8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

men who chose it being intriguers, fanatics, the better
class of patriots more anxious to intrench themselves for
the struggle within walls, than to swarm into a town they
could not hope to hold. But there were others of differ-
ent mettle, longing for loot and license. The 3d Cavalry
had many friends in Delhi, especially in the Thunbi
Bazaar; so they made for it by braving the shallow
streams and shifting sandbanks below the eastern wall,
and so gaining the Raj -ghat gate. Here, after compact
with vile friends in that vile quarter, they found admit-
tance and help. For what?

Between the bazaar and the Palace lay Duryagunj,
rull of helpless Christian women and children; and so,
' Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed," the convenient Cry
of Faith, was ready as, followed by the rabble and refuse
once more, the troopers raced through the peaceful gar-
dens, pausing only to kill the infidels they met. But
like a furious wind gathering up all vile things in the
street and carrying them along for a space, then drop-
ping them again, the band left a legacy of license and
sheer murder behind it, while it sped on to loot.

But now the cry of " Close the gates " rose once more,
this time from the shopkeepers, the respectable quarters,
the secluded alleys, and courtyards. And many a door
was closed on the confusion and never operred again,
except to pass in bare bread, for four long months.

" Close the gates ! Close the gates ! Close the gates ! "
The cry rose from the Palace, the city, the little knot of
Englishmen looking down the Meerut road. Yet no one
could compass that closing. Recruits swarmed in
through Selimgarh to the Palace. Robbers swarmed
in through the Raj -ghat gate to harry the bazaars. Only
through the Cashmere gate, held by English officeis and
a guard of the 38th, no help came. The Collector arriv-
ing therein, hot from his gallop to cantonments, found
more wonder than alarm; for death was dealt in Delhi
by noiseless cold steel; and the main-guard having to
be kept, in order to secure retreat and safety to the Euro-
pean houses around it, no one had been able to leave it.
And all around was still peaceful utterly; even the roar
of growing tumult in the city had not reached it. Sonny

DAWN. 219

Seymour was playing with his parrot in the veranda,
Alice Gissing packing boxes methodically. The Col-
lector galloping past — as, scorning the suggestion that it
was needless risk to go further, he replied briefly, that
he was the magistrate of the town, and struck spurs to
his horse — made some folk look up — that was all.

But he could scarcely make his way through the grow-
ing crowd, which, led by troopers, was beginning to close
in behind the knot of waiting Englishmen. And once
more they looked down the Meerut road as they heard
that some time must elapse ere they could hope for re-
inforcement. The guns could not be got ready at a
moment's notice; nor could the Cashmere gate guard
leave the post. But the 54th regiment should be down
in about — In about what? No one asked; but
those waiting faces listened as for a verdict of life and
death.

In about an hour.

An hour! And not a cloud of dust upon the Meerut
road.

:' They can't be long, though, now," said the eldest
there hopefully. " And Ripley will bring his men down
at the double. If we go into the guard-house we can
hold our own till then, surely."

" I can hold mine," replied a young fellow with a
rough-hewn homely face. He gave a curt nod as he
spoke to a companion, and together they turned back,
skirting the wall, followed by an older, burlier man.
They belonged to the magazine, and they were off to see
the best way of holding their own. And they found
it — found it for all time.

But fate had denied to those other brave men the
nameless something which makes men succeed together,
or die together. Within half an hour they were scat-
tered helplessly. The Resident, after seeking support
from the city police for one whose name had been a
terror to Delhi for fifty years, and finding insult instead,
was flying for dear life through the Ajmere gate to the
open country. The Commissioner, who, after seizing a
musket from a wavering guard beside him and — with
the first shot fired in Delhi — shooting the foremost

220 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

trooper dead, seems to have lost hope, with mutiny
around and treason beside him, jumped into his buggy
alone and drove off to those cool quarters above the
Palace gate, as his nearest refyge. Their owner, the
Captain sought like refuge by flinging himself into
the cover of the dry moat, and creeping — despite injuries
from the fall — along it till some of his men, faithful so
far, seeing him unable for more, carried him to his own
room.

The Collector! Strangely enough there is no record
of what the Magistrate of the city did, thus left alone.
He had been wounded by the crowd at first, and was no
doubt weary after his wild gallopings. Still he, holding
his own so far, managed to gain the same refuge, some-
how. What else could he do alone? One thing we
know he could not do. That is, mount the broad, curv-
ing flight of shallow stone stairs leading to the cool
upper rooms. So the chaplain helped him; the chaplain
who had " from an early hour been watching the ad-
vance of the Meerut mutineers through a telescope and
feeling there was mischief in the wind."

Mischief indeed! and danger; most of all in those
rose-red walls within which refuge had been sought.
For the King was back in the women's apartments listen-
ing to the Queen's cozenings and Hussan Askuri's
visions, when that urgent appeal to send dhoolies to con-
vey the English ladies at the gate to the security of the
harem reached him; reached him in Ahsan-Oolah's
warning voice of wisdom. And he listened to both the
wheedling ambition and the crafty policy with a half-
hearing for something beyond it of pity, honor, good
ifaith; while Hafzan, pen in hand, sat with her large pro-
foundly sad eyes fixed on the old man's face, waiting —
waiting.

"If they come here — outcaste! infidel! I go," said
Zeenut Maihl.

" Thou shalt go with a bowstring about thy neck,
woman, if I choose," said the old King fiercely.
" Write! girl — the Queen's dhoolies to the Lahore gate
at once."

So, through the swarms of pensioners quarreling

DAWN. 221

already over new titles and perquisites, through the
groups of excited fanatics preparing for martyrdom
about the Mosque, past Abool-Bukr, three parts drunk,
boasting to ruffling blades of the European mistresses
he meant to keep, the Queen's dhoolies went swaying
out of the precincts; all yielding place to them. And
beyond, in the denser, more dangerous crowd without,
they passed easily; for those tinsel-decked, tawdry
canopies, screened with sodden musk and dirt-scented
curtains, were sacred.

Sacred even to the refuse and rabble of the city, the
dissolute eunuchs, the mob of retainers, palace guards,
and blood-drunk soldierly surging through that long
arched tunnel by the Lahore gate, and hustling to get
round that wide arch, and so, a few steps further, see the
Commissioner standing at bay upon that wide curving
red-stone stair that led upward. Standing and thinking
of the women above; of one woman mostly. Standing,
facing the wild sea of faces, waiting to see if that last
appeal for help had been heard.

" Room! Room! for the Queen's dhoolies! "

The cry echoed above the roar of the crowd.

At last! He turned, to pass on the welcome news,
perchance; but it was enough- — that one waver of that
stern face! There was a rush, a cry, a clang of steel on
stone, a fall! And then up those wide curving stairs,
like fiends incarnate, jostled a mad crew, elbowing each
other, cursing each other, in their eagerness for that
blow which would win Paradise.

Four crowns of glory in the first room, where the
chaplain, the Captain, and the two English girls fell side
by side. One in the next, where the Collector and
Magistrate, weary and wounded, still lay alone.

"Way! Way! for the Queen's dhoolies!"

But they had come too late, as all things seemed to
come too late on that fatal nth of May.

Too late! Too late! The words dinned themselves
into a horseman's brain, as he dashed out of the com-
pound of a small house in Duryagunj and headed
straight through the bazaar for the little house on the
city wall by the Cashmere gate. And as he rode he
shouted: "Deen! Deen!"

222 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

It was a convenient cry, and suited the trooper's dress
he wore. He had had to shoot a man to get it, but he
hoped to shoot many more when he had seen Alice
Gissing in safety, and the Meerut column had come in.
It could not be long now.

CHAPTER III.

DAYLIGHT.

THREE miles away Kate Erlton sat in her home-like,
peaceful drawing room, feeling dazzled. The sunshine,
streaming through the open doors, seemed to stream
into the very recesses of her mind as she sat, still look-
ing at the letter which she had found half an hour before
waiting for her beside a bunch of late roses which the
gardener had laid on the table ready for her to arrange in
the vases. The flowers were fading fast; the dog-cart
waiting outside to take her on to see a sick friend ere the
sun grew hot, shifted to find another shadow; but she
did not move.

She was trying to understand what it all meant;
really — deprived of her conventional thoughts about such
things. And one sentence in the letter had a. strange
fascination for her. " I am not such a fool as to think
you will mind. I know you will get on much better
without me."

Of course. She had, in a way, accepted the truth of
this years ago. The fact must have been patent to him
also all that time ; and she had known that he accepted it.

But now, set down in black and white, it forced her
into seeing — as she had never seen before — the deadly
injury she had done to the man by not minding. And
then the question came keenly — " Why had she not
minded?" Because she had not been content with her
bargain. She had wanted something else. What? The
emotion, the refinement, the fin-fleur of sentiment.
Briefly, what made her happy; what gave her satisfac-
tion. It was only, then, a question between different
forms of enjoyment; the one as purely selfish as the

DA Y LIGHT. M$

other. More so, in a way, for it claimed more and
carried the grievance of denial into every detail of life.
She moved restlessly in her chair, confused by this sud-
den daylight in her mind; laid down the letter, then took
it up again and read another sentence.

" I believe you used to think that I'd get the regiment
some day; but I shouldn't — after all, the finish is the
win or the lose of a race."

The letter went down on the table again, but this time
her head went down with it to rest upon it above her
clasped hands. Oh! the pity of it! the pity of it! Yet
how could she have avoided standing aloof from this
man's life as she had done from the moment she had dis-
covered she did not love him?

Suddenly she stood up, pressing those clasped hands
tight to her forehead as if to hold in her thoughts. The
sunlight, streaming in, shone right into her cool gray
eyes, showing in a ray on the iris, as if it were passing
into her very soul.

If she had been this man's sister, instead of his wife,
could she not have lived with him contentedly enough,
palliating what could be palliated, gaining what influ-
ence she could with him, giving him affection and sym-
pathy? Why, briefly, had she failed to make him what
Alice Gissing had made him — a better man? And yet
Alice Gissing did not love him; she had no romantic
sentiment about him. Did she really lay less stress — she,
the woman at whom other women held up pious hands
of horror — on that elemental difference between the tie of
husband and wife, and brother and sister than she, Kate
Erlton, did, who had affected to rise superior to it alto-
gether? It seemed so. She had asked for a purely
selfish gratification of the mind. And Alice Gissing?
A strange jealousy came to her with the thought, not
for herself, but for her husband; for the man who was
content to give up everything for a woman whom he
" loved very dearly." That was true. Kate had
watched him for those three months, and she had
watched Mrs. Gissing too, and knew for a certainty the
latter gave him nothing any woman might not have
given him if she had been content to put her own

224 CAT THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

claims for happiness, her own gratification, her own
mental passion aside. So a quick resolve came to her.
He must not give up the finish, the win or the lose of the
race, for so little. There was time yet for the chance.
She had pleaded for one with a man a year ago; she
would plead for it with a woman to-day.

She passed into the veranda hastily, pausing involun-
tarily ere getting into the dog-cart before the still, sunlit
beauty of that panorama of the eastern plains, stretching
away behind the gardens which fringed the shining
curves of the river. There was scarcely a shadow any-
where, not a sign to tell that three miles down that river
the man with whom she had pleaded a year ago was
straining every nerve to give her and himself a chance,
and that within the rose-lit, lilac-shaded city the chance
of some had come and gone.

Nor, as she drove along the road intent on that com-
ing interview in the hot little house upon the wall, was
there any sign to warn her of danger. The Cash-
mere gate stood open, and the guard saluted as usual.
Perhaps, had the English officers seen her, they might
have advised her return, even though there was as yet
no anticipation of danger; had there been one, the first
thought would have been to clear the neighboring
bungalows. But they were in the main-guard, and she
set down the stare of the natives to the fact that nine
o'clock was unusually late for an English lady to be
braving the May sun. The road beyond was also un-
usually deserted, but she was too busy searching for the
winged words, barbed well, yet not too swift or sharp
to wound beyond possibility of compromise, which she
meant to use ere long, to pay any attention to her sur-
roundings. She did not even catch the glimpse of
Sonny, still playing with the cockatoo, as she sped past
the Seymours' house, and she scarcely noticed the
groom's " Hut! teri, hut! " (Out of the way! you there!)
to a figure in a green turban, over which she nearly ran,
as it came sneaking round a corner as if looking for
something or someone; a figure which paused to look
after her half doubtfully.

Yet these same words, which came so readily to her

DA y LIGHT. **$

imaginings, failed her, as set words will, before the com-
monplace matter-of-fact reality. If she could have
jumped from the dog-cart and dashed into them without
preamble, she would have been eloquent enough; but
the necessary inquiry if Mrs. Gissing could see her, the
ushering in as for an ordinary visit, the brief waiting,
the perfunctory hand-shake with the little figure in
familiar white-and-blue were so far from the high-strung
appeal in her thoughts that they left her silent, almost
shy.

" Find a comfy chair, do," came the high, hard voice.
" Isn't it dreadfully hot? My old Mai will have it some-
thing is going to happen. She has been dikking me
about it all the morning. An earthquake, I suppose; it
feels like it, rather. Don't you think so? "

Kate felt as if one had come already, as, quite auto-
matically, she satisfied Alice Gissing's choice of " a
really — really comfy chair."

How dizzily unreal it seemed! And yet not more so,
in fact, than the life they had been leading for months
past; knowing the truth about each other absolutely;
pretending to know nothing. Well! the sooner that
sort of thing came to an end, the better!

" I have had a letter from my husband," she began,
but had to pause to steady her voice.

" So I supposed when I saw you," replied Alice Giss-
ing, without a quiver in hers. But she rose, crossed over
to Kate, and stood before her, like a naughty child, her
hands behind her back. She looked strangely young,
strangely innocent in the dim light of the sunshaded
room. So young, so small, so slight among the endless
frills and laces of a loose morning wrapper. And she
spoke like a child also, querulously, petulantly.

" I like you the better for coming, too, though I don't
see what possible good it can do. He said in his letter
to me he would tell you all about it, and if he has, I
don't see what else there is to say, do you? "

Kate rose also, as if to come nearer to her adversary,
and so the two women stood looking boldly enough into
each other's eyes. But the keenness, the passion, the
pity of the scene had somehow gone out of it for Kate

226 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Erlton. Her tongue seemed tied by the tameness; she
felt that they might have been discussing a trivial detail
in some trivial future. Yet she fought against the
feeling.

" I think there is a great deal to say; that is why I
have come to say it," she replied, after a pause. " But
I can say it quickly. You don't love my husband, Alice
Gissing, let him go. Don't ruin his life."

Bald and crude as this was in comparison with her
imagined appeal, it gave the gist of it, and Kate watched
her hearer's face anxiously to see the effect. Was that
by chance a faint smile? or was it only the barred light
from the jalousies hitting the wide blue eyes?

" Love! " echoed Alice Gissing. " I don't know any-
thing about love. I never pretended to. But I can
make him happy; you never did."

There was not a trace of malice in the high voice. It
simply stated a fact; but a fact so true that Kate's lip
quivered.

" I know that as well as you do. But I think I could —
now. I want you to give me the chance."

She had not meant to put it so humbly; but, being
once more the gist of what she had intended to say, it
must pass. There was no doubt about the smile now.
It was almost a laugh, that hateful, inconsequent laugh;
but, as if to soften its effect, a little jeweled hand hovered
out as if it sought a resting-place on Kate's arm.

" You can't, my dear. It is so funny that you can't
see that, when I, who know nothing about — about all
that — can see it quite plainly. You are the sort of
woman, Mrs. Erlton, who falls in love — who must fall
in love — who — don't be angry! — likes being in love, and
is unhappy if she isn't. Now I don't care a rap for
people to be thinking, and thinking, and thinking of me,
nothing but me! I like them to be pleasant and pleased.
And I make them so, somehow— She shrugged her

shoulders whimsically as if to dismiss the puzzle, and
went on gravely, " And you can't make people happy if
you aren't happy yourself, you know, so there is no use
in thinking you could."

It was bitter truth, but Kate was too honest to deny it.

DA Y LIGHT. 227

There had always been the sense of grievance in the
past, and the sense of self-sacrifice, at least, would remain
in the future.

" But there are other considerations," she began
slowly. " A man does not set such store by — by love
and marriage as a woman. It is only a bit "

" A very small bit," put in Mrs. Gissing, with a whim-
sical face.

" A very small bit of his life," continued Kate stolidly,
" and if my husband gives up his profession "

Mrs. Gissing interrupted her again; this time petu-
lantly. "I told him it was a pity — I offered to go away
anywhere. I did, indeed! And I couldn't do more,
could I? But when a man gets a notion of honor into
his head "

"Honor!" interrupted Kate in her turn, "the less
said about honor the better, surely, between you and
me!"

The wide blue eyes looked at her doubtfully.

" I never can understand women like you," said their
owner. " You pretend not to care, and then you make
so much fuss over so little."

" So little! " retorted Kate, her temper rising. " Is it
little that my boy should have to know this about his
father — about me? You have no children, Mrs. Giss-
ing! If you had you would understand the shame
better. Oh! I know about the baby and the flowers —
who doesn't? But that is nothing. It was so long ago,
it died so young, you have forgotten "

She broke off before the expression on the face before
her — that face with the shadowless eyes, but with deep
shadows beneath the eyes and a nameless look of physi-
cal strain and stress upon it — and a sudden pallor came
to her own cheek.

" So he hasn't told you," came the high voice half-
fretfully, half-pitifully. "That was very mean of him;
but I thought, somehow, he couldn't by your coming
here. Well! I suppose I must. Mrs. Erlton "

Kate stepped back from her defiantly, angrily. " He
has told me all I need, all I care to know about this
miserable business. Yes! he has! You can see the

228 ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

letter if you like — there it is! I am not ashamed of it.
It is a good letter, better than I thought he could write —
better than you deserve. For he says he will marry you
if I will let him! And he says he is sorry it can't be
helped. But I deny that. It can, it must, it shall be
helped! And then he says it's a pity for the boy's sake;
but that it does not matter so much as if it was a
girl "

It was the queerest sound which broke in on those
passionate reproaches. The queerest sound. Neither a
laugh nor a sob, nor a cry; but something compounded
of all three, infinitely soft, infinitely tender.

" And the oilier may be" said Alice Gissing in a voice
of smiles and tears, as she pointed to the end of the sen-
tence in the letter Kate had thrust upon her. " Poor
dear! What a way to put it! How like a man to
think you could understand; and I wonder what the old
Mai would say to its being —

What did she say? What were the frantic words
which broke from the frantic figure, its sparse gray hair
showing, its shriveled bosom heaving unveiled, which
burst into the room and flung its arms round that little
be-f rilled white one as if to protect and shield it?

Kate Erlton gave a half-choked, half-sobbing cry.
Even this seemed a relief from the incredible horror of
what had dawned upon her, frightening her by the wild
insensate jealousy it roused — the jealousy of mother-
hood.

" What is it? What does she say?" she cried pas-
sionately, " I have a right to know! "

Alice Gissing looked at her with a faint wonder. " It
is nothing about that" she said, and her face, though it
had whitened, showed no fear. " It's something more
important. There has been a row in the city — the Com-
missioner and some other Englishmen have been killed
and she says we are not safe. I don't quite understand.
Oh! don't be a fool, Mai! " she went on in Hindustani, " I
won't excite myself. I never do. Don't be a fool, I
say!" Her foot came down almost savagely and she
turned to Kate. " If you will wait here for a second,
Mrs. Erlton, I'll go outside with the Mai and have a look

DAYLIGHT. 229

round, and bring my husband's pistol from the other
room. You had better stay, really. I shall be back in
a moment. And I dare say it's all the old Mai's non-
sense— she is such a fool about me — nowadays." Her
white face, smiling over its own certainty of coming
trouble, was gone, and the door closed, almost before
Kate could say a word. Not that she had any to say.
She was too dazed to think of danger to the little
figure, which passed out into the shady back veranda
perched on the city wall, looking out into the peaceful .
country beyond. She was too absorbed in what she had
just realized to think of anything else. So this was what
he had meant! — and this woman with her facile nature,
ready to please and be pleased with anyone — this woman
content to take the lowest place — had the highest of all
claims upon him. This woman who had no right to
motherhood, who did not know

God in Heaven! What was that through the stillness
and the peace? A child's pitiful scream.

She was at the closed windows in an instant, peering
through the slits of the jalousies; but there was nothing
to be seen save a blare and blaze of sunlight on sun-
scorched grass and sun-withered beds of flowers. Noth-
ing!— stay! — Christ help us! What was that? A vision
of white, and gold, and blue. White garments and
white wings, golden curls and flaming golden crest, fierce
gray-blue beak and claws among the fluttering blue
ribbons. Sonny! His little feet flying and failing fast \J

among the flower-beds. Sonny! still holding his
favorite's chain in the unconscious grip of terror, while
half-dragged, half-flying, the wide white wings fluttered
over the child's head.

"Decn! Deen! Futteh Mohammed! "

That was from the bird, terrified, yet still gentle.

"Decn! Deen! Futteh Mohammed! "

That was from the old man who followed fast on the
child with long lance in rest like a pig-sticker's. An old
man in a faded green turban with a spiritual, relentless
face.

Kate's fingers were at the bolts of the high French win-
dow— her only chance of speedy exit from that closed

230 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

room. Ah! would they never yield? — and the lance
was gaining on those poor little flying feet. Every atom
of motherhood in her — fierce, instinctive, animal, fought
with those unyielding bolts. . . .

What was that? Another vision of white, and gold,
and blue, dashing into the sunlight with something in a
little clenched right hand. Childish itseJL in frills, and
laces, and ribbons, but with a face as relentless as the
old man's, as spiritual. And a clear confident voice -Fftftg
above those discordant ctie&r

"All right, Sonny! All right, dear!"

On, swift and straight in the sunlight; and then a
pause to level the clenched right hand over the left arm
coolly, and fire. The lance wavered. It was two feet
further from that soft flesh and blood when Alice Gissing
caught the child up, turned and ran; ran for dear life
to shelter.

"Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed! "

The cry came after the woman and child, and over
them, released by Sonny's wild clutch at sheltering arms,
the bird fluttered, echoing the cry.

But one bolt was down at last, the next yielding — Ah !
who was that dressed like a native, riding like an Eng-
lishman, who leaped the high garden fence and was over
among the flower-beds where Sonny was being' chased.
Was he friend or foe? No matter! Since under her
vehement hands the bolt had fallen, and Kate was out
in the veranda. Too late! The flying sunlit vision of
white, and gold, and blue had tripped and fallen. No!
not too late. The report of a revolver rang out, and the
Cry of Faith came only from the bird, for the fierce
relentless face was hidden among the laces, and frills, and
ribbons that hid the withered flowers.

But the lance? The lance whose perilous nearness
had made that shot Jim Douglas' only chance of keeping
his promise? He was on his knees on the scorched
grass choking 'down the curse as he saw a broken shaft
among the frills and ribbons, a slow stream oozing in
gushes to dye them crimson. There was another crim-
son spot, too, on the shoulder, showing where a bullet,
after crashing through a man's temples, had found its

DA Y LIGHT. 231

spent resting place. But as the Englishman kicked
away one body, and raised the other tenderly from the
unhurt child, so as not to stir that broken shaft, he wished
that if death had had to come, he might have dealt it.
To his wild rage, his insane hatred, there seemed a dese-
cration even in that cold touch of steel from a dark hand.

But Alice Gissing resented nothing. She lay propped
by his arms with those wide blue eyes still wide, yet
sightless, heedless of Kate's horrified whispers, or the
poor old Mai's frantic whimper. Until suddenly a
piteous little wail rose from the half-stunned child to
mingle with that ceaseless iteration of grief. " Oh!
meri buchchi murgyia! " (Oh, my girlie is dead! — dead!)

It seemed to bring her back, and a smile showed on
the fast-paling face.

"Don't be a fool, Mai. It isn't a girl; it's a boy.
Take care of him, do, and don't be stupid. I'm all
right."

Her voice was strong enough, and Kate looked at
Jim Douglas hopefully. She had recognized him at once,
despite his dress, with a faint, dead wonder as to why
things were so strange to-day. But he could feel some-
thing oozing wet and warm over his supporting arm, he
knew the meaning of that whitening face; so he shook
his head hopelessly, his eyes on those wide unseeing
ones. She was as still, he thought, as she had been
when he held her before. Then suddenly the eyes nar-
rowed into sight, and looked him in the face curiously,
clearly.

"It's you, is it?" came the old inconsequent laugh.
" Why don't you say ' Bravo ! — Bravo ! — Bra ' "

The crimson rush of blood from her still-smiling lips
dyed his hands also, as he caught her up recklessly with
a swift order to the others to follow, and ran for the
house. But as he ran, clasping her close, close, to him,
his whispered bravos assailed her dead ears passionately,
and when he laid her on her bed, he paused even in the
mad tumult of his rage, his anxiety, his hope for others to
kiss the palms of those brave hands ere he folded them
decently on her breast, and was out to fetch his horse,
and return to where Kate waited for him in the veranda,

232 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the child in her arms. Brave also; but the certainty that
he had left the flood-level of sympathy and admiration
behind him at the feet of a dead woman he had never
known, was with him even in his hurry.

" I can't see anyone else about as yet," he said, as he
reloaded hastily, " and but for that fiend — that devil of
a bird hounding him on — what did it mean? — not that
it matters now " — he threw his hand out in a gesture of
impotent regret and turned to mount.

Kate shivered. What, indeed, did it mean? A vague
recollection was adding to her horror. Had she driven
away once from an uncomprehensible appeal in that
relentless face? when the bird

" Don't think, please," said Jim Douglas, pausing to
give her a sharp glance. :< You will need all your nerve.
The troops mutinied at Meerut last night, and killed a
lot of people. They have come on here, and I don't trust
the native regiments. Go inside, and shut the door. I
must reconnoiter a bit before we start."

" But my husband?" she cried, and her tone made
him remember the strangeness of finding her in that
house. She looked unreliable, to his keen eye; the bit-
ter truth might make her rigid, callous, and in such
callousness lay their only chance.

" All right. He asked me to look after — her."

He saw her waver, then pull herself together; but he
saw also that her clasp on Sonny tightened convulsively,
and he held out his arms.

" Hand the child to me for a moment," he said briefly,
" and call that poor lady's ayah from her wailing."

The piteous whimperings from the darkened rooms
within ceased reluctantly. The old woman came with
lagging step into the veranda, but Jim Douglas called to
her in the most matter-of-fact voice.

" Here, Mai! Take your mem's charge. She told
you to take care of the boy, remember." The tear-dim
doubtful eyes looked at him half-resentfully, but he went
on coolly. " Now, Sonny, go to your ayah, and be a
good boy. Hold out your arms to old ayah, who has
had ever so many Sonnys — haven't you, ayah?"

The child, glad to escape from the prancing horse, the

DA Y LIGHT. 233

purposely rough arms, held out its little dimpled hands.
They seemed to draw the hesitating old feet, step by step,
till with a sudden fierce snatch, a wild embrace, the old
arms closed round the child with a croon of content.

Jim Douglas breathed more freely. " Now, Mrs. Erl-
ton," he said, " I can't make you promise to leave Sonny
there; but he is safer with her than he could be with you.
She must have friends in the city. You haven't one."

He was off as he spoke, leaving her to that knowledge.
Not a friend! No! not one. Still, he need not have
told her so, she thought proudly, as she passed in and
closed the doors as she had been bidden to do. But he
had succeeded. A certain fierce, dull resistance had re-
placed her emotion. So while the ayah, still carrying
Sonny, returned to her dead mistress, Kate remained in
the drawing room, feeling stunned. Too stunned to
think of anything save those last words. Not a friend!
Not one, saving a few cringing shop-keepers, in all that
wide city to whom she had ever spoken a word! Whose
fault was that? Whose fault was it that she had not
understood that appeal?

A rattle of musketry quite close at hand roused her
from apathy into fear for the child, and she passed
rapidly into the next room. It was empty, save for that
figure on the bed. The ayah with her charge had gone,
closing the doors behind her; to her friends, no doubt.
But she, Kate Erlton, had none. The renewed rattle
of musketry sent her to peer through the jalousies; but
she could see nothing. The sound seemed to come from
the open space by the church, but gardens lay between
her and that, blocking the view. Still it was quite close ;
seemed closer than it had been. No doubt it would
come closer and closer till it found her waiting there,
without a friend. Well! Since she was not even
capable of saving Sonny, she could at least do what she
was told — she could at least die alone.

No! not quite alone! She turned back to the bed and
looked down on the slender figure lying there as if asleep.
For the ayah's vain hopes of lingering life had left the
face unstained, and the folded hands hid the crimson
below them. Asleep, not dead; for the face had no look

234 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

of reat. It was the face of one who dreams still of the
stress and strain of coming life.

So this was to be her companion in death ; this woman
who had done her the greatest wrong. What wrong?
the question came dully. What wrong had she done
to one who refused to admit the claims or rights of
passion? What had she stolen, this woman who had not
cared at all? Whose mind had been unsullied utterly.
Only motherhood; and that was given to saint and sin-
ner alike.

Given rightly here, for those little hands were brave
mother-hands. Kate put out hers softly and touched
them. Still warm, still life-like, their companionship
thrilled her through and through. With a faint sob, she
sank on her knees beside the bed and laid her cheek on
them. Let death come and find her there! Let the
finish of the race, which was the win and the lose

" Mrs. Erlton! quick, please! "

Jim Douglas' voice, calling to her from outside, roused
her from a sort of apathy into sudden desire for life ; she
was out in the veranda in a second.

" The game's up," he said, scarcely able to speak
from breathlessness; and his horse was in a white lather.
" I had to see to the Seymours first, and now there's only
one chance I can think of — desperate at that.- Quick,

your foot on mine — so — from the step Now your

hand. One! two! three! That's right." He had her
on the saddle before him and was off through the gardens
cityward at a gallop. " The 54th came down from the
cantonments all right," he went on rapidly, " but shot
their officers at the church — the city scoundrels are kill-
ing and looting all about, but the main-guard is closed
and safe as yet. I got Mrs. Seymour there. I'll get you
if I can. I'm going to ride through the thick of the
devils now with you as my prisoner. Do you see — there
at the turn. I'll hark back down the road — it's the only
chance of getting through. Slip down a bit across the
saddle bow. Don't be afraid. I'll hold as long as I can.
Now scream — scream like the devil. No! let your arms
slack as if you'd fainted — people won't look so much —
that's better — that's capital — now — ready!"

DA Y LIGHT. 235

He swerved his horse with a dig of the spur and
made for the crowd which lay between him and safety
The words describing "the rape of the Sabin-
women, over the construing of which he remembered
being birched at school, recurred to him, as such idle
thoughts will at such times, as he hitched his hand
tighter on Kate's dress and scattered the first group with
a coarse jest or two. Thank Heaven! She would not
understand these, his only weapons; since cold steel
could not be used, till it had to be used to prevent her
Understanding. Thank Heaven, too! he could use both
weapons fairly. So he dug in the spurs again and an-
swered the crowd in its own kind, recklessly. A laugh,
an oath, once or twice a blow with the flat of his sword.
And Kate, with slack arms and closed eyes, lay and
listened — listened to a sharper, angrier voice, a quick
clash of steel, a shout of half-doubtful, half-pleased deri-
sion from those near, a jest provoking a roar of merri-
ment for one who meant to hold his own in love and war.
Then a sudden bound of the horse ; a faint slackening of
that iron grip on her waist-belt. The worst of the
stream was past; another moment and they were in a
quiet street, another, and they had turned at right-angles
down a secluded alley where Jim Douglas paused to pass
his right hand, still holding his sword, under Kate's head
and bid her lean against him more comfortably. The
rest was easy. He would take her out by the Moree
gate — the alleys to it would be almost deserted — so, out-
side the walls, to the rear of the Cashmere gate. They
were already twisting and turning through the narrow
lanes as he told her this. Then, with a rush and a
whoop, he made for the gate, and the next moment they
had the open country, the world, before them. How
still and peaceful it lay in the sunshine! But the main-
guard was the nearest, safest shelter, so the gailoping
hoofs sped down the tree-set road along which Kate
generally took her evening drive.

" And you? " she asked hurriedly as he set her down
at the moat and bade her run for the wicket and knock,
while he kept the drawbridge.

He shook his head. " The reliefs from Meerut must
be in soon. If they started at dawn, in an hour. Be-

236 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

sides, I'm off to the Palace to see what has really hap-
pened; information's everything."

She saw him turn with a wave of his sword for farewell
as the wicket was opened cautiously, and make for the
Moree gate once more. . As he rode he told himself there
should be no further cause for anxiety on her account.
De Tessier's guns were in the main-guard now, and re-
inforcements of the loyal 74th. They could hold their
own easily till the Meerut people smashed up the Palace.
They could not be long now, and the city had not risen
as yet. The bigger bazaars through which he cantered
were almost deserted; everyone had gone home. But
at the entrance to an alley a group of boys clustered, and
one ran out to him crying, "Khan-sahib! What's the
matter? Folk say people are being killed, but we want
to go to school."

" Don't," said Jim Douglas as he passed on. He had
seen the schoolmaster, stripped naked, lying on his back
in the broad daylight as he galloped along the College
road with Kate over his saddle-bow.

" Ari, brothers," reported the spokesman. " He said
' don't' but he can know naught. He comes from the
outside. And we shall lose places in class if we stop,
and others go."

So in the cheerful daylight the schoolboys discussed
the problem, school or no school; the Great Revolt had
got no further than that, as yet.

But there was no cloud of dust upon the Meerut road,
though straining eyes thought they saw one more than
once.

CHAPTER IV.

NOON.

BUT if the schoolmaster of one school lay dead in the
sunlight there was another, well able to teach a useful
lesson, left alive; and his school remains for all time as
a place where men may learn what men can do.

For about three hundred yards from the deserted

NOON. 237

College, about six hundred from the main-guard of the
Cashmere gate, stood the magazine, to which the two
young Englishmen, followed by a burlier one, had walked
back quietly after one of them had remarked that he could
hold his own. For there were gates to be barred, four
walls to be seen to, and various other preparations to be
made before the nine men who formed the garrison could
be certain of holding their own. And their own meant
much to others; for with the stores and the munitions
of war safe the city might rise, but it would be unarmed ;
but with them at the mercy of the rabble every pitiful
pillager could become a recruit to the disloyal regiments.

" The mine's about finished now, sir," said Conductor
Buckley, saluting gravely as he looked critically down a
line ending in the powder magazine. " And, askin' your
pardon, sir, mightn't it be as well to settle a signal before-
hand, sir; in case it's wanted? And, if you have no
objection, sir, here's Sergeant Scully here, sir, saying he
would look on it as a kind favor "

A man with a spade glanced up a trifle anxiously for
the answer as he went on with his work.

" All right! Scully shall fire it. If you finish it there
in the middle by that little lemon tree, we shan't forget
the exact spot. Scully must see to having the portfire
ready for himself. I'll give the word to you, as your gun
will be near mine, and you can pass it on by raising your
cap. That will do, I think."

" Nicely, sir," said Conductor Buckley, saluting again.

" I wish we had one more man," remarked the Head-
of-the-nine, as he paused in passing a gun to look to
something in its gear with swift professional eye. " I
don't quite see how the nine of us are to work the ten
guns."

"Oh! we'll manage somehow," said his second in
command, " the native establishment — perhaps "

George Willoughby, the Head-of-the-nine, looked at
the sullen group of dark faces lounging distrustfully
within those barred doors, and his own face grew stern.
Well, if they would not work, they should at least stay
and look on — stay till the end. Then he took out his
watch.

5*3 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Twelve ! The Meerut troops will be in soon — if
they started at dawn." There was the finest inflection of
scorn in his voice.

" They must have started," began his companion.
But the tall figure with the grave young face was strain-
ing its eyes from the bastion they were passing; it gave
upon the bridge of boats and the lessening white streak
of road. He was looking for a cloud of dust upon it;
but there was none.

" I hope so," he remarked as he went on. He gave a
half-involuntary glance back, however, to the stunted
lemon-bush. There was a black streak by it, which
might be relied upon to give aid at dawn, or dusk, or
noon; high noon as it was now.

The chime of it echoed methodically as ever from the
main-guard, making a cheerful young voice in the offi-
cer's room say, " Well ! the enemy is passing, anyhow.
The reliefs can't be long — if they started at dawn."

" If they had started when they ought to have started,
they would have been here hours ago," said an older
man, almost petulantly, as he rose and wandered to the
door, to stand looking out on the baking court where his
men — the two companies of the 5/jth, who had come
down under his charge after those under Colonel Riply
had shot down their officers by the church — were loung-
ing about sullenly. These men might have shot him
also but for the timely arrival of the two guns; might
have shot at him, even now, but for those loyal 74th
over-awing them. He turned and looked at some of
the latter with a sort of envy. These men had come for-
ward in a body when the regiment was called upon by
its commandant to give honest volunteers to keep order
in the city. What had they had, which his men had
lacked? Nothing that he knew of. And then, inevit-
ably, he thought of his six murdered friends and com-
rades, officers apparently as popular as he, whose bodies
were lying in the next room waiting for a cart to remove
them to the Ridge. For even Major Paterson, saddened,
depressed, looked forward to decent sepulture for his
comrades by and by — by and by when the Meerut troops
should arrive. And the half dozen or more of women

NOON. 239

upstairs were comforting each other with the same hope,
and crushing down the cry that it seemed an eternity,
already, since they had waited for that little cloud of
dust upon the Meerut road. But for that hope they
might have gone Meerutward themselves; for the coun-
try was peaceful.

Even in Duryagunj, though by noon it was a charnel-
house, the score or so of men who kept cowards at bay in
a miserable storehouse comforted themselves with the
same hope; and women with the long languid eyes of
one race, looked out of them with the temper and fire
of the other, saying in soft staccato voices — " It will not
be long now. They will be here soon, for they would
start at dawn."

" They will come soon," said a young telegraph clerk
coolly, as he stood by his instrument hoping for a wel-
come kling; sending, finally, that bulletin northward
which ended with the reluctant admission, " we must
shut up." Must indeed; seeing that some ruffians
rushed in and sabered him with his hands still on the
levers.

' They will be here soon," agreed the compositors of
the Delhi Gazette as they worked at the strangest piece
of printing the world is ever likely to see. That famous
extra, wedged in between English election news, which
told in bald journalese of a crisis, which became the crisis
of their own lives before the whole edition was sent out.

But down in the Palace Zeenut Maihl had been watch-
ing that white streak of road also, and as the hours
passed, her wild impatience would let her watch it no
longer. She paced up and down the Queen's bastion like
a caged tigress, leaving Hafzan to take her place at the
lattice. No sign of an avenging army yet! Then the
troopers' tale must be true ! The hour of decisive action
had come, it was slipping past, the King was in the hands
of Ahsan-Oolah, and Elahi Buksh, whose face was set
both ways, like the physician's. And she, helpless, half in
disgrace, caged, veiled, screened, unable to lay hands on
anyone! Oh! why was she not a man! Why had she
not a man to deal with! Her henna-stained nails bit
into her palms as she clenched her hands, then in sheer

240 ON THE FACE OF THE WATEkS.

childish passion tore off her hampering veil and, rolling
it into a ball, flung it at the head of a drowsy eunuch in
the outside arcade — the nearest thing to a man within
her reach.

" No sign yet, Hafzan? " she asked fiercely.

" No sign, my Queen," replied Hafzan, with an odd
derisive smile. If they did not come now, thought this
woman with her warped nature, they would come later
on; come and put a rope round the necks of men who
had laid violent hands on women.

"Then I stop here no longer!" cried Zeenut Maihl
recklessly; " I must see somewhat of it or die. Quick,
girls, my dhooli, I will go back to my own rooms.
'Twill at least bear me through the crowd, and the jog-
ging will keep the blood from tingling from very still-
ness."

So through the tawdry, dirty, musky curtains a
woman's fierce eye watched the crowd hungrily, as the
dhooli swung through it. A fierce crowd too in its way,
but lacking cohesion. Like the world without those
four rose-red walls, it was waiting for a master. And
the man who should have been master was taking cool-
ing draughts, and composing couplets, so her spies
brought word. No hope from him till she could lure
him back from his vexation and put some of her own
energy into him. Who next was there likely to do her
bidding? Her eye, taking in all the strangeness of the
scene, troopers stabling their horses in the colonnades,
sepoys bivouacking under the trees, courtiers hurrying
up and down the private steps, found none in all that
crowd of place-hunters, boasters, enthusiasts, whom she
could trust. The King's eldest son Mirza Moghul was
the fiercest tempered of them all, the only one whom she
feared in any way; perhaps if she could get hold of
him

As her dhooli swayed up the steps he was standing on
them talking to Mirza Khair Sultan. She could have
put out her hand and touched him; but even she did not
dare convention enough for that. Nevertheless, the
sight of him determined her. If the King did not come
back to her by noon, she must lure the Mirza to her side.

NOON. 241

" Thou art a fool, Pir-jee," she said .petulantly to
Hussan Askuri who, as father confessor, had entrance to
the womens' rooms and was awaiting her. " Thou hast
no grip on the King when I am absent. Canst not even
drive that slithering physician from his side? "

" Cooling draughts, seest thou, Pir-jee," put in Hafzan
maliciously, " have tangible effects. Thy dreams "

"Peace, woman!" interrupted the Queen sternly,
" 'tis no time for jesting. Where sits the King now? "

" In the river balcony, Ornament-of-palaces," replied
Fatma glibly, " where he is not to be disturbed these
two hours, so the physician says, lest the cooling
draught "

The Queen stamped her foot in sheer impotent rage.

" I must see someone. And Jewan Bukht, my son?
why hath he not answered my summons? "

" His Highness," put in Hafzan gravely, " was, as I
came by just now, quarreling in his cups with his
nephew, the princely Abool-Bukr, regarding the
Inspectorship-of-Cavalry; which office both desire— a
weighty matter "

"Peace! she-devil!" almost screamed the Queen.
" Can I not see, can I not hear for myself, that thy sharp
wits must forever drag the rotten heart to light — thou
wilt go too far,, some day, Hafzan, and then "

" The Queen will have to find another scribe," replied
Hafzan meekly.

Zeenut Maihl glared at her, then rolled round into her
cushions as if she were in actual physical pain. And
hark! From the Lahore gate, as if nothing had hap-
pened, came the chime of noon. Noon! and nothing
done. She sat up suddenly and signed to Hafzan for
pen and ink. She would wait no longer for the King;
she would at least try the Mirza.

' This, to the most illustrious the Mirza Moghul,
Heir-Apparent by right to the throne of Timoor,' " she
dictated firmly, and Hafzan looked up startled. " Write
on, fool," she continued; " hast never written lies before?
' After salutation the Begum Zeenut Maihl,' " — the
humbler title came from her lips in a tone which boded
ill for the recipient of the letter if he fell into the toils, —

242 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" ' seeing that .in this hour of importance the King is sick,
and by order of physicians not to be disturbed, would
know if the Mirza, being by natural right the King's
vice-regent, desires the private seal to any orders neces-
sary for peace and protection. Such signet being in the
hands of the Queen ' — nay, not that, I was forget-
ting—' the Begum.' "

She gave an angry laugh as she lay back among her
cushions and bid them send the letter forthwith. That
should make him nibble. Not that she had the signet —
the King kept that on his own finger — but if the Mirza
came on pretense or rather in hopes of getting it? Why!
then; if the proper order was given and if she could
insure the aid of men to carry out her schemes, the signet
should be got at somehow. The King was old and frail ;
the storm and stress might well kill him.

So her thoughts ranged from one plot to another as
she waited for an answer. If this lure succeeded, she
would but use the Heir-Apparent for a time. What use
was there in plotting for him? He could die, as other
heirs had died; and then the only person likely to put a
spoke in her wheel was Abool-Bukr. He was teaching
his young uncle the first pleasures of manhood, and
might find it convenient to influence the boy against her.
It would be well therefore to get hold of him also. That
was not a hard task, and she sat up again without a
moment's hesitation and signed once more to Hafzan.

" Thy best flourishes," she said with an evil sneer, " for
it goes to a rare scholar; to a fool for all that, who would
have folk think nephews visit their aunts from duty!
' This to Newasi loving and beloved, greeting. Conse-
quent on the disturbances, the princely nephew Abool-
Bukr lieth senseless here in the Palace.' Stare not, fool!
senseless drunk he is by this time, I warrant. ' Those
who have seen him think ill of him.' " Here she broke
off into malicious enjoyment of her own wit. " Ay! and
those who have but heard of him also! '*The course of
events, however, being in the hands of Heaven, will be
duly reported.' '

She coiled herself up again on the cushions,' an insig-

NOON. 243

nificant square homely figure draped in worn brocade
and laden with tarnished jewelry; ill-matched strings of
pearls, flawed emeralds, diamonds without sparkle.
Yet not without a certain dignity, a certain symmetry of
purpose, harmonizing with the arched and frescoed room
in which she lay ; a room beautiful in design and decora-
tion, yet dirty, comfortless, almost squalid.

"Nay! not my signature," she yawned. "I am too
old a foe of the scholars ; but a smudge o' the thumb will
do. If I know aught of aunts and nephews, she will be
too much flustered by the news to look at seals. And
have word sent to the Delhi gate that the Princess Fark-
hoonda be admitted, but goes not forth again."

Her hard voice ceased; there was no sound in the
room save that strange hum from the gardens outside,
which at this hour of the day were generally wrapped in
sun-drugged slumbers.

But the world beyond, toward which the old King's
lusterless eyes looked as he lay on the river balcony,
was sleepy, sun-drugged as ever. Through the tracery-
set arches showed yellow stretches of sand and curving
river, with tussocks of tall tiger-grass hiding the slender
stems of the palm-trees which shot up here and there
into the blue sky; blue with the yellow glaze upon it
which comes from sheer sunlight. A row of saringhi
players squatted in the room behind the balcony, thrum-
ming softly, so as to hide that strange hum of life which
reached even here. For the King was writing a couplet
and was in difficulties with a rhyme for cartouche (cart-
ridge) ; since he was a stickler for form, holding that the
keynote of the lines should jingle. And this couplet was
to epitomize the situation on the other side of the
saringhies. Cartouche ? Cartouche? Suddenly he sat
up. "Quick! send for Hussan Askuri; or stay!" he
hesitated for an instant. Hussan Askuri would be with
the Queen, and no one ever admired his couplets as she
did. How many hours was it since he had seen her?
And what was the use of making couplets, if you were
denied their just meed of praise? "Stay," he repeated,
" I will go myself." It was a relief to feel himself on the

244 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

way back to be led by the nose, and as they helped him
across the intervening courtyard he kept repeating his
treasure, imagining her face when she heard it.

" Kuchch Chil-i-Room nahin kya, ya Shah-i-Roos, nahin
Jo Kuchch kya na sara se, so cartouche ne."

A couplet, which, lingering still in the mouths of the
people, warrants the old poetaster's conceit of it, and—
dog-anglicized — runs thus :

" Nor Czar nor Sultan made the conquest easy,
The only weapon was a cartridge greasy."

" The Queen? Where is the Queen? " fumed the old
man, when he found an empty room instead of instant
flattery; for he was, after all, the Great Moghul.

" She prays for the King's recovery," said Fatma
readily. " I will inform her that her prayer is granted."
But as she passed on her errand, she winked at a com-
panion, who hid her giggle in her veil; for Grand Turk or
not, the women hold all the trump cards in seclusion. So
how was the old man to know that the one who came in
radiant with exaggerated delight at his return, had been
interviewing his eldest son behind decorous screens, and
that she was thanking Heaven piously for having sent
him back to her apron-string in the very nick of time.
Sent him, and Hussan Askuri, and pen and ink within
reach of her quick wit.

" That is the best couplet my lord has done," she said
superbly. " That must be signed and sealed."

So must a paper be, which lay concealed in her bosom.
And as she spoke she drew the signet ring lovingly, play-
fully from the King's finger and walked over to where
the scribe sat crouched on the floor.

" Ink it well, Pir-jee," she said, keeping her back to
the King; " the impression, must be as immortal as the
verse."

Despite the warning, a very keen ear might have
detected a double sound, as if the seal had needed a
second pressure. That was all.

So it came about that4 half an hour or so afterward, the
Head-of-the-nine at the magazine was looking contemp-

NOON. 245

tuously at a paper brought by the Palace Guards, and
passed under the door, ordering its instant opening.
George Willoughby laughed; but some of the eight
dashed people's impudence and cursed their cheek!
Yet, after the laugh, the Head-of-the-nine walked over,
yet another time, to that river bastion to look down at
that white streak of road. How many times he had
looked already, Heaven knows; but his grave face had
grown graver, though it brightened again after a glance
at the lemon bush. The black streak there would not
fail them.

" In the King's name open ! " The demand came
from Mirza Moghul himself this time, for the Palace was
without arms, without ammunition ; and if they were to
defend it, according to the Queen's idea, against all
comers, till there was time for other regiments to rebel,
this matter of the magazine was important. Abool-Bukr
was with him, half-drunk, wholly incapable, but full of
valor; for a scout sent by the Queen had returned with
the news that no English soldier was within ten miles of
Delhi, and within the last half hour an ominous word had
begun to pass from lip to lip in the city.

Helpless!

The masters were helpless. Past two o'clock and not
a blow in revenge. Helpless ! The word made cowards
brave, and brave folk cowards. And many who had
spent the long hours in peeping from their closed doors
at each fresh clatter in the street, hoping it was the mas-
ter, looked at each other with startled eyes.

Helpless! Helpless!

The echo of the thought reached the main-guard, still'
in touch with the outside world, whence, as the day
dragged by, fresh tidings of danger drifted down from
the Ridge, where men, women, and children lay huddled
helplessly in the Flagstaff Tower, watching the white
streak of road. It seems like a bad dream, that hopeless,
paralyzing strain of the eyes for a cloud of dust.

But the echo won no way into the magazine, for the
simple reason that it knew it was not hopeless. It could
hold its own.

" Shoot that man Kureem Buksh, please, Forrest, if he

246 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

comes bothering round the gate again. He is really very
annoying. I have told him several times to keep back;
so it is no use his trying to give information to the people
outside."

For the Head-of-the-nine was very courteous. " Scal-
ing ladders?" he echoed, when a native superintendent
told him that the princes, finding him obdurate, had
gone to send some down from the Palace. " Oh! by all
means let them scale if they like."

Some of the Eight, hearing the reply, smiled grimly.
By all means let the flies walk into the parlor; for if that
straight streak of road was really going to remain empty,
the fuller the four square walls round the lemon bush
could be, the better.

" That's them, sir," said one of the Eight cheerfully,
as a grating noise rose above the hum outside. " That's
the grapnels." And as he turned to his particular gun
of the ten, he told himself that he would nick the first
head or two with his rifle and keep the grape for the
bunches. So he smiled at his own little joke and waited.
All the Nine waited, each to a gun, and of course there
was one gun over, but, as the head of them had said, that
could not be helped. And so the rifle-triggers clicked,
and the stocks came up to the shoulders; and then? —
then there was a sort of laugh, and someone saM under
his breath, "Well, I'm blowed!" And his mind went
back to the streets of London, and he wondered how
many years it was since he had seen a lamplighter. For
up ropes and poles, on roofs and outhouses, somehow,
clinging like limpets, running like squirrels along the
top of the wall, upsetting the besiegers, monopolizing the
ladders, was a rush, not of attack but of escape! Let
what fool who liked scale the wall and come into the
parlor of the Nine, those who knew the secret of the
lemon-bush were off. No safety there beside the Nine!
No life-insurance possible while that lay ready tG their
hand!

Would he ever see a lamplighter again? The trivial
thought was with the bearded man who stood by his gun,
the real self in him, hidden behind the reserve of courage,
asking other questions too, as he waited for the upward

NOON. 247

rush of fugitives to change into a downward rush of
foes worthy of good powder and shot.

It came at last — and the grape came too, mowing the
intruders down in bunches. And these were no mere
rabble of the city. They were the pick of the trained
mutineers swarming over the wall to stand on the out-
house roofs and fire at the Nine; and so, pressed in
gradually from behind, coming nearer and nearer, drop-
ping to the ground in solid ranks, firing in platoons; so
by degrees hemming in the Nine, hemming in the lemon-
bush.

But the Nine were busy with the guns. They had to
be served quickly, and that left no time for thought.
Then the smoke, and the flashes, and the yells, and the
curses, filled up the rest of the world for the present.

" This is the last round, I'm afraid, sir; we shan't have
time for another," said a warning voice from the Nine,
and the Head of them looked round quietly. Not more
than forty yards now from the guns; barely time, cer-
tainly, unless they had had that other man! So he
nodded. And the last round pealed out as recklessly, as
defiantly, as if there had been a hundred to follow —
and a hundred thousand — a hundred million. But one
of the gunners threw down his fuse ere his gun recoiled,
and ran in lightly toward the lemon-tree, so as to be
ready for the favor he had begged.

" We're about full up, sir," came the warning voice
again, as the rest of the Nine fell back amid a desultory
rattle of small arms. The tinkle of the last church bell,
as it were, warning folk to hurry up — a last invitation to
walk into the parlor of the Nine.

" We're about full up, sir," came that one voice.

" Wait half a second," came another, and the Head-
of-the-nine ran lightly to that river bastion for a last
look down the white streak for that cloud of dust.

How sunny it was ! How clear ! How still ! that world
beyond the smoke, beyond the flashes, beyond the deafen-
ing yells and curses. He gave one look at it, one short
look — only one — then turned to face his own world, the
world he had to keep. Full up indeed! No pyrotech-
nist could hope for better audience in so small a place.

248 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Now, if you please ! "

Someone in the thick of the smoke and the flashes
heard the yells and curses and raised his cap — a last
salute, as it were, to the school and schoolmaster. A
final dismissal to the scholars — a thousand of them or so
— about to finish their lesson of what men can do to hold
their own. And someone else, standing beside the
lemon-bush, bent over that faithful black streak, then
ran for dear life from the hissing of that snake of fire
flashing to the powder magazine.

A faint sob, a whispering gasp of horror, came from the
thousand and odd; but above it came a roar, a rush, a
rending. A little puff of white smoke went skyward
first, and then slowly, majestically, a great cloud of rose-
red dust grew above the ruins, to hang — a corona glit-
tering in the slant sunbeams — over the school, the
schoolmasters, and the scholars.

It hung there for hours. To those who know the
story it seems to hang there still — a bloody pall for the
many; for the Nine, a crown indeed.

CHAPTER V.

SUNSET.

"WHAT'S that?"

The question sprung to every lip; yet all knew the
answer. The magazine had saved itself.

But in the main-guard, not six hundred yards off,
where the very ground rocked and the walls shook, the
men and women, pent up since noon, looked at each
other when the first shock was over, feeling that here was
the end of inaction. Here was a distinct, definite chal-
lenge to Fate, and what would come of it? It was now
close on to four o'clock; the day was over, the darkness
at hand. What would it bring them? If Meerut, with
its two thousand, was so sore bested that it could not
spare one man to Delhi, what could they, a mere handful,
hope for save annihilation?

SUNSET. 249

Yet even Mrs. Seymour only clasped her baby closer,
and said nothing. For there was no lack of courage
anywhere. And Kate, with another child in her arms,
paused as she laid it down, asleep at last, upon an officer's
coat, to feel a certain relief. If they were to fare thus,
that bitter self-reproach and agonizing doubt for vanished
Sonny was unavailing. His chance might well be better
than theirs.

Well indeed, pent up as they were cheek-by-jowl with
four hundred unstable sepoys, and with the ominously
rising hum of the unstable city on their unprotected rear.
Up on the Flagstaff Tower crowning the extreme north-
ern end of the Ridge, away from this hum, where Briga-
dier Graves had gathered together the remaining women
and children, so as to guard them as best he could with
such troops as he had remaining — many of them too un-
stable to be trusted cityward — they were in better plight.
For they had the open country round them — a country
where folk could still go and come with a fair chance of
safety, since even the predatory tribes, always ready to
take advantage of disorder, were still waiting to see what
master the day would bring forth. And they had also
the knowledge that something was being done, that they
were not absolutely passive in the hands of Fate, after
Dr. Batson started in disguise to summon that aid from
Meerut which would not come of itself. Above all, they
had the decision, they had the power to act; while down
in the main-guard they could but obey orders. Not that
the Flagstaff Tower did much with this advantage; for
it was paralyzed by that straining of the eyes for a cloud
of dust upon the Meerut road which was the damnation of
Delhi. Yet even here that decisive roar, that corona of
red dust brightening every instant as the sun dipped to
the horizon, brought the conviction that something must
be done at last. But what? Hampered by women and
children, what could they do? If, earlier in the day, they
had sent all the non-combatants off toward Kurnal or
Meerut, with as many faithful sepoys as they could spare,
arming everybody from the arsenal down by the river,
they would have been free to make some forlorn hope —
free, for instance, to go down en-masse to the main-

250 ON. THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

guard and hold it, if they could. That was what one man
thought, who, seven miles out from Delhi — returning
from a reconnoissance of his own to see if help were on
the way — saw that little puff of smoke, heard the roar,
and watched the red corona grow to brightness.

But on the Ridge, men thought differently. The
claims of those patient women and children seemed para-
mount, and so it was decided to get back the guns from
the main-guard as a first step toward intrenching them-
selves for the night at the tower. But the men in the
main-guard looked at each other in doubt when the
order reached them. Was the garrison going to be
withdrawn altogether, leaving merely a forlorn hope to
keep the gate closed as long as possible against the out-
burst of rabble, to whom it would be the natural and
shortest route to cantonments? If so, surely it would
have been better to send the women away first? Still
the orders were clear, and so the gate was set wide and
the guns rumbled over the drawbridge under escort of
a guard of the 38th. That, at any rate, was good
riddance of bad rubbish; though the wisdom of sending
the guns in such charge was doubtful. Yet how could
the little garrison have afforded to give up a single man
even of the still loyal 74th? — a company of whom had
actually followed their captain to the ruins of the maga-
zine to see if they could do anything, and returned, with-
out a defaulter, to say that all was confusion — the dead
lying about in hundreds, the enemy nowhere.

"How did the men behave, Gordon?" asked their
commandant anxiously, getting his Captain into a quiet
corner. And the two men, both beloved of their regi-
ment, both believing in it, both with a fierce, wild hope in
their hearts that such belief would be justified, looked
into each other's faces for a moment in silence. There
was a shadowing branch of neem overhead as they stood
in the sunlight. A squirrel upon it was chippering at the
glitter of their buckles ; a kite overhead was watching the
squirrel.

" I think they hesitated, sir," said Captain Gordon
quietly.

Major Abbott turned hastily, and looked through the

SUNSET. 251

open gate, past the lumbering guns, to the open country
lying peaceful, absolutely peaceful, beyond. If he could
only have got his men there — away from the disloyalty
of the 38th guard, the sullen silence of the 54th — if he
could only have given them something to do! If he
could only have said " Follow me!" they would have
followed.

And Kate Erlton, who, weary of the deadly inaction
in the room above, had drifted down to the courtyard,
stood close to the archway looking through it also, think-
ing, not for the first time that weary day, of Alice Giss-
ing's swift, heroic death with envy. It was something to
die so that brave men turned away without a word when
they heard of it. But as she thought this, the look on
young Mainwaring's face as he stood with others listen-
ing to her story, came back to her. It had haunted her
all day, and more than once she had sought him out,
not for condolence — he was beyond that — but for a
trivial word or two; just a human word or two to show
him remembered by the living. And now the impulse
came to her again, and she drifted back — for there was no
hurry in that deadly, deadly inaction — to find him leaning
listlessly against a wall digging holes in the dry dust idly
with the point of. his drawn sword for want of something
better whereupon to use it. Such a young face, she
thought, to be so old in its chill anger and despair! She
went over to him swiftly, her reserve gone, and laid her
hand upon his holding the sword.

" Don't fret so, dear boy," she said, and the fine curves
of her mouth quivered. " She is at peace."

He looked at her in a blaze of fierce reproach. " At
peace! How dare you say so? How dare you think so
—when she lies — there."

He paused, impotent for speech before his unbridled
hatred, then strode away indignantly from her pity, her
consolation. And as she looked after him her own
gentler nature was conscious of a pride, almost a pleasure
in the thought of the revenge which would surely be
taken sooner or later, by such as he, for every woman,
every child killed, wounded — even touched. She was
conscious of it, even though she stood aghast before a

252 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

vision of the years stretching away into an eternity of
division and mutual hate.

A fresh stir at the gate roused her, a quick stir among
a group of senior officers, recruited now by two juniors
who had earned their right to have their say in any coun-
cil of war. These were two artillery subalterns, begrimed
from head to foot, deafened, disfigured, hardly believing
in their own safety as yet. Looking at each other
queerly, wondering if indeed they could be the Head-
of-the-nine and his second in command, escaped by a
miracle through the sally port in the outer wall of the
magazine, and so come back by the drawbridge, as Kate
Erlton had come, to join the refugees in the main-guard.
Was it possible? And — and — what would the world say?
That thought must have been in their minds. And, no
doubt, a vain regret that they .were under orders now,
as they listened while Major Abbott read out those just
received from cantonments. Briefly, to take back the
whole of the loyal 74th and leave the post to the 38th and
the 54th — about a hundred and fifty openly disloyal men.

A sort of stunned silence fell on the little group, till
Major Paterson of the 54th said quietly, officially to
Major Abbott. " If you leave, sir, I shall have to
abandon the post; I could not possibly hold it.. Some of
my men who have returned to the colors here might
possibly fight were we to stick together. But with re-
treat, and the example of the 38th before them, they
would not. I have, or I should have, lives in my charge
when you are gone, and I warn you that I must use my
own discretion in doing the best I can to protect them."

" Paterson is right, Abbott," put in the civil officer,
who had stuck to his charge of the Treasury all day, and
repelled the only attack made by the enemy during all
those long hours. " If I am to do any good, I must have
men who will fight. I don't trust the 54th ; and the 38th
are clearly just biding their time. This retreat might
have done six hours ago — might do now if it were
general; but I doubt it."

" Anyhow," put in another voice, " if the 74th are to
go, they should take the women with them — they couldn't
fare worse than they are sure to do here, I don't think
the Brigadier can realize "

SUNSET. 253

" Couldn't you refer it? " asked someone; but the Major
shook his head. The orders were clear; no doubt there
was good cause^ for them. Anyhow they must be
obeyed.

" Then as civil officer in charge of the Government
Treasury, I ask for quarter-of-an-hour's law. If by
then "

The eager voice paused. Whether the owner thought
once more of that expected cloud of dust, or whether
he meant to gallop to cantonments in hope of getting the
order rescinded is doubtful. Whether he went or stayed
doubtful also. But the fifteen minutes of respite were
given, during which the preparations for departure went
on, the men of the 38th aiding in them with a new
alacrity. Their time had come. Only a few minutes
now before the last fear of a hand-to-hand fight would be
over, the last chance of the master turning and rending
them gone. It lingered a bit, though, for rumbling
wheels came over the drawbridge once more, and voices
clamored to be let in. The guns had returned. The
gunners had deserted, said the escort insolently, and
guns being in such case useless, they had preferred to
rejoin their brethren; as for their officer, he had preferred
to go on.

Kate Erlton, drawn from the inner room once again by
the creaking of the gates, saw a look pass between one
or two of the officers. And there stood the 74th, smart
and steady, waiting for marching orders. No need to
close the gates again, since time was up ; the fifteen min-
utes had slipped by, bringing no help, just as the long
hours had dragged by uselessly. So the gate stood open
to the familiar, friendly landscape, all aglow with the rays
of the setting sun. Close at hand, within a stone's throw,
lay the tall trees and dense flowering thickets of the
Koodsia gardens, where fugitives might have found
cover. To the left were the ravines and rocks of the
Ridge, fatal tovmounted pursuit, and in the center lay the
road northward, leading straight to the Punjab, straight
from that increasing roar of the city. There had been
no attack as yet; but every soul within the main-guard
knew for a certainty that the first hint of retreat would
bring it.

254 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

How could it do otherwise? The decisive answer of
the magazine, with its thousand-and-odd good reasons
against the belief that the master was helpless, had died
away. The refuse and rabble of the city had ceased to
wander awestruck among the ruins, murmuring, " What
tyranny is here? " — that passive, resigned comment of
the weaker brother in India. In the Palace, too, they had
recovered the shock of the mean trick of the Nine, who,
however, must, thank Heaven, be all dead too.

So as the gate stood open, and the sun streamed
through it into the wide courtyard, glinting on the
buckles and bayonets, Major Abbott's voice rose quietly.
"Are you ready, Gordon?" The drawbridge was clear
of the guns now, clear of everything save the slant
shadows.

" All ready, sir," came the quiet reply.

"Number!" called the Commandant, but a voice at
his right hand pleaded swiftly. " Don't wait for sec-
tions, Huzoor! Let us go!" And another at his left
whispered, " For God's sake, Huzoor! quick; get them
out quick! "

Major Abbott hesitated a second, only a second. The
voices were the voices of good men and true, whom he
could trust. "Fours about! Quick march!" he cor-
rected, and a sort of sigh of relief ran down the regiment
as it swung into position and the feet started rhyth-
mically. Action at last! — at long last!

" Good-by, old chap," said someone cheerfully, but
Major Abbott did not turn. "Good-by! Good-by!"
came voices all round; steady, quiet voices, as the disci-
plined tramp echoed on the drawbridge, and a bar of
scarlet coats grew on the rise of the white road outside.

" Good-by, Gordon! Good-by! "

The tall figure in its red and gold was under the very
arch, shining, glittering in the sunlight streaming
through it. Another step or two and he would have been
beyond it. But the time for good-by had come. The
time for which the 38th had been waiting all day. He
threw up his arms and fell dead from his horse without
a cry, shot through the heart. The next instant the
gate was closed, its creaking smothered in the wild,

SUNSET. 255

senseless cry " To kill, to kill, to kill," in a wild, senseless
rattle of musketry. For there was really no hurry; the
handful of Englishmen were helpless. Major Abbott
and his men might clamor for re-entry at the gate if they
chose. They could not get in. Nor could the remnant
of the 74th, deprived of its loyal companions, of the only
two men who seemed to have controlled it, do anything.
And the 54th were helpless also by their /)wn act; for they
had pushed Major Paterson through the gate before it
closed.

So there was no one left even to try and stem the tide.
No one to check that beast-like cry.

"Mdro! Mdro! Mdro!"

But, in truth, it would have been a hopeless task. The
game was up; the only chance was flight. And two,
foreseeing this for the last hour, had already made good
theirs by jumping from an embrasure in the rampart
into the ditch, while one, uninjured by the fall, had
scrambled up the counter-scarp, and was running like a
hare for those same thickets of the Koodsia.

" Come on! Come on! " cried others, seeing their suc-
cess. And then? And then the cries and piteous
screams of women reminded them of something dearer
than life, and they ran back under a hail of bullets to that
upper room which they had forgotten for the moment.
And somehow, despite the cry of kill, despite the whist-
ling bullets, they managed to drag its inmates to the
embrasure. But — oh! pathos and bathos of poor
humanity! making smiles and tears come together — the
women who had stared death in the face all day without
a wink, stood terrified before a twenty-feet scramble
with a rope of belts and handkerchiefs to help them. It
needed a round shot to come whizzing a message of cer-
tain death over their heads to give them back a courage
which never failed again in the long days of wandering
and desperate need which was theirs ere some of them
reached safety.

But Kate neither hesitated nor jumped. She had not
the chance of doing either. For that longing look of
hers through the open gates had tempted her to creep
along the wall nearer to them; so that the rush to close

256 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

them jammed her into a corner against a door, which
yielded slightly to her weight. Quick enough to grasp
her imminent danger, she stooped instantly to see if the
door could be made to yield further. And that stoop
saved her life, by hiding her from view behind the crowd.
The next moment she had pushed aside a log which had
evidently rolled from some pile within, and slipped side-
ways into a dark outhouse. She was safe so far. But
was it worth it? The impulse to go out again and brave
merciful death rose keen, until with a flash, the memory
of that escape through the crowd came back to her; she
seemed to hear the changing ready voice of the man who
held her, to feel his quick instinctive grip on every chance
of life.

Chance ! There was a spell in the very word. A min-
ute after logs jammed the door again, and even had it
been set wide, none would have guessed that a woman,
full of courage, ay! and hope, crouched behind the piles
of brushwood. So she lay hidden, her strongest emo-
tion, strange to say, being a raging curiosity to know
what had become of the. others, what was passing out-
side. But she could hear nothing save confused yells,
with every now and again a dominant cry of " Deen!
Dccnl " or " Jai Kali ma! " For faith is one of the two
great passions which make men militant. The other,
sex. But as a rule it has no cry; it fights silently, giv-
ing and asking no words — only works.

So fought young Mainwaring, who, with his back to
that same wall against which Kate had found him lean-
ing, was using his sword to a better purpose than digging
holes in the dust; or rather had adopted a new method
of doing the task. He had not tried to escape as the
others had done; not from superior courage, but because
he never even thought of it. When he was free to
choose, how could he think of leaving those "devils un-
punished, leaving them unchecked to touch her dead
body, wrhile he lived? He gave a little faint sob of sheer
satisfaction as he felt the first soft resistance, which meant
that his sword had cut into flesh and blood; for all his
vigorous young life made for death, nothing but death.
Was not she dead yonder?

SUNSET. 257

So, after a bit, it seemed to him there was too little of
it there — that it came slowly, with his back to the wall
and only those who cared to go for him within reach —
for the crowd was dense, too dense for loading and fir-
ing. Dense with a hustling, horrified wonder, a con-
fused prodding of bayonets. So, without a sound, he
charged ahead, hacking, hewing, never pausing, not even
making for freedom, but going for the thickest silently.

" Amuk! Sayia! A-muk! " The yell that he was mad,
possessed, rang hideously as men tumbled over each
other in their hurry to escape, their hurry to have at this
wild beast, this devil, this horror. And they were right.
He was possessed. He was life instinct with death;
filled with but one desire — to kill, or to be killed
quickly.

" Saiya! Amuk! Saiya! — out of his way — out of his
way! Amuk! Saiya! Fate is with him ! The gods are
with him. Saiya! Amuk!"

So, by chance, not method; so by sheer terror as well
as hacking and hewing, the tall figure found itself, with
but a stagger or two, outside the wooden gates, out on
the city road, out among the gardens and the green trees.
And then, " Hip, hip, hurray! " His ringing cheer rose
with a sort of laugh in it. For yonder was her house ! —
her house!

" Hip, hip, hurray ! " As he ran, as he had run in races
at school, his young face glad, the fingers on the triggers
behind him wavered in sheer superstitious funk, and two
troopers coming down the road wheeled back as from a
mad dog. The scarlet coat with its gold epaulettes went
crashing into a group red-handed with their spoil, out of
it impartially into a knot of terrified bystanders, while
down the lane left behind it by the hacking and hewing
came bullet after bullet; the fingers on the triggers
wavered, but some found a billet. One badly. He
stumbled in the dust and his left arm fell oddly. But
the right still hacked and hewed as he ran, though the
crowd lessened ; though it grew thin, too thin for his pur-
pose; or else his sight was failing. But there, to the
right, the devils seemed thicker again. " Hip, hip, hoo-
ray!" No! trees. Only trees to hew — a garden —

25 8 Otf THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

perhaps the garden about her house — then, " Hip,
hip-
He fell headlong on his face, biting the soft earth in
sheer despite as he fell.

" Don't touch him, brothers! " said one of the two or
three who had followed at a distance, as they might have
followed a mad dog, which they hoped others would meet
and kill. " Provoke him not, or the demon possessing
him may possess us. Tis never safe to touch till they
have been dead a watch. Then the poison leaves them.
Krishnjee, save us! Saw you how he turned our lead? "

" He has eaten mine, I'll swear," put in another sepoy
boastfully, pointing gingerly with his booted foot to a
round scorched hole in the red coat. ' The muzzle was
against him as I fired."

"And mine shall be 'his portion too," broke in a new
arrival breathlessly, preparing to fire at the prostrate
foe; but the first speaker knocked aside the barrel with an
oath.

" Not while I stand by, since devils choose the best
men. As 'tis, having women in our houses 'twere best
to take precautions." He stooped down as he spoke,
and muttering spells the while, raised a little heap of dust
at the lad's head and feet and outstretched arms — a little
cross of dust, as it were, on which the young body lay
impaled.

" What is't? " asked a haughty-looking native officer,
pausing as he rode by.

" 'Tis a hell-doomed who went possessed, and Dittu
makes spells to keep him dead," said one.

" Fool! " muttered the man. " He was drunk, likely.
They get like that, the cursed ones, when they take wine."
And he spat piously on the red coat as Jie passed on. So
they left the lad there lying face down in the growing
gloom, hedged round by spells to keep him from harming
women. Left him for dead.

But the scoffer had been right. He was drunk, but
with the Elixir of Life and Love which holds a soul cap-
tive from , the clasp of Death for a space. So, after a
time, the cross of dust gave up its victim; he staggered
to his feet again; and so, tumbling, falling, rising to fall

SUM SET. 259

again, he made his way to the haven where he would be,
to the side of a dead woman.

And the birds, startled from their roosting-places by
the stumbling, falling figure, waited, fluttering over the
topmost branches for it to pass, or paused among them
to fill up the time with a last twittering song of good-
night to the day; for the sun still lingered in the heat-
haze on the horizon as if loath to take its glow from that
corona of red dust above the northern wall of Delhi, mute
sign of the only protest made as yet by the master against
mutiny.

And now he had left the city to its own devices. The
rebels were free to do as they liked. The three thou-
sand disciplined soldiers, more or less, might have
marched out, had they chose, and annihilated the hand-
ful of loyal men about the Flagstaff Tower. But it was
sunset — sunset in Rumzan. And the eyes of thousands,
deprived even of a drop of water since dawn, were watch-
ing the red globe sink in the West, hungrily, thirstily;
their ears were attuned but to one sound — the firework
signal from the big mosque that the day's fast was over.
The very children on the roofs were watching, listening,
so as to send the joyful news that day was done, in shrill
voices to their elders below, waiting with their water-
pots ready in their hands.

Then, in good truth, there was no set purpose from
one end of the city to another. From the Palace to the
meanest brothel which had belched forth its vilest to swell
the tide of sheer rascality which had ebbed and flowed all
day, the one thought was still, " What does it mean?
How long will it last? Where is the master? "

So men ate and drank their fill first, then looked at
each other almost suspiciously, and drifted away to do
what pleased them best. Some to the Palace to swell
the turmoil of bellicose loyalty to the King — loyalty
which sounded unreal, almost ridiculous, even as it was
spoken. Others to plunder while they could. The
bungalows had long since been rifled, the very church
bells thrown down and broken; for the time had been
ample even for wanton destruction. But the city
remained. And while shops were being looted in-

260 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

side, the dispossessed Goojurs were busy over Met-
calfe House, tearing up the very books in their
revenge. The Flagstaff Tower lay not a mile away,
almost helpless against attack. But there was no
stomach for cold steel in Delhi on the nth of May,
1857. No stomach for anything except safe murder, safe
pillaging. Least of all was it to be found in the Palace,
where men had given the rein to everything they pos-
sessed— to their emotions, their horses, their passions,
their aspirations. Stabling some in the King's gardens,
some in dream-palaces, some in pigstyes of sheer bru-
tality. Weeping maudlin tears over heaven-sent suc-
cess, and boasting of their own prowess in the same
breath; squabbling insanely over the partition of com-
ing honors and emoluments.

Abool-Bukr, drunk as a lord, lurched about asserting
his intention of being Inspector-General of the King's
cavalry, and not leaving man, woman, or child of the hell-
doomed alive in India. For he had been right when he
had warned Newasi to leave him to his own life, his
own death ; when he had shrunk from the inherited blood-
stains on his hands, the inherited tinder in his breast. It
had caught fire with the first spark, and there was fresh
blood on his hands: the blood of a Eurasian boy who
had tried to defend his sister from drunken kisses.
Someone in the melee had killed the girl and finished the
boy: the Prince himself being saved from greater crime
by tumbling into the gutter and setting his nose a-bleed-
ing, a catastrophe which had sent him back to the Palace
partially sobered.

But Princess Farkhoonda Zamani, safe housed in
the rooms kept for honored visitors, knew nothing of
this, knew little even of the disturbances ; for she had been
a close prisoner since noon — a prisoner with servants who
would answer no questions, with trays of jewels and
dresses as if she had been a bride. She sat in a flutter,
trying to piece out the reason for this kidnaping. Was
she to be married by force to some royal nominee? But
why to-day? Why in all this turmoil, unless she was
required as a bribe. The arch-plotter-was capable of
that. But who? One thing was certain, Abool-Bukr

SUNSET. 261

could know nothing of this — he would not dare — and
suddenly the hot blood tingled through every vein as she
lay all unconsciously enjoying the return to the easeful
idleness and luxury she had renounced. But if he did
dare? If it was not mere anger which brought bewilder-
ment to heart and brain, as she hid her face from the dim
light which filtered in through the lattice — the dim,
scented, voluptuous light from which she had fled once to
purer air?

And not a hundred yards away from where she was
trying to steady her bounding pulse, Abool-Bukr him-
self was bawling away at his favorite love-song to a cir-
cle of intimates, all of whom he had already provided
with places on the civil list. His head was full of prom-
ises, his skin as full of wine as it could be, and he not be
a mere wastrel unable to enjoy life. For Abool-Bukr
gave care to this; since to be dead drunk was sheer loss
of time.

" Ah mistress rare, divine,
Thy lover like a vine
With tendril arms entwine."

Here his effort to combine gesture with song nearly
caused him to fall off the steps, and roused a roar of
laughter from some sepoys bivouacking under the trees
hard by. But Mirza Moghul, passing hastily to an audi-
ence with the King, frowned. To-day, when none knew
what might come, the Queen might have her way so far;
but this idle drunkard must be got rid of soon. He
would offend the pious to begin with, and then he could
not be trusted. Who could trust a man who had been
known to lure back his hawk because a bird's gay feath-
ers shone in the sunshine?

But Ahsan-Oolah, dismissed from feeling the royal
pulse once more, by the Mirza's audience, paused as he
passed to recommend a cooling draught if the Inspector-
General of Cavalry wanted to keep his head clear. It
was the physician's panacea for excitement of all kinds.
But an exhibition of steel would have done better on the
nth of May.

There was no one, however, to administer it to Delhi,

262 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and even the refugees in the Flagstaff Tower were be-
ginning to give up hope of its arriving from Meerut.
Those in the storehouse at Duryagunj still clung to the
belief that succor must come somehow; but Kate Erlton,
behind the wood-pile, knew that her hope lay only in
herself.

For how could Jim Douglas, as he more than once
passed through the now open and almost deserted Cash-
mere gate, in the hope, or rather the fear, of finding some
trace of her, know that she was hidden within a few yards
of him? or, how could she distinguish the sound of
his horse's hoofs from the hundreds which passed?

She must have escaped with the others, he concluded,
as he galloped toward the cantonments to see if she were
there. But she was not. He had failed again, he told
himself; failed through no fault of his own; for who could
have foretold that madness of retreat from the gate?

So now, there was nothing to be done in Delhi save
gather what information he could, give decent burial—
if he could — to Alice Gissing's body, and, if no troops
arrived before dawn, leave the city.

CHAPTER VI.

DUSK.

" 1 ENTREAT you to leave, sir. Believe me, there is
nothing else to be done now. It will be dark in half an
hour, nnd we shall need every minute of the night to
reach Kurnal."

It was said openly now by many voices. It had been
hinted first when, the corona of red dust having just
sprung to hide the swelling white dome of the distant
mosque, a dismal procession had come slowly up the
steep road to the tower with a ghastly addition to the
little knot of white faces there — slowly, slowly, the drivers
of the oxen whacking and jibing at them as if the cart
held logs or refuse, as if the driving of it were quite com-
monplace. Yet in a way the six bodies of English gen-

DUSK. 263

tlemen it held were welcome additions; since it was
something to see a dear face even when it is dead. But
they were fateful additions, making the disloyal 38th regi-
ment, posted furthest from the Tower — partly com-
manded by it and the guns, in case of accident — shift
restlessly. If others had done such work, ought not
they to be up and doing? And now another procession
came filing up from the city — the two guns returning
from the Cashmere gate. They came on sullenly, slowly,
yet still they came on ; another few minutes and the refu-
gees would have been the stronger, the chances of
mutiny weaker. The 38th saw this. Their advanced
picket rushed out, drove off the gunners and the offi-
cers, and, fixing bayonets, forced the drivers to wheel
and set off down the road again at a trot. And down the
road, commanded by other guns, they went unchecked;
for the refugees did not dare to give the order to fire, lest
it should be disobeyed. The effect, we read, would
probably have been " that the guns would have been
swung round and fired on the orderers; and so not an
European would have escaped to tell the tale; this catas-
trophe, however, was mercifully averted and the crisis
passed over." It reads strangely, but once more, there
were women and children to think of. And few men are
strong enough to say, much less set it down in black and
white as John Nicholson did, that the protection " of
women and children in some crises is such a very minor
consideration that it ceases to be a consideration at all."
Still, it began to be patent to all that there was little
good in remaining in a place where they did not dare
to defend themselves. There were carriages and horses
ready; the road to Karnal was still fairly safe. Would
it not be better to retreat? But the Brigadier held out.
He had, in deference partly to others, wholly for the sake
of his helpless charges, weakened the city post. Why
should he have done that if he meant to abandon his
own? Then he was an old sepoy officer who had served
boy and man in one regiment, rising to its command at
last, and he was loath to believe that the 38th regiment,
which had been specially commended to him by his own,
would turn against him, if only he were free to handle it.

264 ON 7' HE FACE OF THE WATERS.

And this hope gained color from the fact, that to him
personally and to his direct orders, the regiment was still
cheerfully obedient.

So the waiting went on, and there were no signs of the
74th returning. What had happened? Fresh disaster?
The voices urging retreat grew louder.

" Have it your own way, gentlemen," said the Briga-
dier at last. ' The women and children had better go, at
any rate, and they will need protection; so let all retire
who will, and in what way seems best to them. I stay
here."

So on foot, on horseback, in carriages, the exodus be-
gan forthwith; hastening more rapidly when the first
man to jump from the embrasure at the Cashmere gate
arrived with that tale of hopeless calamity.

But still the Brigadier refused to join, the rout. He
had been hanging on the skirts of Hope all day, trying,
wisely or unwisely, to shield women and children behind
that frail shelter. So he had been tied hand and foot.
Now he would be free. True! the mystery of oncoming
dusk made that red city in the distance loom larger, but
a handful of desperate men unhampered, with 'plenty oi
ammunition, might hold such a post as the Flagstaff
Tower till help arrived. He meant to try it, at any rate.
Then nearly half of the 74th had got away saiely — they
were long in turning up certainly — but when they came
they would form a nucleus. The 54th were not all bad, or
they would not have saved their Major. Even the 38th,
if they could once be got away from the sight of weak-
ness, from that ghastly cart with its mute witness to
successful murder, might respond to a familiar common-
place order. They were creatures of habit, with drill
born in the blood, bred in the bone.

"I stay here," he said shortly. Said it again, even
when neither the escaped officers nor men turned up.
Said it again, when the. guns rolled off toward Meerut,
leaving him face to face with a sprinkling of the 74th and
54th, and the mass of the 38th, sullen, but still obedient.

The sun, now some time set, had left a flaming pen-
nant in the sky, barring it low down on the horizon with
a blood-red glow marking the top of the dust-haze, and

DUSK. 265

the quick chill of color which in India comes with the lack
of sunlight, even while its heat lingers to the touch, had
fallen upon all things — upon the red Ridge, upon the
distant line of trees marking the canal, upon the level
plain between them where all the familiar landmarks of
cantonment life still showed clearly, despite the darken-
ing sky. Guard-rooms, lines, bells-of-arms, wide parade-
grounds — all the familiar surroundings of a sepoy's life,
and behind them that red flare of a day that was done.

" There is no use, sir, in stopping longer," said the
Brigade-major, almost compassionately, to the figure
which sat its horse steadfastly, but with a despondent
droop of the shoulders.

" No possible use, sir," echoed the Staff Doctor kindly.
The three were facing westward, for that vain hope of
help from the east had been given up at last; and behind
them, barely audible, was the faint hum of the distant
city. A shaft of cormorants flying j heel-ward with
barbed arrow head, trailed across the purpling sky; be-
low them the red pennant was fading steadily. The day
was done. But to one pair of eyes there seemed still
a hope, still a last appeal to something beyond east or
west.

" Bugler! sound the assembly! "

The Brigadier's voice rang sharp over the plain, and
was followed, quick as an echo, quick from that habit of
obedience on which so much depended, by the cheerful
notes.

"Come — to the co-lors! Come quick, come all —
come quick, come all — come quick! Quick! Come to
the colors! "

Last appeal to honor and good faith, to memory and
confidence. But they had passed with the day. Yet not
quite, for as the rocks and stones, the distant lines, the
familiar landmarks gave back the call, a solitary figure,
trim and smart in the uniform of the loyal 74th, fell in
and saluted.

In all that wide plain one man true to his salt, heroic
utterly, standing alone in the dusk. A nameless figure,
like many another hero. Yet better so, when we remem-
ber that but a few hours before his regiment had volun-

266 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

teered to a man against their comrades and their country !
So sepoy , of company , can stand there, out-
lined against the dying day upon the parade-ground at
Delhi, as a type of others who might have stood there
also, but for the lack of that cloud of dust upon the
Meerut road.

Brigadier Graves wheeled his horse slowly northward;
but at the sight the sepoys of the 38th, still friendly to
him personally, crowded round him urging speed. It
was no place for him, they said. No place for the
master.

Palpably not. It was time, indeed, for the thud of
retreating hoofs to end the incident, so far as the mas-
ter was concerned; the actual finale of the tragic mistake
being a disciplined tramp, as the sepoy who had fallen in
at the last Assembly fell out again, at his own word of
command, and followed the master doggedly. He was
killed righting for us soon afterward.

" God be praised ! " said the 38th, as with curious de-
liberation they took possession of the cantonments.
"That is over! He has gone in safety, and we have
kept the promise given to our brothers of the 56th not
to harm him." So, joined by their comrades from the
city, they set guards and gave out rations, with double
and treble doses of rum. Played the master, in fact,
perfectly; until, in the darkness, a rumble arose upon the
road, and one-half of the actors fled cityward inconti-
nently and the other half went to bed in their huts like
good boys. But it was not the troops from Meerut at
last. It was only their old friends the guns, once more
brought back from the fugitives by comrades who had
finally decided to stand by the winning side.

So the question has once more to be asked, " What
would have happened, if, even at that eleventh hour, there
really had been a cloud of dust on the Meerut road?

As it was, confidence and peace were restored. In
the city they had never been disturbed. It seemed
weary, bewildered by the topsy-turvydom of the day,
desirous chiefly of sleep and dreams. So that Kate Erl-
ton, peering out through a chink in the wood-store, felt
that if she were ever to escape from the slow starvation

DUSK. 267

which stared her in the face, she could choose no better
time than this, when traffic had ceased, and the moon had
not yet risen. She had settled that her best chance lay
in creeping along the wall at first, then, taking advantage
of the gardens, cutting across to that same sally-port
through which the heroes of the magazine had told her
they had made their escape. She did not know the exact
situation, but she could surely find it. Besides, the ruins
would most likely be deserted, and the other gates of the
city, even if they were not closed for the night, as the
gate here was, would be guarded. Once out of the city,
she meant to make for the Flagstaff Tower; for, of
course, she knew nothing of its desertion.

So she set the door ajar softly, and crept out. And
as she did so, the whiteness of her own dress, even in
the dense blackness, startled her, and roused the trivial
wish that she had put on her navy-blue cotton instead,
as she had meant to do that day. Strange ! how a mere
chance — the word was like a spur always, and she crept
along the wall, hoping that the smoking, flaring fire of
refuse in the opposite corner, round which the guard
were sitting, so as to be free of mosquitoes, might dazzle
their eyes. It was her only chance, however, so she must
risk it. Then suddenly, under her foot, she felt some-
thing long, curved, snakelike. It was all she could do
not to scream; but she set her teeth, and trod down
hard with all her strength, her heart beating wildly in
the awful suspense. But nothing struck her, there was
no movement. Had she killed it? Her hand went down
in the dark with a terror in it lest her touch should light
on the head — perhaps within reach of the fangs. But
she forced herself to the touch, telling herself she was a
coward, a fool.

Thank Heaven! no snake after all, only a rope. A
rope that must have been used for tethering a horse, for
here under her foot was straw, rustling horribly. No!
not now — that was something soft. A blanket ; a horse's
double blanket, dark as the darkness itself. Here was a
chance, indeed. She caught it up and paused deliber-
ately in the darkest corner of the square, to slip off shoes
and stockings, petticoats and bodice; so, in the scantiest

268 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

of costumes, winding the long blanket round her, as a
skirt and veil in ayah's fashion. Her face could be hid-
den by a modest down-drop over it, her white hands
hidden away by the modest drawing of a fold across her
mouth. Her feet, then, were the only danger, and the
dust would darken them. She must risk that anyhow.
So, boldly, she slipped out of the corner, and made for
the gate, remembering to her comfort that it was not
England where a lonely woman might be challenged all
the more for her loneliness. In this heathen land, that
down-dropped veil hedged even a poor grass-cutter's
wife about with respect What is more, even if she
were challenged, her proper course would be to be silent
and hurry on. But no one challenged her, and she
passed on into the denser shadows of the church garden
to regain her breath; for it had gone somehow. Why,
she knew not; she had not felt frightened. Then the
question came, what next? Get to the magazine, some-
how; but the strain of looking forward seemed far worse
than the actual doing, so she went on without settling
anything, save that she would avoid roads, and give the
still smoking roofless bungalows as wide a birth as pos-
sible, lest, in the dark, she should come on some dead
thing — a friend perhaps. And with the thought came
that of Alice Gissing. The house lay right on her path
to the magazine. Surely she must be near it now. Was
that the long sweep of its roof against the sky? If she
could see so much, the moon must be rising, and she
could have no time to lose. As she crept along through
the garden, she wondered why the bungalow had not
been burned like the others. Perhaps the ayah's friends
had saved it, or, perhaps, there had not been much to
attract them in the little hired house. Or, perhaps —

Hark! She crouched back, from voices close beside
her, and doubled a bit; but they seemed to follow her.
And straight ahead the trees ended, and she must brave
the open space by the house itself; unless, indeed, she
slipped by the row of servant's houses to the veranda,
and so — through the rooms — gain the further side. Or
she might hide in the house till these voices passed,
There they were again! She made a breathless dash for

DUSK. 269

the shadow, ran on till she found the veranda, and decid-
ing to hide for a time, passed in at the first door — the
door of the room where she had left Alice Gissing lying
dead a few hours before. But it was too dark, as yet,
to see if she lay there still, too dark to see even if the
house had been plundered. It must have been, how-
ever, for the very floor-cloths were gone; the concrete
struck cold to her feet. And a sudden terror at the dark-
ness, the emptiness, coming over her, she passed on
rapidly to the faintly glimmering square of the further
door, seen through the intervening rooms. There were
three of them; bedroom, drawing room, dining room, set
in a row in Indian fashion, all leading into each other, all
opening on to the veranda; the two end ones opening also
into the side veranda. She could get out again, therefore,
by this further door. But it was bolted. She undid the
bolts, only to find it hasped on the outside. A feeling of
being trapped seized upon her. She ran to the other
door. Hasped also. The drawing-room door? Firmer
even than the others. But what a fool she was to feel
so frightened, when she could always go out as she had
come in when the voices had passed. She stole back
softly, knowing they must be just outside, and almost
fancying, in her alarm, that she heard a step in the
veranda. But there was the glimmering square of
escape, open. No! shut too! shut from the outside.

Had they seen her and shut the door? And there,
indeed, were footsteps! Loud footsteps and voices com-
ing up the long flight of steps which led to the veranda
from the road. Coming straight, and she locked in,
helpless.

She threw up her hands involuntarily at a bright flash
in the veranda. Was it lightning? No! a pistol shot, a
quick curse, a fall. A yell of rage, a rush of those feet
upon the steps, and then another flash, another, and
another! More curses and a confused clashing! She
stood as if turned to stone, listening. Hark! down the
steps, surely, this time, another rush, a cry, a scuffle, a
fall. Then, loud and unmistakable, a laugh! Then
silence.

Merciful Heavens! what was it? What had happened?

270 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

She shook at the door gently, but still there was silence.
Then, gripping the woodwork, she tried to peer out. But
she could only see the bit of veranda in front of her
which, being latticed in and hung with creepers, was
very dark. The rest was invisible from within. She
leaned her ear on the glass and listened. Was that a
faint breathing? " Who's there?" she cried softly; but
there was no answer. She sank down on the floor in
sheer bewilderment and tried to think what to do, and
after a time, a faint glimmer of the rising moon aiding
her, she went round to every door and tried it again.
All locked inside and out. And now she could see that
the house had been pillaged to the uttermost. There
was literally nothing left in it. Nothing to aid her
fingers if she tried to open the doors. By breaking the
upper panes of glass, of course, she could undo the top
bolt, but how was she to reach the bottom ones behind
the lower panels? And why? why had they been
locked? Who had locked the one by which she had
come in? What was there that needed protection in
that empty house. Was there by chance someone else?
Then, suddenly, the remembrance of what she had left
lying in the end room hours before came back to her.
She had forgotten it utterly in her alarm and she crept
back to see if Alice Gissing still kept her company. The
bed was gone, but by the steadily growing glimmer of
the moon she could see something lying on the floor in
the very center of the room. Something strangely
orderly, with a look of care and tidiness about it; but not
white — and her dress had been white. Kate knelt down
beside it and touched the still figure gently. What had
it been covered with? Some sort of network, fine —
silken — crimson. An officer's sash surely! And now
her eyes becoming accustomed to what lay before them,
and the light growing, she saw that the curly head rested
on an officer's scarlet coat. The gold epaulettes were
arranged neatly on either side the delicate ears so as not
to touch them. Who had done this? Then that step
she had thought she heard in the veranda must have been
a real one. Someone must have been watching the dead
woman.

271

She was at the door in an instant rapping at a pane,
"Herbert! Herbert! are you there? Herbert! Her-
bert!" He might have done this thing. He might
have come over from Meerut, for he had loved the dead
woman, he had loved her dearly.

But there was no answer. Then wrapping the blanket
round her hand she dashed it through the pane, and
removing the glass, managed to crane out a little. She
could see better so. Was that someone, or only a heap
of clothes in the shadow of the corner by the inner wall?
By this time the moonlight was shining white on the
orange-trees on the further side of the road. She could
see beyond them to the garden, but nothing of the road
itself, nothing of the steep flight of steps leading down
to it; a balustrade set with pots filling up all but the
center arch prevented that.

"Herbert!" she cried again louder, "is that you?"
But there was not a sound.

God in heaven! who lay there? dying or dead? help-
lessness broke down her self-control at last, and she crept
back into the room, back to the old companionship, cry-
ing miserably. Ah! she was so tired, so weary of it all.
So glad to rest! A sense of real physical relief came to
her body as, for the first time for long, long hours, she
let her muscles slacken, and to her mind as she let herself
cry on, like a child, forgetting the cause of grief in the
grief itself. Forgetting even that after a time in sheer
rest; so that the moon, when it had climbed high enough
to peep in through the closed doors, found her asleep,
her arms spread out over the crimson network, her head
resting on what lay beneath it. But she slept dream-
fully and once her voice rose in the quick anxious tones
of those who talk in their sleep.

"Freddy! Freddy!" she called. "Save Freddy,
someone! Never mind, ayah! He is only a boy, and

the other, the other may " Then her words merged

into each other uncertainly, after the manner of dreamers,
and she slept sounder.

Soundest of all, however, in the cool before the dawn;
so that she did not wake with a stealthy foot in the side
veranda, a stealthy hand on the hasp outside; did not

272 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

wake even when Jim Douglas stood beside her, looking
down vexedly on the blanket-shrouded figure pillowed
on the body he came to seek. For he had been delayed
by a thousand difficulties, and though the shallow grave
was ready dug in the garden, the presence of this
native — even though a woman, apparently — must make
his task longer. Was it a woman? One hand on his
revolver, he laid the other on the sleeper's shoulder. His
touch brought Kate to her feet blindly, without a cry, to
meet Fate.

"My God! Mrs. Erlton!" he cried, and she recog-
nized his voice at once. Fate indeed! His chance and
hers. His chance and hers!

She stood half stupefied by her dreams, her waking;
but he, after his nature, was ready in a second for action,
and broke in on his own wondering questions im-
patiently. " But we are losing time. Quick! you must
get to some safer place before dawn. Twist that blanket
right — let me, please. That will do. Now, if you will
follow close, I must get you hidden somewhere for to-
day. It is too near dawn for anything else. Come! "

She put out her hand vaguely, as if to stave his swift
decision away, and, looking in her face, he recognized
that she must have time, that he must curb his own
energy.

' Then it was you who fired," she said in a dull voice.
" You who shut me in here? You who killed those
voices. Why didn't you answer when I called, when I
thought it was Herbert? It was very unkind — very
unkind."

He stared at her for a second, and then his hand went
out and closed on hers firmly. "Mrs. Erlton! I'm
going to save you if I can. Come. I don't know what
you're talking about, and there is no time for talk.
Come."

So, hand in hand, they passed into the side veranda,
through which he had entered, and so, since the nearest
way to the city lay down that flight of steps, to the front
one.

" Take care," he cried, half-stumbling himself, and
forcing her to avoid something that lay huddled up

DUSK. 273

against the wall. It was a dead man. And there, upon
the steps which showed white as marble in the moon-
light, were two others in a heap. A third lower down,
ghastlier still, lying amid dark stains marring the white-
ness, and with a gaping cut clearly visible on the
shoulder.

But that still further down! Jim Douglas gave a
quick cry, dropped Kate's hand, and was on his knees
beside the tall young figure — coatless, its white shirt
stiff with blood, which lay head downward on the last
steps as if it had pitched forward in some mad pursuit.
As he turned it over on its back gently, the young face
showed in the moonlight stern, yet still exultant, and the
sword, still clenched in the stiff right hand, rattled on
the steps.

" Mainwaring! I don't understand," he said, looking
up bewildered into Kate's face. The puzzle had gone
from it ; she semed roused to life again.

" I understand now," she said softly, and as she spoke
she stooped and raised the boy's head tenderly in her
hands. " Don't let us leave him here," she went on
eagerly, hastily. " Leave him there, beside — beside —
her."

Jim Douglas made no reply. He understood also
dimly, and he only signed to her to take the feet instead.
So together they managed to place that dead weight
within the threshold and close the door.

Then Jim Douglas held out his hand again, but there
was a new friendliness in its grip. "Come!" he said,
and there was a new ring in his voice, " the night is far
spent, the day is at hand."

It was true. As they stepped from the now waning
moonlight into the shadow of the trees, the birds, begin-
ning to dream of dawn, shifted and twittered faintly
among the branches. And once, startling them both,
there was a louder rustling from a taller tree, a flutter of
broad white wings to a perch nearer the city, a half-
sleepy cry of:

Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed!"

" If I had time," muttered Jim Douglas fiercely, " I
would go and wring that cursed bird's neck! But for

274

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

it " Kate's tighter clasp on his hand seemed like

an appeal, and he went on in silence.

So, as they slipped from the gardens into the silent
streets, the muezzin's monotonous chant began from the
shadowy minaret of the big mosque.

" Prayer is more than sleep ! — than sleep ! — than
sleep!"

The night was far spent ; the day was indeed at hand —
and what would it bring forth? Jim Douglas, with a
sinking at his heart, told himself he could at least be
thankful that one day was done.

BOOK IV.
" SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

CHAPTER I.

THE DEATH PLEDGE.

THE outer court of the Palace lay steeped in the sun-
shine of noon. Its hot rose-red walls and arcades seemed
to shimmer in the glare, and the dazzle and glitter gave
a strange air of unreality, of instability to all things. To
the crowds of loungers taking their siesta in every arcade
and every scrap of shadow, to the horses stabled in rows
in the glare and the blaze, to the eager groups of new
arrivals which, from time to time, came in from the outer
world by the cool, dark tunnel of the Lahore gate to stand
for a second, as if blinded by the shimmer and glitter,
before becoming a part of that silent, drowsy stir of life.

From an arch close to the inner entry to the precincts
rose a monotonous voice reading aloud. The reader
was evidently the author also, for his frown of annoy-
ance was unmistakable at a sudden diversion caused by
the entry of a dozen or more armed men, shouting at the
top of their voices: " Padishah, Padishah, Padishah! We
be fighters for The Faith. Padishah! a blessing, a
blessing! "

A malicious laugh came from one of the listeners in
the arcade — a woman shrouded in a Pathan veil.

; 'Tis as well his Majesty hath taken another cooling
draught," came her voice shrilly. " What with writing
letters for help to the Huzoors to please Ahsan-Oolah
and Elahi-Buksh, and blessing faith to please the Queen,
he hath enough to do in keeping his brain from getting

275

276 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

dizzy with whirling this way and that. Mayhap faith
will fail first, since it is not satisfied with blessings. They
are windy diet, and I heard Mahboob say an hour agone
that there was too much faith for the Treasury. Lo!
moonshee-jee, put that fact down among thy heroics —
they need balance! "

" Sure, niece Hafzan," reproved the old editor of the
Court Journal, " I see naught that needs it. Syyed Ab-
dulla's periods fit the case as peas fit a pod; they hang
together."

u As we shall when the Huzoors return," assented the
voice from the veil.

''They will return no more, woman!" said another.
It belonged to a man who leaned against a pilaster, look-
ing dreamily out into the glare where, after a brief strug-
gle, the band of fighters for the faith had pushed aside
the timid door-keepers and forced their way to the inner
garden. Through the open door they showed pictur-
esquely, surging down the path, backed by green foliage
and the white dome of the Pearl Mosque rising against
the blue sky.

" The Faith! The Faith! We come to fight for the
Faith!"

Their cry echoed over the drowsy, dreaming crowds,
making men turn over in their sleep; that was all.

But the dreaminess grew in the face looking at the
vista through the open door till its eyes became like those
Botticelli gives to his Moses — the eyes of one who sees
a promised land — and the dreamy voice went on:

" How can they return ; seeing that He is Lord and
Master? Changing the Day to Darkness, the Darkness
into Day. Holding the unsupported skies, proving His
existence by His existence, Omnipotent. High in
Dignity, the Avenger of His Faithful people."

The old editor waggled his head with delighted appro-
val; the author fidgeted over an eloquence not his own;
but Hafzan's high laugh rang cynically:

" That may be so, most learned divine; yet I, Hafzan,
the harem scribe, write no orders nowadays for King
or Queen without the proviso of ' writ by a slave in pur-
suance of lawful order and under fear of death ' in some

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 277

quiet corner. For I have no fancy, see you, for hanging,
even if it be in good company. But, go on with thy lead-
ing article, moonshee-jee, I will interrupt no more."

" Thus by a single revolution of time the state of affairs
is completely reversed,* and the great and memorable
event which took place four days ago must be looked
upon as a practical warning to the uninformed and care-
less, namely the British officers and those who never
dreamed of the decline and fall of their government, but
who have now convincing proof of what has been writ-
ten in the Indelible Tablets by God. The following
brief account, therefore, of the horrible and memorable
events is given here solely for the sake of those still in-
clined to treat them as a dream. On Monday, the i6th
of Rumzan, that holy month in which the Word of God
came down to earth, and in which, for all time, lies the
Great Night of Power, the courts being open early on
account of the hot weather, the magistrate discharging
his wonted duties, suddenly the bridge toll-keeper ap-
peared, informing him that a few Toork troopers had
first crossed the bridge "

The dreamy-faced divine turned in sharp reproach.
" Not so, Syyed-jee. The vision came first — the vision
of the blessed Lord AH seen by the muezzin. Wouldst
make this time as other times, and deny the miracles by
which it is attested as of God?"

" Miracles! " echoed Hafzan. " I see no miracle in an
old man on a camel."

The divine frowned. " Nor in a strange white bird
with a golden crown, which hovered over the city giving
the sacred cry? Nor in the fulfillment of Hussan
Askuri's dream? "

Hafzan burst into shrill laughter. " Hussan Askuri !
Lo! Moulvie Mohammed Ismail, didst thou know the
arch dreamer as I, thou wouldst not credit his miracles.
He dreams to the Queen's orders as a bear dances to the
whip. And as thou knowest, my mistress hath the knack
of jerking the puppet strings. vShe hath been busy these
days, and even the Princess Farkhoonda "

"What of the Princess?" asked the newswriter,
eagerly, nibbling his pen in anticipation.

* From the account in the native papers.

278 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Nay, not so ! " retorted Hafzan. " I give no news
nowadays, since I cannot set ' spoken under fear of
death ' upon the words."

She rose as she spoke, yet lingered, to stand a second
beside the divine and say in a softer tone, " Dreams are
not safe, even to the pious, as thou, Moulvie-sahib. A
bird is none the less a bird because it is strange to Delhi
and hath been taught to speak. That it was seen all
know; yet for all that, it may be one of Hussan Askuri's
tricks."

" Let it be so, woman," retorted Mohammed Ismail
almost fiercely, "is there not miracle enough and to spare
without it? Did not the sun rise four days ago upon
infidels in power? Where are they now? Were there
not two thousand of them in Meerut? Did they strike
a blow? Did they strike one here? Where is their
strength? Gone! I tell thee — gone!"

Hafzan laid a veiled clutch on his arm suddenly and
her other hand, widening the folds of her shapeless form
mysteriously, pointed into the blaze and shimmer of sun-
light. " It lies there, Moulvie-sahib, it lies there," she
*aid in a passionate whisper, " for God is on their side."

It was a pitiful little group to which she pointed. A
woman, her mixed blood showing in her face, her
Christianity in her dress, being driven along like a sheep
to the shambles across the courtyard. She clasped a year-
old baby to her breast and a handsome little fellow of
three toddled at her skirts. She paused in a scrap of
shade thrown by a tree which grew beside a small cistern
or reservoir near the middle of the court, and shifted the
heavy child in her arms, looking round, as she did so,
with a sort of wild, fierce fear, like that of a hunted ani-
mal. The cluster of sepoys who had made their prisoner
over to the Palace guard turned hastily from the sight;
but the guard drove her on with coarse jibes.

" The rope dangles close, Moulvie-jee," came Hafzan's
voice again. "Ropes, said I? Gentle ropes? Nay!
only as the wherewithal to tie writhing limbs as they roast.
If thou hast a taste for visions, pious one, tell me what
thou seest ahead for the murderers of such poor souls? "

"Murderers," echoed Mohammed Ismail swiftly;

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 279

" there is no talk of murder. Tis against our religion.
Have I not signed the edict against it? Have we not pro-
tested against the past iniquity of criminals, and ignorant
beasts, and vile libertines like Prince Abool-Bukr, who
take advantage "

"He was too drunk for much evil, learned one!"
sneered Hafzan. " Godly men do worse than he in their
own homes, as I know to my cost. As for thine edict!
Take it to the Princess Farkhoonda. She is a simple
soul, though she holds the vilest liver of Delhi in a
leash. But the Queen — the Queen is of different mettle,
as you edict-signers will find. There are nigh fifty such
prisoners in the old cook-room now. Wherefore?"

" For safety. There are nigh forty in the city police
station also."

Hafzan gathered her folds closer, " Truly thou art a
simple soul, pious divine. Dost not think there is a dif-
ference, still, between the Palace and the city? But
God save all women, black or white, say I! Save them
from men, and since we be all bound to hell together
by virtue of our sex, then will it be a better place thai.
Paradise by having fewer men in it."

She flung her final taunts over her shoulder at her
hearers as she went limping off.

" Heed her not, most pious ! " said her uncle apologeti-
cally. " She hath been mad against men ever since hers,
being old and near his end, took her, a child, and "

But Moulvie Mohammed Ismail was striding across the
courtyard to the long, low, half-ruinous shed in which
the prisoners were kept.

" Have they proper food and water? " he asked sharply
of the guard. '' The King gave orders for it."

"It comes but now!" replied the sergeant glibly,
pointing to a file of servants bearing dishes which were
crossing the courtyard from the royal kitchens. The
Moulvie gave a sigh of relief, for Hafzan's hints had
alarmed him. These same helpless prisoners lay on his
conscience, since he and his like were mainly responsi-
ble for the diligent search for Christians which had been
going on during the last few days; for it was not to be
tolerated that the faithful should risk salvation by con-

280 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

cealing them. The proper course was plain, unmistak-
able. They should be given up to the authorities and
be made into good Mohammedans; by persuasion if
possible, if not, by force. In truth the Moulvie dreamed
already of ninety and odd willing converts, as a further
manifestation of divine favor. Perhaps more; though
most of these ill-advised attempts at concealment must
have come to an end by now.

They had indeed; those four days of peace, of hourly
increasing religious enthusiasm for a cause so evidently
favored by High Heaven, had made it well nigh impossi-
ble to carry on a task attempted by so many, when it
seemed likely to last for a few hours only.

Even Jim Douglas told himself he must fail unless he
could get help. He had succeeded so far, simply because
— by a mere chance — he had, not one but several, places
of concealment ready to his hand without the necessity
for taking anyone into his confidence. For he had found
it convenient in his work to have cities of refuge, as it
were, where he could escape from curiosity or change
a disguise at leisure. The shilling or so a month re-
quired for the rent of a room in some tenement house
being more than repaid by the sense of security the pos-
session gave him. It was to one of these, therefore, that
he took Kate on the dawn of the I2th, leaving her locked
up in it alone; till night enabled him to take her on to
another; so by constant change managing to escape sus-
picion. But as the days passed in miraculous peace, he
recognized the hopelessness of continuing this life for
long. To begin with, Kate's nerves could not stand it.
She was brave enough, but she had an imagination, and
what woman with that could stand being left alone in the
dark for twelve hours at a time, never knowing if the slow
starvation, which would be her fate if anything untoward
happened to him, had not already begun? He could not
expect her to stand it, when three days of something far
less difficult had left him haggard, his nerves unstrung;
left him with the possibility looming in the future of his
losing his self-control some day, and going madly for the
whole world as young Mainwaring had done. Not that
he cared for Kate's safety so much, as that the mere

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 281

thought of failure roused a beast-like ferocity in him.
So, as he wandered restlessly about the city, waiting in a
fever of impatience for some sign of the world without
those rose-red walls — waiting day by day, with a growing
tempest of rage, for the night to return and let him creep
up some dark stairs and assure himself of a woman's

safety, he was piecing together a plan in case Of

what? In case the stories he heard in the bazaars were
true? No! that was impossible. How could the Eng-
lish have been wiped out of India? Yet as he saw the
deserted shops being reopened in solemn procession by
an old pantaloon on an elephant calling himself the
Emperor, when he saw Abool-Bukr letting off squibs
in general rejoicing over the re-establishment of Moham-
medan empire; above all when he saw the tide of life
returning to the streets, his mad desire to strike a blow
and smash the sham was tempered by an almost unbear-
able curiosity as to what had really happened. But he
dared not try and find out. Useless though he knew it
was, he hung round the quarter where Kate lay concealed
for the day, feeling a certain consolation in knowing that
he was as close to her as he dared to be. Such a life was
manifestly impossible, and so, bit by bit, his plan grew.
Yet, when it had grown, he almost shrank from it, so
strange did it seem, in its linking of the past with the
present. For Kate must pass as his wife — his sick wife,
hidden, as Zora had been, on some terraced roof, with
Tara as her servant; he, meanwhile, passing as an Afghan
horse-dealer, kept from returning North, like others of
his trade, by this illness in his house. The plan was per-
fectly feasible if Tara would consent. And Jim Douglas,
though he ignored his own certainty, never really doubted
that she would. He had not been born in the mist-
covered mountains of the North for nothing. Their
mysticism was part of his nature, and he felt that he had
saved her for this; that for this, and this only, he had
played that childish but successful cantrip with her hair.
In a way, was not the pathetic idyl on the roof with little
Zora but a rehearsal of a tragedy — a rehearsal without
which he could not have played his part? Strange thread
of fate, indeed, linking these women together! and though

282 ON 7W£ FACE OF THE WATERS.

he shrank from admitting its very existence, it gave him
confidence that the whole would hang together securely.
So that when he sought Tara out, his only real doubt was
whether it would be wiser to tell her the truth about
Kate, or assert that she was his wife. He chose the lat-
ter as less risky, since, even if Tara refused aid, she would
not overtly betray anyone belonging to him.

But Tara did not refuse. To begin with, she could
have refused nothing in the first joy of finding him safe
when she had believed him dead like all the other
Huzoors. And then a vast confusion of love, and pride,
and remorse, and fierce passionate denial of all three, led
her into consent. If the Huzoor wanted her to help to
save his wife why should she object? Though it was
nothing to her if the mem was his mem or not. Jim
Douglas, listening to the eager protest, wondered if he
might not safely have saved himself an unnecessary com-
plication; but then he wondered at many things Tara
said and did. At her quick frown when he promised her
both hair and locket as her reward. At the faint quiver
amid the scorn with which she had replied that he would
still want the latter for the mem's hair. At her slow
smile when he opened the gold oval to show the black
lock still in sole possession. She had turned aside to
look at the hearth-cakes she had been toasting- when he
came in, and then gone into the necessary details of
arrangement in the most matter-of-fact way. Naturally
the. Huzoor had sought help from his servant. From
whom else could he seek it? As for her saintship, there
was nothing new in that. She had been suttee always
as the master very well knew. So nothing she did for
him, or he for her, could make that suffer. Therefore she
would arrange as she had arranged for Zora. The
Huzoor must rent a roof — roofs were safest — and she
would engage a half-blind, half-deaf old sweeper-woman
she knew of. Perhaps another if need be. But the
Huzoor need have no fear of such details if he gave her
money. And this Jim Douglas had hidden in the garden
of his deserted bungalow in Duryagunj ; so that in truth
it seemed as if the whole plan had been evolved for them
by a kindly fate.

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 283

And yet Jim Douglas felt a keen pang of regret when,
for the first time, he gave the familiar knock of those old
Lucknow days at the door of a Delhi roof and Tara
opened it to him, dressed in the old crimson drapery,
the gold bangles restored to her beautiful brown arms.
He had brought Kate round during the previous night
to the lodging he had managed to secure in the Mufti's
quarter, and, leaving her there alone, had taken the key
to Tara; this being the safest plan, since everything
could then be arranged in discreet woman's fashion be-
fore he put in an appearance.

And the task had been done well. The outside square
or yard of parapeted roof which he entered lay conven-
tional to the uttermost. A spinning-wheel here, a row
of water-pots there, a mat, a reed stool or two, a cooking
place in one corner, a ragged canvas screen at the inner
doors. Nothing there to prepare him for rinding an
Englishwoman within; an Englishwoman with a faint
color in her wan cheeks; a new peace in her gray eyes,
busy — Heaven save the mark! — in sticking some dis-
jointed jasmine buds into the shallow saucer of a water-
pot.

:< Tara brought them strung on a string," said Kate
half apologetically after her first welcome, as she noted
his look. " I suppose she meant me to wear them — •
with the other things," she paused to glance down with
a smile at her dress, " but it seemed a pity. They were
like a new world to me — like a promise — somehow."

He sat down on the edge of the string bed feeling a
little dazed and looked at her and her surroundings
critically. It was a pleasant sunshiny bit of roof, vaulted
by the still cool morning sky. There was a little arcaded
room at one end, the topmost branches of a neem tree
showed over one side; on the other, the swelling dome
of the big mosque looked like a great white cloud, and
in one corner was a sort of square turret, from the roof
of which, gained by a narrow brick ladder, the whole
city was visible. For it was the highest house in the
quarter, higher even than the roof beside it, over which
the same neem tree cast a shadow.

And as he looked, he thought idly that no dress in the.

284 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

world was more graceful than the Delhi dress with its
billowy train and loose, soft, filmy veil. And Kate
looked well in white — all in white. He pulled himself
up sharply; but indeed memory was playing him tricks,
and the stress and strain of reality seemed far from that
slip of sun-saturated roof where a graceful woman in
white was sticking jasmine buds into water. And sud-
denly the thought came that Zora would have worn the
chaplets heedlessly; there would have been no senti-
mentality over withered flowers on her part.

"A promise," he echoed half-bitterly. "Well! one
must hope so. And even if the worst comes, it will come
easier here."

She looked up at him reproachfully. " Don't remind
me of that, please," she said hurriedly; " I seem to have
forgotten — here under the blue sky. I dare say it's very
trivial of me, but I can't help it. Everything amuses me,
interests me. It is so quaint, so new. Even this dress;
it is hardly credible, but I wished so much for a looking-
glass just now, to see how I looked in it."

Her eyes met his almost gayly, and he felt an odd
resentment in recognizing that Zora would have said the
words as frankly.

" I have one here — in a ring," he replied somewhat
stiffly, with a vague feeling he had done all this before,
as he untied the knot of a small bundle he had' brought
with him. " It is not much use — for that sort of thing—
I'm afraid," he went on, " but I think you had better
have these : it is a great point — even for your own sake —
to dress as well as play the part."

Kate, with a sudden gravity, looked at the pile of
native ornaments he emptied out on to the bed. Brace-
lets in gold and silver, anklets, odd little jeweled tassels
for the hair, quaint silk-strung necklets and talismans.

" Here is the looking-glass," he said, choosing out a
tiny round one set in filigree gold; " you must wear it on
your thumb — but it will barely go on my little finger,"
he spoke half to himself, and Kate, fitting on the ring,
looked at him and set her lips.

" It is too small for me also," she said, laying it down
with a faint air of distaste. " They are very pretty, Mr,

THE DF.A Tff PLEDGE. 285

Greyman," she added quickly, " but I would rather not —
unless it is really necessary — unless you think "

He rose half-wearily, half-impatiently. " I should
prefer it; but you can do as you like. The jewels be-
longed to a woman I loved very dearly, Mrs. Erlton.
She was not my wife — but she was a good woman for
all that. You need not be afraid."

Kate felt the blood tingle to her face as she laid violent
hands on the first ornament she touched. It happened
to be a solid gold bangle. " It is too small too," she
said petulantly, trying to squeeze her hand through it.
" Really it would be better "

" Excuse me," he replied coolly, " if you will let me."
He drew the great carved knobs apart deftly, slipped her
wrist sideways through the opening, and had them closed
again in a second.

" You can't take it off at night, that is all," he went on,
" but I will tell Tara to show you how to wear the rest.
I must be off now and settle a thousand things."

As he passed into the outer roof once more, Kate felt
that flush, half of resentment, half of shame, still on her
face. In such surroundings how trivial it was, and yet
he had guessed her thought truly. Had he guessed
also the odd thrill which the touch of that gold fetter
gave her? Half-mechanically she tried to loosen it, to
remove it, and then with an impatient frown desisted and
began to put on the other bracelets. What did it matter,
one way or the other? And then, becoming interested
despite herself, she set to work to puzzle out uses and
places for the pile.

Meanwhile Jim Douglas was dinning instructions
into Tara's ear; but she also, he told himself angrily, was
trivial to the last degree. And when finally he urged
an immediate darkening of Kate's hair and a faint stain-
ing of the face to suit the only part possible with her gray
eyes — that of a fair Afghan — he flung away in despair
from the irrelevant remark:

" But the mem will never be so pretty as Zora; and
besides she has such big feet."

Big feet! He swore under his breath that all women
were alike in this, that they saw the whole world through

286 OAT THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the medium of their sex; and that was at the bottom of
all the mischief. Delhi had been lost to save women;
the trouble had begun to please them. Even now, as
far as he could see, resistance would collapse but for one
woman's ambition; though despite the Queen and her
plots, a hundred brave men or so might still be masters
of Delhi if they chose. Since it was still each for him-
self, and the devil take the hindmost with the mutineers.
The certainty of this had made these long days of inac-
tion almost beyond bearing to him; and as Jim Douglas
passed out into the street he thought bitterly that here
again a woman stood in the way; since but for Kate he
could surely have forced Meerut into making reprisals
by reporting the true state of affairs.

Yet every hour made these reprisals more difficult.
Indeed, as he left the Mufti's quarters on that morning
of the 1 6th of May, something was going on in the
Palace which ended indecision for many a man and left
no chance of retreat. For Zeenut Maihl saw facts as
clearly as Jim Douglas, and knew that the first tramp of
disciplined feet would be the signal for scuttle; if a
chance of escape remained.

And so this something was going on. By someone's
orders of course; by whose is one of the unanswered
questions of the Indian Mutiny.

The Queen herself was sitting with the King, amic-
ably, innocently, applauding his latest couplet; which
was in sober truth, one of his best :

" God takes this dice-box world, shakes upside down,
Throws one defeat, and one a kingly crown."

He was beginning to feel the latter on the old head,
which was so diligently stuffed with dreams; but the
Queen knew in her heart of hearts that the fight for
sovereignty had only just begun. So her mind was
chiefly occupied in a spiteful exultation at the thought
of some folk's useless terror when — this thing being
done — they would find their hands irrevocably on the
plow. Ahsan-Oolah and Elahi-Buksh, for instance;
their elaborate bridges would be useless; and Abool-
Bukr with his squibs and processions, Farkhoonda with

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 287

her patter of virtue and religion. If only for the sake
of immeshing this last victim Zeenut Maihl would not
have shrunk; since those three or four days of cozening
had left the Queen with a still more vigorous hate for the
Princess Farkhoonda, who had fallen into the trap so
easily, and who already began to give herself airs and
discuss the future on a plane of equality. Pretty, con-
ceited fool! who even now, so the spies said, was wait-
ing to receive the Prince, her nephew, for the first time
since she came to the Palace. The very fact that it was
the first time seemed an aggravation in the Queen's
angry eyes, proving as it did a certain reality in Fark-
hoonda's pretensions to decorum.

In truth they were very real to the Princess herself;
had been gaining reality ever since that first deft sugges-
tion of a possibility had set her heart beating. The
possibility, briefly, of the King choosing to set aside that
early marriage so tragically interrupted; choosing to
declare it no marriage and give his consent to another.
Newasi had indignantly scouted the suggestion, had
stopped her ears, her heart; but the remembrance of it
lingered, enervating her mind, and as she waited for the
interview with the Prince she felt vaguely that it was a
very different matter receiving him in these bride-like
garments, in these dim, heavily scented rooms, to what it
had been under the clear sky in her scholar's dress. Yet
as she stooped from mere habit, aroused by the finery
itself, to arrange her long brocaded train into better folds,
she gave something between a sigh and a laugh at the
certainty of his admiration. And after all, why should
she not have it if the King

The sound of a distant shot made her start and pause,
listening for another. So she stood a slim figure ablaze
with color and jewels, a figure with studied seductiveness
in every detail of its dress; and she knew that it was so.
Why not? If — if he liked it so, and if the King

Newasi clasped her hands nervously and walked up
and down the dim room. Abool was late, and he had no
right to be late on this his first visit of ceremony to his
aunt. The Mirza-sahib was no doubt late, admitted her
attendants, but the door-keeper had reported a disturb-

288 ON THE FACE Of THE WATERS.

ance of some kind in the outer court which might be the
cause of delay.

A disturbance! Newasi, a born coward, shrank from
the very thought, though she felt that it could be noth-
ing— nothing but one of the many brawls, the constant
quarrels.

God and his prophet! who — what was that? She re-
coiled with a scream of terror from the wild figure which
burst in on her unceremoniously, which followed her
retreat into the far corner, flung itself at her knees, clasp-
ing them, burying its face among her scented draperies.
But by that time her terror was gone, and she stooped,
trying to free herself from those clinging arms, from the
disgrace, from the outrage; from the drunken

"Abool!" she cried fiercely, then turning to the
curious tittering women, stamped her foot at them and
bade them begone. And when they had obeyed, she beat
her little hands against those clinging ones again with
wild upbraidings, till suddenly they fell as if paralyzed
before the awful horror and dread in the face which rose
from her fineries.

" Come, Newasi!" stammered the white trembling
lips, " come from this hangman's den. Did I not warn
thee? But thou hast put the rope round my neck — I
who only wanted to live my own life, die my own death.
Come! Come!"

He stumbled to his feet, but seemed unable to stir.
So he stood looking at his hands stupidly.

Farkhoonda looked too, her face .growing gray.

" What is't, Abool? " she faltered; " what is't, dear? "

But she knew; it was blood, new shed, still wet.

He stood silent, gazing at the stains stupidly. " I did
not strike," he muttered to himself, " but I called; or did
I strike? I — I— He threw up his head and his

words rushed recklessly in a high shrill voice, " I warned
thee! I told thee it was not safe! They were herded
like sheep in the sunshine by the cistern, and the smell of
blood rose up. It was in my very nostrils, for, look you,
that first shot missed them and killed one of my men. I
saw it. A round red spot oozing over the white — and
they herded like sheep —

THE DEATH PLEDGE. 289

"Who?" she asked faintly.

" I told thee; the prisoners, with the cry to kill above
the cries of the children, the flash of blood-dulled swords

above women's heads — and I Nay! I warned thee,

Newasi, there was butcher here" — his blood-stained
hands left their mark on his gay clothes.

" Abool! " she cried, " thou didst not- "

"Did I?" he almost screamed. "God! will it ever
leave my sight? I gave the call, I ran in, I drew my
sword. It spurted over my hands from a child's throat
as I would have struck — or — or — did I strike? Ne-
wasi ! " his voice had sunk again almost to a whisper,
" it was in its mother's arms, — she did not cry, — she

looked and I — I " he buried his face in his hands —

" I came to thee."

She stood looking at him for a" moment, her hands
clenched, her beautiful soft eyes ablaze; then recklessly
she tore the jewels from her arms, her neck, her hair.

"•So she has dared! Yea! Come! thou art right,
Abool ! " The words mixed themselves with the tinkle
of bracelets as, flung from her in wild passion, they rolled
into the corners of the room, with the chink of necklaces
as they fell, with the rustle of brocade and tinsel as she
tore them from her. " She has killed them — the helpless
fugitives, guests who have eaten the King's salt! She
thinks to beguile us all — to beguile thee. But she shall
not. It is not too late. Come! Come! Abool — thou
shalt have all from me — yea! all, sooner than she should
beguile thee thus — Come!"

She had snatched an old white veil from its peg and
wrapped it round her, as she passed rapidly to the door;
but he did not move. So she passed back again as
swiftly to take his hand, stained as it was, and lay her
cheek to it caressingly.

"Thou didst not strike, dear, thou didst not! Come,
dear, that she-devil shall not have thee — I will hold thee
fast."

Five minutes after a plain curtained dhoolie left the
precincts and swayed past the Great Hall of Audience
with its toothed red arches, looking as if they yawned
for victims. The courtyard beyond lay strangely silent,

2 90 ON THE FACE OP THE WATERS.

despite the shifting crowd, which gathered and melted
and gathered again round the little tree-shaded cistern
where but the day before Hafzan and the Moulvie had
watched a mother pause to clasp her baby to softer,
securer rest.

The woman and the child were at the cistern now, and
the Rest had come. Softer, securer than all other rest,
and the mother shared it; shared it with other women,
other children.

But as the Princess Farkhoonda, fearful of what she
might see, peeped through the dhoolie curtains, there
was nothing to be seen save the shifting, curious crowd,
while the impartial sunshine streamed down on it, and
those on whom it gazed.

So let the shifting, crowding years with their relentless
questioning eyes shut out all thought of what lay by the
cistern, save that of rest and the impartial sunshine
streaming upon it.

For as the beautiful soft eyes drew back relieved, a
bugle rang through the arcades, echoed from the wall,
floated out into the city. The bugle to set watch and
ward, to close the gates; since the irrevocable step had
been taken, the death-pledge made.

So the dream of sovereignty began in earnest behind
closed gates. But if women had lost Delhi, those who
lay murdered about the little cistern had regained it.
For Hafzan had spoken truth; the strength of the
Huzoors lay there.

The strength of the real Master.

CHAPTER II.

PEACE ! PEACE !

THREE weeks had passed, and still the dream of sover-
eignty went on behind the closed gates, while all things
shimmered and simmered in the fierce blaze of summer
sunlight. The city lay — a rose-red glare dazzling to
look at — beside the glittering curves of the river, and the

PEACE! PEACE! 29!

deserted Ridge, more like a lizard than ever, sweltered
and slept lazily, its tail in the cool blue water, its head
upon the cool green groves of the Subz-mundi. And
over all lay a liquid yellow heat-haze blurring every out-
line, till the whole seemed some vast mirage.

And still there were no tidings of the master, no cloud
of dust upon the Meerut road. None.

Amazing, incredible fact! Men whispered of it on the
steps of the Great Mosque when, the last Friday of the
fast coming round, its commination service brought
many from behind closed doors to realize that by such
signs of kingship as beatings of drums, firing of salutes,
and levying of loans, Bahadur Shah really had filched
the throne of his ancestors from the finest fighters in the
world. Filched it without a blow, without a struggle,
without even a threat, a defiance.

So here they were in a new world without posts or
telegraphs, laws or order. Time itself turned back hun-
dreds of years and all power of progress vested abso-
lutely in one old man, the Light of Religion, the
Defender of the Faith, the Great Moghul. If that were
not a miracle it came too perilously near to one for some
folk's loyalty; and so they drifted palaceward when
prayers were over to swell the growing crowd of cour-
tiers about the Dream King. And even the learned and
most loyal lingered on the steps to whisper, and call
obscure prophecies and ingenious commentaries to
mind, and admit that it was strange, wondrous strange,
that the numerical values of the year should yield the
anagram " Ungres tubbah shood ba hur soorut" briefly
:< The British shall be annihilated." For the Oriental
mind loves such trivialities.

And, to all intents and purposes, the English were
annihilated, during that short month of peace between
the nth of May and the 8th of June, 1857; for Delhi
knew nothing of the vain striving, the ceaseless efforts
of the master to find tents and carriages, horses, ammu-
nition, medicine, everything once more, save, thank
Heaven! courage, and the determination to be master
still.

Even Soma admitted the miracle grudgingly; for he

292 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

had so far bolstered up his disloyalty by thoughts of a
fair fight. He had not, after all, gone to Delhi direct,
but had cut across country to his own village near Hansi,
and had waited there, hoping to hear of a regular out-
break of hostilities before definitely choosing his side;
and he was still waiting when, after a fortnight, his
greatest chum in the regiment had turned up from
Meerut. For Davee Singh had been one of the many
sepoys of the nth who had gone back to the colors after
that one brief night of temptation was over. Soma had
known this, and more than once as he waited, the
knowledge had been as a magnet drawing him back to
the old pole of thought; for that his chum should be
led to victory and he be among the defeated was probable
enough to make Soma hate himself in anticipation.

But here was Davee Singh, a deserter like he was,
sulkily uncommunicative to the village gossips, but to
his fellow admitting fiercely that the latter had been
right. The Huzoors had forgotten how to fight.
Meerut was quiet as the grave ; but there was no word of
Delhi, and folk said — what did they not say?

So these two, with a strange mixture of regret and re-
lief in their hearts, set out for Delhi to see what was
happening there ;-not knowing that many of their fellows
were drifting from it, weary like themselves of inaction.

They had arrived there, two swaggering Rajpoots, in
the midst of the thanksgivings and jollity of the Moham-
medan Easter which followed on the last Friday of Fast;
and they had fallen foul of it frankly. As frankly as the
Mohammedans would have fallen foul of a Hindoo
Saturnalia, or both Mohammedans and Hindoos would
have fallen foul of the festivities in honor of the
Queen's Birthday which, on this 25th of May, 1857, were
going on in every cantonment in India as if there was no
such thing as mutiny in the world. So, annoyed with
what they saw and heard, they joined themselves to
other Rajpoot malcontents promptly. They sneered at
the old pantaloon's procession, which was in truth a poor
one, though half the tailors in Delhi had been impressed
to hurry up trappings and robes. Perhaps if Abool-Bukr
had still been in charge of squibs and such like, it would

PEACE! PEACE!

293

have been better; but he was not. The order he had
given to let the Princess Farkhoonda's dhoolie pass out,
before the gates were closed on that day of the death-
pledge, had been his last exercise of authority; for the
next Court Journal contained the announcement that
he was dismissed from his appointment. So he, hover-
ing between the Thunbi Bazaar and the Mufti's quarter,
had nothing to do with the procession at which the
Rajpoots sneered, criticising Mirza Moghul, the Com-
mander-in-Chief s seat on a horse, and talking boastfully
of Vicra-maditya and Pertap as warlike Hindoos will.
Until, about dusk, words came to blows amid a tinkling
of anklets and a terrible smell of musk ; for valor drifted
as a matter of course to the wooden balconies of the
Thunbi Bazaar during the month of miracle. So that
the inmates, coining money, called down blessings on
the new regime.

Soma, however, with a cut over one eye sorely in need
of a stitch, swore loudly when he could find none to patch
him up save a doddering old Hakeem, who proposed
dosing him with paper pills inscribed with the name of
Providence; an incredible remedy to one accustomed to
all the appliances of hospitals and skilled surgery.

" Yea! no doubt he is a fool," assented the other se-
poys in frank commiseration, " yet he is the best you
will get. For see you, brother, the doctors belong to
the Huzoors; so many a brave man must expect to die
needlessly, since those cursed dressers are not safe.
There was one took the bottles and things and swore he
could use them as well as any. And luck went with him
until he gave five heroes who had been drunk the night
before somewhat to clear their heads. By all the gods
in Indra's heaven they were clear even of life in half an
hour. So we fell on the dresser and cleared him too.
Yea! fool or no fool, paper pills are safer! "

Jim Douglas, who, profiting by the dusk and confu-
sion, had lingered by the group after recognizing Soma's
voice, turned away with a savage chuckle; not that the
tale amused him, but that he was glad to think six of the
devils had gone to their account. For those long days
of peace and enforced inaction had sunk him lower and

294 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

lower into sheer animal hatred of those he dare not re-
buke. He knew it himself, he felt that his very courage
was becoming ferocity, and the thought that others,
biding their time as he was, must be sinking into
it also, rilled him with fierce joy at the thought uf
future revenge. And yet, so far as he personally
was concerned, those long days had passed quietly,
securely, peacefully, and he could at any time
climb out of all sight and sound of turmoil to a slip of
sunlit roof where a woman waited for him with confidence
and welcome in her eyes. With something obtrusively
English also for his refreshment, since tragedy, even the
fear of death, cannot claim a whole life, and Kate took to
amusing herself once more by making her corner of the
East as much like the West as she dare. That was not
much, but Jim Douglas' eye noted the indescribable
difference which the position of a reed stool, the presence
of a poor bunch of flowers, the little row of books in a
niche, made in the familiar surroundings. For there
were books and to spare in Delhi; for the price of a few
pennies Jim Douglas might have brought her a cartload
of such loot had he deemed it safe; but he did not, and so
the library consisted of grammars and vocabularies from
which Kate learned with a rapidity which surprised and
interested her teacher. In truth she had nothing else to
do. Yet when he came, as he often did, to find- her ab-
sorbed in her work, her eyes dreamy with the puzzle of
tense, he resented it inwardly, telling himself once more
that women were trivial creatures, and life seemed
trivial too, for in truth his nerves were all jangled and
out of tune with the desire to get away from this strange
shadow of a past idyll; to leave all womanhood behind
and fall to fighting manfully. So that often as he sat
beside her, patient outwardly, inwardly fretting to be
gone even in the nightmare of the city, his eye would
fall on the circlet of gold he had slipped, out of sheer
arrogance and imperious temper, round that slender
wrist, and feel that somehow he had fettered himself
hopelessly when, more than a year past, he had given
that promise. His chance and hers! Was this all?
Qne woman's safety. And she, following his eyes to the

PEACE! PEACE! 295

bangle, would feel the thrill of its first touch once more,
and think how strange it was that his chance and hers
were so linked together. But, being a woman, her heart
would soften instinctively to the man who sat beside her,
and whose face grew sterner and more haggard day by
day; while hers? — she could see enough of it in the lit-
tle looking-glass on her thumb to recognize that she was
positively getting fat! She tried to amuse him by telling
him so, by telling him many of the little humorous
touches which come even into tragic life, and he was
quite ready to smile at them. But only to please her. So
day by day a silence grew between them as they sat on
the inner roof, while Tara spun outside, or watched them
furtively from some corner. And the flare of the sunset,
unseen behind the parapeted wall, would lie on the swell-
ing dome and spiked minarets of the mosque and make
the paper kites, flown in this month of May by half the
town, look like drifting jewels; fit canopy for the City of
Dreams and for this strangest of dreams upon the
housetop.

" Has — has anything gone wrong? " she asked in des-
peration one day, when he had sat moodily silent for a
longer time than usual. " I would rather you told me,
Mr. Greyman."

He looked at her, vaguely surprised at the name; for
he had almost forgotten it. Forgotten utterly that she
could not know any other. And why should she? He
had made the promise under that name; let them stick
to it so long as Fate had linked their chances together.

" Nothing; hot for us at least," he said, and then a
sudden remorse at his own unfriendliness came over him.
" There was another poor chap discovered to-day," he
added in a softer tone. " I believe that you and I, Mrs.
Erlton, must be the only two left now."

" I dare say," she echoed a little wearily, " they — they
killed him I suppose."

He nodded. " I saw his body in the bazaar after-
ward. I used to know him a bit — a clever sort "

" Yes "

" Mixed blood, of course, or he could not have passed
muster so long as a greengrocer's assistant."

296 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Well — I would rather hear if you don't mind."

His dark eyes met hers with a sudden eagerness, a
sudden passion in them.

" What a little thing life is after all! He only said one
word — only one. He was selling watermelons, and
some brute tried to cheat him first, and then cheeked him.
And he forgot a moment and said : ' Chup-raho' (be
silent) — only that ! — ' chup-raho ' \ They were bragging
of it — the devils. ' We knew he couldn't be a coolie, they
said, 'that is a master's word.' My God! What
wouldn't I give to say it sometimes! I could have
shouted to them then, ' Chup-raho, you fools ! you cow-
ards!' and some of them would have been silent
enough "

He broke off hurriedly, clenching his hands like a vise
on each other, as if to curb the tempest of words.

" I beg your pardon," he said after a pause, rising to

walk away; " I — I lose control " He paused again

and shook his head silently. Kate followed him and laid
her hand on his arm; the loose gold fetter slipped to her
wrist and touched him too.

" You think I don't understand," she said with a sud-
den sob in her voice, " but I do — you must go away — it
isn't worth it — no woman is worth it."

He turned on her sharply. " Go? You know I can't.
What is the use of suggesting it? Mrs. Erlton! Tara
is faithful; but she is faithful to me — only to me — you
must see that surely

" If you mean that she loves you — worships the very
ground you tread on," interrupted Kate sharply, " that
is evident enough."

"Is that my fault?" he began angrily; "I hap-
pened "

" Thank you, I have no wish to hear the story."

The commonplace, second-rate, mock-dignified phrase
came to her lips unsought, and she felt she could have
cried in sheer vexation at having used it there; in the
very face of Death as it were. But Jim Douglas laughed;
laughed good-naturedly.

" I wonder how many years it is since I heard a woman
say that? In another world surely," he said with quite

PEA CE ! PEA CE ! 297

a confidential tone. " But the fact remains that Tara
protects you as my wife, and if I were to go '

Kate looked at him with a quick resentment flaming
up in her face beneath the stain.

" I think you are mistaken," she said slowly. " I be-
lieve Tara would be better pleased if — if she knew the
truth."

" You mean if I were to tell her you are not my wife? "
he replied quickly. "Why?"

" Because I should be less of a tie to you — be-
cause " She paused, then added sharply, " Mr.

Greyman, I must ask you to tell her the truth, please. I
have a right to so much, surely. I have my reasons for
it, and if you do not, I shall."

Jim Douglas shrugged his shoulders. " In that case
I had better tell her myself; not that I think it matters
much one way or another, so long as I am here. And
the whole thing from beginning to end is chance, noth-
ing but chance/'

" Your chance and mine," she murmured half to her-
self. It was the first time she had alluded openly to the
strange linking of their fates, and he looked at her almost
impatiently.

" Yes ! your chance and mine ; and we must make the
best of it. I'll tell her as I go out."

But Tara interrupted him at the beginning.

" If the Huzoor means that he does not love the mem
as he loved Zora, that requires no telling, and for the
rest what does it matter to this slave? "

" And it matters nothing to me either," he retorted
roughly, " but of this be sure. Who kills the mem kills
me, unless I kill first; and by Krishnu, and Vishnu, and
the lot, I'd as lief kill you, Tara, as anyone else, if you
get in my way."

A great broad flash of white teeth lit up her face as she
salaamed, remarking that the Huzoor's mother must
have been as Kunti. And Jim Douglas understanding
the complimentary allusion to the God-visited mother of
the Lunar race, wished as he went downstairs, that he
was like the Five Heroes in one respect, at least, and that
was in having only a fifth part of a woman to look after,

298 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

instead of two whole ones who talked of love! So he
passed out to listen, and watch, and wait, while the fire-
balloons went up into the velvety sky, replacing the kites.
For May is the month of marriages also, and night after
night these false stars floated out from the Dream-City
to form new constellations on the horizon for a few min-
utes and then disappear with a flare into the darkness.
Into the darkness whence the master did not come. Yet,
as the month ended, villagers passing in with grain from
Meerut averred that the masters were not all dead, or
else God gave their ghosts a like power in cursing and
smiting — which was all poor folk had to look for; since
some had appeared and burned a village.

Not all dead? The news drifted from market to mar-
ket, but if it penetrated through the Palace gates it did
not filter through the new curtains and hangings of the
private apartments where the King took perpetual cool-
ing draughts and wrote perpetual appeals for more eti-
quette and decorum. For nothing likely to disturb the
unities of dreams was allowed within the precincts, where
every day the old King sat on a mock peacock throne
with a new cushion to it, and listened for hours to the
high-flown letters of congratulation which poured in,
each with its own little covering bag of brocade, from
the neighboring chiefs. And if any day there happened
to be a paucity of real ones, Hussan Askuri could supply
them, like other dreams, at so much a dozen; since
nothing more costly than the brocade bag came with
them. So that the Mahboob's face, as Treasurer, grew
longer and longer over the dressmaker's and upholster-
er's bills, and the Court Journal was driven into record-
ing the fact that someone actually presented a bottle
of Pandamus odoratissimns, whatever that may be. Some
subtle essence, mayhap, favorable to dreaminess; since,
in the month of peace, drugs were necessary to prevent
awakening.

Especially when, on the 3oth of May, a sound came
over the distant horizon ; the sound of artillery.

At last! At last! Jim Douglas, who, in sheer dread
of his own growing despair, had taken to spending all
the time he dared in moody silence on that peaceful roof,

PEACE! PEACE!

299

started as if he had been shot, and was down the stairs
seeking news. The streets were full of a silent, restless
crowd, almost empty of soldiers. They had gone out
during the night, he learned, Meerutward; tidings of
an army on the banks of the Hindu river, seven or eight
miles out, having been brought in by scouts.

At last! At last! He wandered through the bazaars
scarcely able to think, wondering only when the army
could possibly arrive, feeling a mad joy in the anxious
faces around him, lingering by the groups of men col-
lected in every open space simply for the satisfaction of
hearing the wonder and alarm in the words : " So the
master lives."

He lived indeed! Listen! That was his voice over
the eastern horizon! Kate, when he came back to the
roof about noon, had never seen him in this mood before,
and wondered at his fire, his gayety, his youth. But the
recognition brought a dull pain with it, in the thought
that this was natural to the man; that gloomy moodiness
the result of her presence.

" You are not afraid, surely? " he said suddenly, break-
ing off in the recital of some future event which seemed
to him certain.

" No. I am only glad," she replied slowly. " It could
not have lasted much longer. It is a great relief."

" Relief," he echoed, " I wonder if you know the relief
it is to me?" And then he looked at her remorsefully.
" I have been an awful brute, Mrs. Erlton, but women
can scarcely understand what inaction means to a man."

Could they not? she wondered bitterly as he hastened
off again, leaving her to long weary hours of waiting;
till the red flush of sunset on the bubble dome of the
mosque brought him back with a new look on his face;
a look of angry doubt.

"The sepoys are coming in again," he said; "they
claim a victory — but that, of course, is impossible. Still
I don't understand, and it is so difficult to get any reliable
information."

11 You should go out yourself — I believe it would be
best for us both," replied Kate, " Tara "

He shook his head impatiently. " Not now. What

300 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

is the use of risking all at the last. We can only have
to wait till to-morrow. But I don't understand it, all the
same. The sepoys say they surprised the camp— that
the buglers were still calling to arms when their artillery
opened fire. But so far as I can make out they have lost
five guns, and from the amount of bhang they are drink-
ing, I believe it was a rout. However, if you don't mind,
I'll be off again — and — and don't be alarmed if I stay
out."

" I'm not in the least alarmed," she replied. " As I
have told you before, I don't think it is necessary you
should come here at all."

He paused at the door to glance back at her half-
resentfully. To be sure she did not know that he had
slept on its threshold as a rule; but anyhow, after eating
your heart out over one woman's safety for three weeks,
it was hard to be told that you were not wanted. But,
thank Heaven! the end was at hand. And yet as he
lingered round the watch-fires he heard nothing but
boasting, and in more than one of the mosques thanks-
givings were being offered up; while outside the walls
volunteers to complete the task so well begun were
assembling to go forth with the dawn and kill the few
remaining infidels. Some drunk with bhang, more in-
toxicated by the lust of blood which comes to, fighting
races like the Rajpoot with the first blow. It had come
to Soma, as, with fierce face seamed with tears, he told
the tale again and again of his chum's gallant death.
How Davee Singh, brother in arms, his boyhood's play-
mate, seeing some cowards of artillerymen abandoning
a tumbril full of ammunition to the cursed Mlechchas,
had leaped to it like a black-buck, and with a cry to
Kali, Mother of Death, had fired his musket into it;
so sending a dozen or more of the hell-doomed to their
place, and one more brave Rajpoot to Swarga.

" Jail Jail Kali ma ki jail "

An echo of the dead man's last cry came from many
a living one, as muskets were gripped tighter in the re-
solve to be no whit behind. A few more such heroes and
the Golden Age would come again ; the age of the blessed
Pandava, who forgot the cause in the quarrel.

PEACE! PEACE! $01

And so for one day more Jim Douglas strained his
ears for that distant thunder on the horizon, while the
people of the town, becoming more accustomed to it,
went about their business, vaguely relieved at anything
which should keep the sepoys' hands from mischief.

The red sunset glow was on the mosque again when
he returned to the little slip of roof to find Kate working
away at her grammars calmly. The best thing she could
do, since every word she learned was an additional safe-
guard; and yet the man could not help a scornful smile.

" It is a rout this time, I am sure," he said; "and yet
there is no sign of pursuit. I cannot understand it;
there seems a Fate about it! "

" Is that anything new?" she asked wearily, as she
laid down her book, and with the certain precision which
marked all her actions, saw that the water was really
boiling before she made the tea. It was made in a lota,
and drunk out of handleless basins, yet for all that it was
Western-made tea, strong and unspiced, with cream to
put to it also, which she skimmed from a dish set in cold
water in the coolest, darkest place she could find.
Dreamlike indeed, and Jim Douglas, drinking his tea,
felt, that with his eyes shut, he might have dreamed him-
self in an English drawing room.

" Nothing new," he retorted, " but it seems incompre-
hensible. Hark! That is a salute; for the victory, I
suppose. Upon my soul I feel as if — as if I were a dream
myself — as if I should go mad! Don't look startled —
I shan't. The whole thing is a sham — I can see that.
But why has no one the pluck to give the House-of-
Cards a push and bring it about their ears? And what
has become of the army at the Hindun? It took three
days to march there from Meerut, I hear — not more than
twenty-four miles. No! I cannot understand it. No
wonder the people say we are all dead. I begin to be-
lieve it myself."

He heard the saying often enough certainly to bring
relief during the ist and 2d of June, when there was
more distant thunder on the horizon, and the whole town,
steeped and saturated with sunshine, lay half-asleep, the
soldiers drowsing off the effect of their drugs.

302 Qtf THE FACE OF THE WATEk*>

Dead? Yea! the masters were dead, and those who
had escaped were in full retreat up the river; so at least
said villagers coming in with supplies. But someone
else who had come in with supplies also, sat crouched
up like a grasshopper on a great pile of wool-betasseled
sacks in the corn market and laughed creakily. " Dead!
not they. As the tanda passed Karnal four days agone
the camping ground was white as a poppy field with
tents, and the soldiers like the flies buzzing round them.
And if folk want to hear more, I, Tiddu Baharupa-Bun-
jarah, can tell tales beyond the Cashmere gate on the
river island where the bullocks graze."

The creaking voice rose unnecessarily loud, and a man
in the dress of an Afghan who had been listening, his
back to the speaker, moved off with a surprised smile.
Tiddu had proved his vaunted superiority in that in-
stance; though by what arts he had penetrated the back
of a disguise, Jim Douglas could not imagine. Still
here was news indeed— news which explained some of
the mystery, since the seeming retreat up the river had
been, no doubt, for the purpose of joining forces. But
it was something almost better than news — it was a
chance of giving them. He had not dared, for Kate's
sake, to risk any confederate as yet; but here was one
ready to hand — a confederate, too, who would do any-
thing for money.

So that night. he sat in tamarisk shadow on the river
island talking in whispers, while the monotonous clank
of the bells hung on the wandering bullocks sounded fit-
fully, the flicker of the watchfires gleamed here and there
on the half-dried pools of water, the fireflies flashed
among the bushes, and every now and again a rough,
rude chant rose on the still air.

" They have been there these ten days, Huzoor," came
Tiddu's indifferent voice. " They are waiting for the
siege train. Nigh on three thousand of them, and some
black faces besides."

Jim Douglas gave an exclamation of sheer despair.
To him, living in the House-of-Cards, the Palace-of-
Dreams, such caution seemed unnecessary. Still, the
past being irretrievable, the present remained in which

PEACE! PEACE! 303

by hook or by crook to get the letter he had with him,
ready written, conveyed to the army at Kurnal. And
Tiddu, with fifty rupees stowed away in his waistband,
being lavish of promise and confidence, there was no
more to be done save creep back to the city, feeling as if
the luck had turned at last.

But the next morning he found the Thunbi Bazaar in
a turmoil of talk. There were spies in the city. A letter
had been found, written in the Persian character, it is true
but with the devilish knowledge of the West in its details
of likely spots for attack, the indecision of certain quar-
ters in the city, its general unpreparedness for anything
like resistance. Who had written it? As the day went
on the camps were in uproar, the Palace invaded, the
dream disturbed by denouncings of Ahsan-Oolah, the
giver of composing draughts — Mahboob Ali, the checker
of the purse strings; even of Mirza Moghul, commander-
in-chief himself, who might well be eager to buy his
recognition as heir by treachery.

The net result of the letter being that, as Jim Douglas,
with wrath in his heart, crept out at dusk to the low
levels by the Water Bastion, intent on having it out with
Tiddu, he could see gangs of sepoys still at work by
torchlight strengthening the bridge defense, and had to
dodge a measuring party of artillerymen busy range-
finding. His suggestions had been of use!

But the old Bunjarah took his fierce reproaches philo-
sophically. " 'Tis the miscreant Bhungi," he assented
mournfully. " He is not to be trusted, bu,t Jhungi hav-
ing a tertian ague, I deemed a surer foot advisable.
Yet the Huzoor need not be afraid. Even the miscreant
would not betray his person; and for the rest, the
Presence writes Persian like any court moonshee."

The calm assumption that personal fear was at the
bottom of his reproaches, made Jim Douglas desire to
throttle the old man, and only the certainty that he dare
not risk a row prevented him from going for the ill-
gotten rupees at any .rate. His thought, however,
seemed read by the old rascal, for a lean protesting hand,
holding a bag, flourished out of the darkness, and the
creaking voice said magnificently:

3°4 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Before Murri-am and the sacred neem, Huzoor, I
have kept my bargain. As for Jhungi or Bhungi, did
I make them that I should know the evil in them? But
if the Huzoor suspects one who holds his tongue, let the
bargain between us end."

His hearer could not repress a smile at the consum-
mate cunning of the speech. " You can keep the money
for the next job," he said briefly; " I haven't done with
you yet, you scoundrel."

A grim chuckle came out of the shadows as the hand
went back into them.

" The Huzoor need not fret himself, whatever happens.
The end is nigh."

It seemed as if it must be with three thousand British
soldiers within sixty miles of Delhi; or less, since they
might have marched during those five days. They
might be at Delhi any moment. Three thousand men!
Enough and to spare even though in the last few days a
detachment or two of fresh mutineers had arrived. Ah !
if the blow had been struck sooner. If — if—

Kate listened during those first days of June to many
such wishes, despairs, hopes, from one whose only solace
lay in words; since with relief staring him in the face,
Jim Douglas crushed down his craving for action.
There was no real need for it, he told her; it must involve
risk, so they must wait — sleep and dream like the city!

For, lulled by the delay, stimulated to fresh fancy by
the newcomers, the townspeople went on their daily
round monotonously; the sepoys boasted and drank
bhang. And in the Palace, the King, in new robes of
state sat on his new cushion and put the sign-manual
to such trifles as a concession to a home-born slave that
he might " continue, as heretofore, a-tinning the royal
sauce-pans ! " though Mahboob Ali's face lengthened as
he doled out something on account for faith and finery,
and suggested that the army might at least be employed
in collecting revenue somewhere. But the army grinned
in the commander-in-chief's face, scorned laborious
days, and between the seductions of the Thunbi Bazaar
gave peaceful citizens what one petitioner against plun-
der calls " a foretaste of the Day of Judgment."

PEACE! PEACE! 3°5

But one soul in Delhi felt in every fiber of him that
the Judgment had come — that atonement must be made.

" Thou wilt kill thyself with prayers and fastings and
seekings of other folks' salvations, Moulvie-sahib," said
Hafzan almost petulantly as, passing on her rounds, she
saw Mohammed Ismail's anxious face, seeking audience
with everyone in authority, " Thou hast done thy best.
The rest is with God; and if these find death also, the
blame will lie elsewhere."

" But the blame of those, woman? " he asked fiercely,
pointing with trembling finger to the little cistern shaded
by the peepul tree.

Hafzan gave a shrill laugh as she passed on.

" Fear not that either, learned one! This world's
atonement for that will be sufficient for future pardon."

It might be so, Mohammed Ismail told himself as he
hurried off feverishly to another appeal. He had erred
in ignorance there; but what of the forty prisoners
still at the Kotwali — forty stubborn Christians despite
their dark skins? They were safe so far, but if the city
were assaulted? — if some of the fresh, fiery-faithed new-
comers— The doubt left him no peace.

" If thou wilt swear, Moulvie-jee, on thine own eternal
salvation that they are Mohammedans, or stake thy soul
on their conversion," jeered those who held the keys. A
heavy stake, that! A solemn oath with forty stubborn
Christians to deal with. No wonder Mohammed Ismail
felt judgment upon him already.

But the stake was staked, the oath spoken on the 6th
of June. The record of it is brief, but it stands as his-
tory in the evidence of one of the forty. " We were
released in consequence of a Moulvie of the name of
Mohammed Ismail giving evidence that we were all
Mohammedan; or that if any were Christian they would
become Mohammedan."

And it was given none too soon. For on the 6th of
June as the sun set, a silhouette of a man on a horse
stood clear against the red-gold in the west, looking
down from the Ridge on Delhi. Looking down on the
city bathed in the dreamy glamour of the slanting sun-
beams; rose-red and violet-shadowed, with the great

3° OJV THE FACE Of THE WATERS.

white dome hovering above the smoke wreaths, and a
glitter of gold on the eastern wall, where, backed by that
arcaded view of the darkening Eastern plains, an old
man sat listening to sentiments of fidelity from a pile of
little brocaded bags.

It was Hodson of Hodson's Horse, reconnoitering
ahead. So there was an Englishman on the Ridge once
more as the paper kites came down on the 6th of June.
But the fire balloons did not go up; for the night set in
gusty and wet, giving no chance to new constellations.

Jim Douglas did not sleep at all that night, for Tiddu
had brought word that the English were at Alipore, ten
miles out; and nothing but the dread of needless risk
kept him in Delhi. For any risk was needless when to
a certainty the English flag would be flying over the city
in a few hours.

And Hodson of Hodson's Horse back at Alipore slept
late, for he lingered, weary and wet after his long ride,
to write to his wife ere turning in, that " if he had had a
hundred of the Guides he could have gone right up to
the city wall."

But Mohammed Ismail slept peacefully, his work
being over, and dreamed of Paradise.

CHAPTER III.

THE CHALLENGE.

" FOR Gawd's sake, sir! don't say I'm unfit for dooty,
sir," pleaded a lad, who, as he stood to attention, tried
hard to keep the sharp shivers of coming ague from the
doctor's keen eyes. " I'm all right, aint I, mates? It
aint a bad sort o' fever at worst, as I oughter know,
havin' it constant. It's go ter hell, an' lick the blood up
fust as I'm fit for with Jack Pandy. That's all the
matter — you see if it aint, sir! "

He threw his fair curly head back, his blue eyes
blazed with the coming fever light, but the bearded
man next to him murmured, " 'Ee's all right, sir. 'Ee'll

THE CHALLENGE. 3° 7

'old 'is musket straight, never fear," and the Doctor
walked on with a nod.

" They killed his girl at Meerut," said his company
officer in a whisper, and Herbert Erlton, standing by, set
his teeth and glanced back, blue eye meeting blue eye
with a sort of triumph.

For it was the 7th of June, and the blow was to be
struck, the challenge given at last.

Nearly a month, thought Herbert Erlton, since it had
happened. He had spent much of the time in bed, struck
down with fever; for he had regained Meerut with
difficulty, wounded and exhausted. And then it had
been too late — too late for anything save to hang round
hungrily in the hopes of that challenge to come, with
many another such as he.

But it had come at last. The camp was ringing with
cheers for the final reinforcement, every soul who could
stand was. coming out of hospital, and the air, new
washed with rain, and cool, seemed to put fresh life, and
with it a desire to kill, into the veins of every son of the
cold North.

And now the dusk was at hand. The men, half-mad
with impatience, laughed and joked over each trivial
preparation. Yet, when the order came with midnight,
weapons were never gripped more firmly, more sternly,
than by those three thousand Englishmen marching to
their long-deferred chance of revenge. And some, not
able to march, toiled behind in hopes of one fair blow;
and not a few, unable even for so much, slipped desper-
ately from hospital beds to see at least one murderer
meet with his reward.

For, to the three thousand marching upon Delhi that
cool dewy night, sent — so they told themselves — for
special solace and succor of the Right, there were but
two things to be reckoned with in the wide world:
Themselves — Men. Those others — Murderers.

The fireflies, myriad-born from the rain, glimmered
giddily in the low marshy land, the steady stars shone
overhead, and Major Erlton looked at both indifferently
as he rode, long-limbed and heavy, through the night
whose soft silence was broken only by the jingle of spurs

308 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and the squelching of light gun-wheels in water-logged
ruts; save when — from a distance — the familiar tramp,
tramp, of disciplined feet along a road came wafted on the
cool wind; for the column in which he was doing duty
moved along the canal bank so as to take the enemy, who
held an intrenched position five miles from Alipore, in
flank. But Herbert Erlton was not thinking of stars or
fireflies; was not thinking of anything. He was watching
for other lights, the twinkling cresset lights which would
tell where the Murderers waited for that first blow. He
did not even think of the cause of his desire; he was
absorbed in the revenge itself, and a bitter curse rose to
his lips, when just before dawn the roll of a gun and the
startled flocks of birds flying westward told him that
others were before him.

" Hurry up, men! For God's sake hurry up! " The
entreaty passed along the line where the troopers of the
9th Lancers were setting shoulders to the gun-wheels,
and everyone, men and officers alike, was listening with
fierce regret to the continuous roll of cannon, the casual
rattle of musketry, telling that the heavy guns were bear-
ing the brunt of it so far.

"Hurry up, men! Hurry up. That's the bridge
ahead ! Then we can go for them ! "

Hark! A silence; if silence it could be called, now
that the shouts, and yells, and confused murmur of battle
could be heard. But the guns were silent; and hark
again. A ringing cheer! Bayonet work that, at last,
at last! And yonder, behind the fireflies in the bushes?
Surely men in flight! Hurrah! Hurrah!

When Major Erlton returned from that wild charge
it was to find that one splendid rush from the 75th Regi-
ment had cleared the road to Delhi. The Murderers
had been swept from their shelter, their guns — some
fighting desperately, others standing stupidly to meet
death, and many with clasped hands and vain protesta-
tions of loyalty on their lips paying the debt of their race.
But one man had paid some other debt, Heaven knows
what; and the Rifle Brigade cleared the road to Delhi of
an English deserter fighting against his old regiment.

It had not taken an hour; and now, as the yellow sun

THE CHALLENGE. 309

peered over the eastern horizon, a little knot of staff
officers consulted what to do next.

What to do? Herbert Erlton and many another won-
dered stupidly what the deuce fellows could mean by
asking the question when the jagged line of the Ridge
lay not three miles off, and Delhi lay behind that?
Could any sane person think that England had done
its duty at sunrise, even though forty good men and true
of the three thousand had dealt their first and last blow?

But if some did, there were not many; so, after a
pause, the march began again. Westward, by a forking
road, to the flat head of the Lizard lying above the
Subz-mundi, eastward toward the tail and the old canton-
ment. And this time the bayonets went with the jing-
ling spurs, and together they cleared the green groves
merrily. Still, even so, it was barely nine o'clock when
they met the eastward column again at Hindoo Rao's
house and shook hands over their bloodless victory.
For the eastward force had lost one man, the westward
seven, despite the fact that the retreating Murderers had
attempted a rally in their old lines.

Nine o'clock! In seven hours the ten miles had been
marched, the battle of Budli-ke-serai won, and below
them lay Delhi. Within twelve hundred yards rose the
Moree Bastion, the extreme western point of that city
face which, with the Cashmere gate jutting about its
middle and the Water Bastion guarding its eastern end,
must be the natural target of their valor — a target three-
quarters of a mile long by twenty-four feet high.

Seven hours! And the Murderers had been driven
into the city, while the men had gained " twenty-six
guns and the finest possible base for the conduct of
future operations." For the Ridge, the old canton-
ments were once more echoing to the master's step, and
the city folk, as they looked eagerly from the walls, had
the first notice of defeat in the smoke and flames of the
sepoy lines which the English soldiers fired in reckless
revenge; reckless because the tents were not up, and
they might at least have been a shelter from the sun.

But the Delhi force, taken as a whole, was in no mood
to think ; and so perhaps those at the head of it felt bound

310 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

to think the more. There was Delhi, undoubtedly, but
the rose-red walls with their violet shadows looked for-
midable. And who could tell how many Murderers it
harbored? A thousand of them or thereabouts would
return to Delhi no more; but, even so, if all the regi-
ments known to have mutinied and come to Delhi were
at their full strength, the odds must still be close on four
to one. And then there was the rabble, armed no doubt
from the larger magazine below the Flagstaff Tower,
which, alas, had found no Willoughby for its destruction
on the nth of May. And then there was the May sun.
And then — and then

"What's up? When are we going on?" asked
Major Erlton, sitting fair and square on his horse, in the
shadow the big trees by Hindoo Rao's house, as an
orderly officer rode past him.

" Aren't going on to-day." Chief thinks it safer not —
these native cities "

He was gone, and Herbert Erlton without a word
threw himself heavily from his horse with a clatter and
jingle of swords and scabbards and Heaven knows what
of all the panoply of war; so with the bridle over his arm
stood looking out over the bloody city which lay quiet
as the grave. Only, every now and again, a white puff
of smoke followed by a dull roar came from a bastion
like a salute of welcome to the living, or a parting honor
to the dead.

Was it possible? His eyes followed the familiar out-
line mechanically till they rested half-unconsciously on
some ruins beside the city wall. Then with a rush mem-
ory came back to him, and as he turned hurriedly to
loosen his horse's girths, the tears seemed to scald his
tired angry eyes. Yet it was not the memory of Alice
Gissing only, which sent these unwonted visitors to Her-
bert Erlton's eyes; it was a wild desperate pity and de-
spair for all women.

And as he stood there ignoring his own emotion, or
at least hiding it, one of the women whom he pitied was
looking up with a certain resentful eagerness at a man,
who, from the corner turret of that roof in the Mufti's
quarter, was straining his eyes Ridgeways,

THE CHALLENGE. 311

" They must rest, surely," she said sharply; " you can-
not expect them to be made of iron "; as you are,

she was about to add, but withheld even that suspicion
of praise.

"Well! There goes the bugle to pitch tents, any-
how," retorted Jim Douglas recklessly. " So I suppose
we had better have our breakfast too — coffee and a rasher
of bacon and a boiled egg or so. By God! its incredi-
ble— it's " He flung himself on a reed stool and

covered his face with his hands for a second ; but he was
up facing her the next. " I've no right to say these
things — no one knows better than I how worse than idle
it is to press others to one's own tether — I learned that
lesson early, Mrs. Erlton. But " — he gave a quick
gesture of impotent impatience — " when the news first
came in, the men who brought it ran in at the Cashmere
and Moree gates in hundreds, and out at the Ajmere
and Turkoman, calling that the masters had come
back; and people were keeking round the doors hope-
fully. I tell you the very boys as I came in here were
talking of school again — of holiday tasks, perhaps —
Heaven knows! People were running in the streets —
they will be walking now — in another hour they will be
standing; and then! Well! I suppose the General
funks the sun. So I'll be off. I only came because I
thought I had better be here in case; you see the men
would have had their blood up rushing the city "

"And your breakfast?" she asked coldly, almost
sarcastically; for he seemed to her so hard, so grudging,
while her sympathies, her enthusiasms were red-hot for
the newcomers.

He laughed bitterly. " I've learned to live on parched
grain like a native, if need be, and I take opium too; so
I shall manage." He was back again to the turret, how-
ever, before two o'clock, curtly apologetic, calmer, yet
still eager. The people, to be sure, he said, had given
up keeking round their doors at every clatter, and the
gates had been closed on deserters by the Palace folk;
but no one had thought of bricking them up, and after
going round everywhere he doubted if there were more
than seven or eight thousand real soldiers in Delhi, The

312 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

74th and the nth regiments had been slipping away for
days, and numbers of men who had remained did not
really mean to fight. Tiddu, who seemed to know every-
thing, said that the mutineers had been very strongly in-
trenched at Budli-serai, so the resistance could not have
been very dogged, or our troops could not have fought
their way in before nine o'clock. Yes! since she
pressed for an answer, the General might have been wise
in waiting for the cool. Only he personally wished he
had thought it possible, for then he would at any rate
have tried to get a letter sent to the Ridge. Now it was
too late.

And then suddenly, as he spoke, a fierce elation
flashed to his face again at the sound of bugles, the roll
of a gun from the Moree Bastion; and he was up the
stairs of the turret in a second, casting a half-humorous,
wholly deprecating glance back at her.

" A hare and a tortoise once — I learned that at school
— put it into Latin! " he said lightly, as the walls round
them quivered to the reverberating rolls, thundering
from the city wall.

Kate walked up and down the roof restlessly, passing
into the outer one so as to be further from that eager
sentinel and his criticisms. Tara was spinning calmly,
and Kate wondered if the woman could be alive. Did
she not know that brave men on both sides were going
to their deaths? And Tara, from under her heavy eye-
lashes, watched Kate, and wondered how any woman
who had brought Life into the world could fear Death.
Did not the Great Wheel spin unceasingly? Let brave
men, then, die bravely — even Soma. For she knew by
this time that her brother was in Delhi, and by the mas-
ter's orders had dodged his detection more than once.
So the two women waited, each after their nature; while
like the pulse of time itself, the beat of artillery shook
the walls. It came so regularly that Kate, crouching in
a corner weary of restless pacing to and fro, grew almost
drowsy and started at a step beside her.

" A false alarm," said Jim Douglas quietly; "a sortie,
as far as I could judge, from the Moree; easily driven
back."

THE CHALLENGE. 313

His tone roused her antagonism instantly. " Perhaps
they are waiting for night."

" There is a full moon — almost," he replied; " besides,
there is fair cover up to within four hundred yards of the
Cabul gate. They could rush that, and a bag or two of
gunpowder would finish the business."

" They could do that as well to-morrow," she re-
marked hotly.

" I hope to God they won't be such fools as to try it! "
he replied as hotly. " If they don't come in to-night
they will have to batter down the walls, and then the
city will go against them. What city wouldn't? It will
rouse memories we can't afford to rouse. Who could?
And every wounded man who creeps in to-day will be a
center of resistance by to-morrow. The women will
hound others on to protect him. It is their way. You
have always to allow for humanity in war. Well! we
must wait and see." He paused and rubbed his fore-
head vexedly. " If I had known, I might have got out

with the sortie; but I suppose I couldn't really "

He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and went out.

And Kate, as she sat watching the red flush of sun-
set grow to the dome, remembered his look at her with
a half-angry pang. Why should she be in this man's
way always? So the day died away in soft silence, and
there on the housetop it seemed incredible that so much
hung in the balance, and that down in the streets the
crowds must be drifting to and fro restlessly. At least
she supposed so. Yet, monotonous as ever, there was
the evening cry of the muezzin and the persistent thrum-
ming of toms-toms and saringis which evening brings
to a native city. It rose louder than usual from a roof
hard by, where, so Tara told her, a princess of the blood
royal lived; a great friend of Abool-Bukr's. The re-
membrance of little Sonny's hands all red with blood,
and the cruel face smiling over an apology, made her
shiver, and wonder as she often did with a desperate
craving what the child's fate had been. Why had she
let the old ayah take him? Why was he not here, safe;
making life bearable? As she sat, the tears falling
quietly over her cheeks, Tara came and looked at her

314 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

curiously. " The mem should not cry," she said con-
solingly. " The Huzoor will save her somehow."

For an instant Kate felt as if she would rather he did
not. Then on the distance and the darkening air came
a familiar sound: the evening bugle from the Ridge
with its cheerful invitation:

" Come - and - set -a- picket- boys! come - and - keep -
a -watch."

So someone else was within hail, ready to help! The
knowledge brought her a vast consolation, and for
the first time in that environment she slept through
the night without wakening in deadly dreamy fear at the
least sound.

Even the uproarious devilry of Prince Abool in the
alley below did not rouse her, when about midnight he
broke loose from the feverish detaining hold which
Newasi had kept on him by every art of her power during
the day, lest the master returning should find the Prince
in mischief. But now he lurched away with a party of
young bloods who had come to fetch him, swearing that
he miist celebrate the victory properly. But for a mo-
ment's weakness, fostered by a foolish, fearful woman,
he might have led the cavalry. He wept maudlin tears
over the thought, swearing he would yet show his mettle.
He would not leave one hell-doomed alive; ajid, suit-
ing the action to the word, he began incontinently to
search for fugitives in some open cow}^ards close by, till
the strapping dairymaids, roused from slumber, declared
in revenge that they had seen a man slip down the culvert
of the big drain. Five minutes afterward Prince Abool,
half-choked, half-drowned, was dragged from the sewer
by his comrades, protesting feebly that he must have
killed an infidel; else why did the blood smell so hor-
ribly?

But after that the city sank into the soundlessness, the
stillness, of the hour before dawn, save for a recurring
call of the watch bugles on wall and Ridge and the
twinkling lights which burned all night in camp and
court. For those two had challenged each other, and
the fight was to the bitter end. What else could it be

THE CHALLENGE. 315

with a death-pledge between them? The townspeople
might sleep uncertain which side they would espouse, but
between the Men and the Murderers the issue was clear.

And it remained so, even though the month-of-miracle
lingered, and no assault came on the morrow, or the day
after, or the day after that. So that the old King himself
set his back to the wall and for once spoke as a King
should. " If the army will not fight without pay, punish
it," he said to the Commander-in-chief. But it was only
a flash in the pan, and he retired once more to the lat-
ticed marble balcony and set the sign-manual to a
general fiat that " those who would be satisfied with a
trifle might be paid something." Whereat Mahboob Ali
shook his head, for there was not even a trifle in the
privy purse.

As for the city people, their ears and tongues grew
longer during those three days, when the sepoys, return-
ing from the sorties and skirmishes, brought back tales
of glorious victory, stupendous slaughter. Her man
had killed fifteen Huzoors himself, and there were not
five hundred left on the Ridge, said Futteh-deen's wife
to Pera-Khan's as they gossiped at the wall ; and a good
job too. When they were gone there would be an end
of these sword cuts and bullet wounds. Not a wink of
sleep had she had for nights, yawned Zainub, what with
thirsts and poultices! And on the steps of the mosque,
too, the learned lingered to discuss the newspapers. So
Bukht Khan with fifty thousand men was on his way
to swear allegiance, and the Shah of Persia had sacked
Lahore, where Jan Larnce himself had been caught try-
ing to escape on an elephant and identified by wounds
on his back. And the London correspondent of the
Authentic Nczvs was no doubt right in saying the Queen
was dumfoundered, while the St. Petersburg one was
clearly correct in asserting that the Czar was about to
put on his crown at last. Why not, since his vow
was at an end with the passing of India from British
supremacy?

So the dream went on; the little brocaded bags kept
coming in; the stupendous slaughter continued, Yet

316 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

every night the Widow's Cruse of a Ridge echoed to the
picket bugles, and the court and the camp twinkled at
each other till dawn.

A sort of vexed despairing patience came to Jim
Douglas, and more than once he apologized to Kate for
his moodiness, like a patient who apologizes to his nurse
when unfavorable symptoms set in. He gave her what
news he could glean, which was not much, for Tiddu had
gone south for another consignment of grain. But on
the morning of the I2th he turned up with a face clearer
than it had been, and a friendlier look in his eyes.

" The guides came in to camp yesterday. Splendid
fellows. They were at it hammer and tongs immedi-
ately, though that man Rujjub AH I told you of — it was
he who said Hodson was with the force — declares they
marched from Murdan in twenty-one days. Over thirty
miles a day! Well! they looked like it. I saw them
ride slap up to the Cabul gate. And — and I saw some-
one else with them, Mrs. Erlton. I wasn't sure at first
if I had better tell you; but I think I had. I saw your
husband."

" My husband," she echoed faintly. In truth the past
seemed to have slipped from her. She seemed to have
forgotten so much; and then suddenly she remembered
that the letter he had written must still be in the pocket
of the dress Tara had hidden away. How strange ! She
must find it, and look at it again.

Jim Douglas watched her curiously with a quick
recognition of his own rough touch. Yet it could not
be helped.

" Yes. He was looking splendid, doing splendidly.
I couldn't help wishing — Well! I wish you could
have seen him; you would have been proud."

She interrupted him with swift, appealing hand.
" Oh! — don't — please don't — what have I to do with it?
Can't you see — can't you understand he was thinking
of — of her — and doesn't she deserve it? while I — I—

It was the first breakdown he had seen during those
long weeks of strain, and he stood absolutely, wholly
compassionate before it.

" My dear lady," he said gently, as he walked away tq

THE CHALLENGE. 3J7

give her time, " if you good women would only recog-
nize the fact which worse ones do, that most men think
of many women in their lives, you would be happier.
But I doubt if Major Erlton was thinking of anyone in
particular. He was thinking of the dead, and you are
among them, for him; remember that. Come," he
continued, crossing over to her again and holding out
his hand. " Cheer up! Aren't you always telling me it
is bad for a man to have one woman on the brain, and
think, think how many there may be to avenge by this
time!"

His voice, sounding a whole gamut of emotion, a
whole cadence of consolation, seemed to find an echo in
her heart, and she looked up at him gratefully.

It would have found one also in most hearts upon the
Ridge, where men were beginning to think with a sort
of mad fury of women and children in a hundred places
to which this unchecked conflagration of mutiny was
spreading swiftly. What would become of Lucknow,
Cawnpore, Agra, if something were not done at Delhi?
if the challenge so well given were not followed up?
And men elsewhere telegraphed the same question, until,
half-heartedly, the General listened, and finally gave a
grudging assent to a plan of assault urged by four sub-
alterns.

What the details were matters little. A bag of gun-
powder somewhere, with fixed bayonets to follow. A
gamester's throw for sixes or deuce-ace, so said even its
supporters. But anything seemed better than being a
target for artillery practice five times better than their
own, while the mutiny spread around them.

The secret was well kept as such secrets must be.
Still the afternoon of the I2th saw a vague stir on the
Ridge, and though even the fighting men turned in to
sleep, each man knew what the midnight order meant
which sent him fumbling hurriedly with belts and buckles.

:< The city at last, mates! No more playin' ball," they
said to each other as they fell in, and stood waiting the
next order under the stars; waiting with growing im-
patience as the minutes slipped by.

"'My God! where is Graves?" fumed Hodson. " We

3i8 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

can't go on without him and his three hundred. Ride,
someone, and see. The explosion party is ready, the
Rifles safe within three hundred yards of the wall. The
dawn will be on us in no time — ride sharp! "

" Something has gone wrong," whispered a comrade.
" There were lights in the General's tent and two mounted
officers — there! I thought so! It's all up! "

All up indeed! For the bugle which rang out was
the retreat. Some of those who heard it remembered a
moonlight night just a month before when it had echoed
over the Meerut parade ground; and if muttered curses
could have silenced it the bugle would have sounded in
vain. But they could not, and so the men went back
sulkily, despondently to bed. Back to inaction, back to
target practice.

" Graves says he misunderstood the verbal orders, so
I understand," palliated a staff-officer in a mess tent
whither others drifted to find solace from the chill of dis-
appointment, the heat of anger. A tall man with hawk's
eyes and sparse red hair paused for a moment ere pass-
ing out into the night again. " I dislike euphemisms,"
he said curtly. " In these days I prefer to call a spade a
spade. Then you can tell what you have to trust to/'

" Hodson's in a towering temper," said an artillery-
man as he watched a native servant thirstily; " I don't
wonder. Well! here's to better luck next time."

" I don't believe there will be a next time," echoed a
lad gloomily. And there was not, for him, the target
practice settling that point definitely next day.

" But why the devil couldn't began another

vexed voice, then paused. "Ah! here comes Erlton
from the General. He'll know. I say, Major; — ' he
broke off aghast.

" Have a glass of something, Erlton? " put in a senior
hastily, " you look as if you had seen a ghost, man! "

The Major gave an odd hollow laugh. " The other way
on — I mean — I — I can't believe it — but my wife — she —
she's alive — she's in Delhi." The startled faces around
seemed too much for him ; he sat down hurriedly and hid
his face in his hands, only to look up in a second more

collectedly. " It has brought the whole d d business

home, somehow, to have her there."

THE CHALLENGE. 319

" But how?" the eager voices got so far — no further.

" I nearly shot him — should have if he had not ducked,
for the get up was perfect. Some of you may know the
man — Douglas — Greyman — a trainer chap, but my God!
a well plucked one. He sneaked into my tent to tell.
But I don't understand it yet, and he said he would come
back and arrange. It was all so hurried, you see ; I was
due at the muster, and he was off when he heard what was
up to see Graves — whom he knows. Oh, curse the
whole lot of them! Here, khansaman! brandy —
anything! "

He gulped it down fiercely, for he had heard of more
than life from Jim Douglas.

The latter, meanwhile, was racing down a ravine as his
shortest way back to the city. His getting out had been
the merest chance, depending on his finding Soma as
sentry at the sally port of the ruined magazine. He had
instantly risked the danger of another confederate for the
opportunity, and he was just telling himself with a tri-
umph of gladness that he had been right, when a curi-
ous sound like the rustling of dry leaves at his very feet,
made him spring into the air and cross the flat shelf of
rock he was passing at a bound; for he knew what the
noise meant. A true lover's knot of deadly viper, angry
at intrusion, lay there; the dry Ridge swarms with them.
But, as he came down lightly on his feet again, some-
thing slipped from under one, and though he did not fall,
he knew in a second that he was crippled. Break or
sprain, he knew instantly that he could not hope to reach
the sally-port before Soma's watch was up. Yet get back
he must to the city ; for this — he had tried a step by this
time with the aid of a projecting rock — might make it
impossible for him to return for days if he did the easiest
thing and crawled upward again hands and knees. That,
then, was not to be thought of. The Ajmere gate, how-
ever, might be open for traffic; the Delhi one certainly
was, morning and evening. The latter meant a round of
nearly four miles, and endless danger of discovery; but
it must be done. So he set his face westward.

It was just twenty- four hours after this, that Tara,
unable for longer patience, told Kate that she must lock

3^0 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

herself in, while she went out to seek news of the master.
Something must have happened. It was thirty-six
hours since they had seen him, and if he was gone, that
was an end.

Her face as she spoke was fierce, but Kate did not
seem to care ; she had, in truth, almost ceased to care for
her own safety except for the sake of the man who had
taken so much trouble about it. So she sat down quietly,
resolved to open the locked door no more. They might
break it in if they chose, or she could starve. What did
it matter?

Tara meanwhile went, naturally, to seek Soma's aid,
all other considerations fading before the master's safety;
and so of course came instantly on the clew she sought.
He had left the city, let out by Soma's own hands ; hands
which had never meant to let him in again, that being a
different affair. And though he had said he would
return, why should he? asked Soma. Whereupon
Tara, to prove her ground for fear, told of the hidden
mem. She would have told anything for the sake of the
master. And Soma looked at her fierce face apprehen-
sively.

"That is for after!" she said curtly, impatiently.
" Now we must make sure he is not wounded. There
was fighting to-day. Come, thou canst give the pass-
word and we can search before dawn if we take a light.
That is the first thing."

But as, cresset in hand, Tara stooped over many a
huddled heap or long, still stretch of limb, Kate, with a
beating heart, was listening to the sound of someone on
the stairs. The next moment she had flung the door
wide at the first hint of the first familiar knock.

" Where is Tara? " asked Jim Douglas peremptorily,
still holding to the door jamb for support.

" She went — to look for you — we thought — what has
happened? — what is the matter? " she faltered.

" Fool! as if that would do any good! Nothing's the
matter, Mrs. Erlton. I hurt my ankle, that's all." He
tried to step over the threshold as he spoke, but even that
short pause, from sheer clogged effort, had made its re-
newal an agony, and he put out his hand to her blindly.

THE CHALLENGE. 32*

" I shall have to ask you to help me," he began, then
paused. Her arm was round him in a second, but he
stood still, looking up at her curiously, " To — to help,"
he repeated. Then she had to drag him forward by main
force so that he might fall clear of the door and enable
her to close it swiftly. For who could tell what lay
behind?

One thing was certain. That hand on her arm had
almost scorched her — the ankle he had spoken of must
have been agony to move. Yet there was nothing to be
done save lay cold water to it, and to his burning head,
settle him as best she could on a pillow and quilt as he
lay, and then sit beside him waiting for Tara to return;
for Tara could bring what was wanted. But if Tara was
never to return? Kate sat, listening to the heavy breath-
ing, broken by half-delirious moans, and changing the
cool cloths, while the stars dipped and the gray of dawn
grew to that dominant bubble of the mosque; and, as she
sat, a thousand wild schemes to help this man, who had
helped her for so long, passed through her brain, rilling
her with a certain gladness.

Until in the early dawn Tara's voice, calling on her,
stole through the door.

It was still so* dark that Kate, opening it with the quick
cry — " He is here, Tara, he is here safe," did not see the
tall figure standing behind the woman's, did not see the
menace of either face, did not see Tara's quick thrust of
a hand backward as if to check someone behind.

So she never knew that Jim Douglas, helpless, uncon-
scious, had yet stepped once more between her and
death; for Tara was on her knees beside the prostrate
figure in a second, and Soma, closing the door carefully,
salaamed to Kate with a look of relief in his handsome
face. This settled the doubtful duty of denouncing the
hidden Mlechchas. How could that be done in a house
where the master lay sick?

And he lay sick for days and weeks, fighting against
sun-fever and inflammation, against the general strain of
that month of inaction, which, as Kate found with a pulse
of soft pity, had sprinkled the hair about his temples with
gray.

3 M ON THE FACE OF THE WAJ^ERS.

" He would die for her," said Tara gloomily, grudg-
ingly, " so she must live, Soma

" Nay! 'twas not I " began her brother, then held

his peace, doubtful if the disavowal was to his praise or
blame; for duty was a puzzle to most folk in those hot,
lingering days of June, when the Ridge and the City
skirmished with each other and wondered mutually if
anything were gained by it. Yet both Men and Murder-
ers were cheerful, and Major Erlton going to see the hos-
pital after that fifteen hours' fight of the 23d of June,
when the centenary of Plassey, a Hindoo fast and a
Mohammedan festival, made the sepoys come out to cer-
tain victory in full parade uniform, with all their medals
on, heard the lad whose girl had been killed at Meerut
say in an aggrieved tone, " And the nigger as stuck me

'ad 'er Majesty's scarlet coatee on 'is d d carcass, and

a 'eap of medals she give him a-blazin' on his breast —
dash 'is impudence."

So blue eye met blue eye again sympathetically, for
that was no time to see the pathos of the story.

CHAPTER IV.

BUGLES AND FIFES.

THERE was a blessed coolness in the air, for the rains
had broken, the molten heats of June had passed. And
still that handful of obstinate aliens clung like barnacles
to the bare red rocks of the Ridge. Clung all the closer
because in one corner of it, beside the canal, they had be-
come part of the soil itself in rows on rows of new-made
graves. A strong rear-guard this, what with disease
and exposure superadded to skirmishes and target-prac-
tice. Yet, though not a gun in the city had been
silenced, not a battery advanced a yard, the living garri-
son day after day dug these earthworks for the dead one,
firm as it, in silent resolve to yield no inch of foot-
hold on those rocks till the Judgment Day, when Men
and Murderers should pass together to th^. great settle-
ment of this world's quarrels.

BUGLES AND FIFE 3.

And yet those in command began to look at each
other, and ask what the end was to be, for though,
despite the daily drain, the Widow's Cruse grew in num-
bers as time went on, the city grew also, portentously.

Still the men were cheerful, the Ridge strangely unlike
a war-camp in some ways ; for the country to the rear was
peaceful, posts came every day, and there was no lack
even of luxuries. Grain merchants deserting their city
shops set up amid the surer payments of the cantonment
bazaar, and the greed for gain brought hawkers of fruit,
milk, and vegetables to run the gauntlet of the guns, while
some poor folk living on their wits, when there was not a
rag or a patch or a bit of wood left to be looted in the de-
serted bungalows, took to earning pennies by tracking
the big shot as they trundled in the ravines, and bringing
them to the masters, who needed them.

Between the rain-showers too, men, after the manner
of Englishmen, began to talk of football matches, sky
races, and bewail the fact of the racket court being within
range of the walls. But some, like Major Reid, who
never left his post at Hindoo Rao's house for three
months, preferred to face the city always. To watch it
as a cat watches a mouse to which she means to deal
death by and by. Herbert Erlton was one of these, and
so his old khansaman, with whom Kate used to quarrel
over his terribly Oriental ideas of Irish stew and such
like — would bring him his lunch, sometimes his dinner,
to the pickets. It was quite a dignified procession, with
a cook-boy carrying a brazier, so that the Huzoor's
food should be hot, and the bhisti carrying a porous pot
of water holding bottles, so that the Huzoor's drink
might be cool. The khansaman, a wizened figure with
many yards of waistband swathed round his middle, lead-
ing the way with the mint sauce for the lamb, or the
mustard for the beefsteak. He used at first to mumble
charms and vows for safe passage as he crossed the val-
ley of the shadow; as a dip where round shot loved to
dance was nicknamed by the men. But so many others
of his trade were bringing food to the master that he
soon grew callous to the danger, and grinned like the
rest when a wild caper to dodge a trundling, thundering

324 ON THE FACE OP THE WATERS.

ball made a fair-haired laddie remark sardonically to the
caperer, " It's well for you, my boy, that you haven't
spilled my dinner."

Perhaps it was, considering the temper of the times.
Herbert Erlton, eating his lunch, sheltered from the pelt-
ing rain behind the low scarp which by this time scored
the summit of the Ridge, smiled also. He was all grimed
and smirched with helping young Light — the gayest
dancer in Upper India — with his guns. He helped wher-
ever he could in his spare time, for a great restlessness
came over him when out of sight of those rose-red walls.
They had a fascination for him since Jim Douglas' fail-
ure to return had left him uncertain what they held. So,
when the day's work slackened, as it always did toward
sunset, and the rain clearing, he had drifted back to his
tent for a bath and a change, he drifted out again along
the central road, where those off duty were lounging,
and the sick had their beds set out for the sake of com-
pany and cooler air. It was a quieter company than
usual, for some two days before the General himself had
joined the rear-guard by the canal; struck down by
cholera, and dying with the half-conscious, wholly
pathetic words on his lips, " strengthen the right."

And that very day the auctions of his and other dead
comrades' effects had been held; so that more than one
usually thoughtless youngster looked down, maybe, on
a pair of shoes into which he had stepped over a grave.

Still it was an eager company, as it discussed Lieu-
tenant Hills' exploit of the morning, and asked for the
latest bulletin of that reckless young fighter with fists
against the swords.

" How was it? " asked the Major, " I only heard the
row. The beggars must have got clean into camp."

" Right up to the artillery lines. You see it was so
beastly misty and rainy, and they were dressed like the
native vidette. So Hills, thinking them friends, let them
pass his two guns, until they began charging the Cara-
bineers; and then it was too late to stop 'em."

" Why? "

." Carabineers — didn't stand, somehow, except their
officer. So Hills charged instead. By George! I'd

BUGLES AND FIFES. 325

have given a fiver to see him do it. You know what a
little chap he is — a boy to look at. And then "

" And then," interrupted the Doctor, who had been
giving a glance at a ticklish bandage as he passed the bed
round which the speakers were gathered, " I think I can
tell you in his own words; for he was quite cool and col-
lected when they brought him in — said it was from bleed-
ing so much about the head "

A ripple of mirth ran through the listeners, but Major
Erlton did not smile this time ; the laugh was too tender.

" He said he thought if he charged it would be a di-
version, and give time to load up. So he rode — Yes ! I
should like to have seen it too! — slap at the front rank,
cut down the first fellow, slashed the next over the face.
Then the two following crashed into him, and down he
went at such a pace that he only got a slice to his jacket
and lay snug till the troop — a hundred and fifty or so —
rode over him. Then — ha — ha! he got up and looked for
his sword! Had just found it ten yards off, when three
of them turned back for him. He dropped one from his
horse, dodged the other, who had a lance, and finally
gashed him over the head. Number three was on foot —
the man he'd dropped, he thinks, at first — and they had
a regular set to. Then Hill's cloak, soaked with rain,
got round his throat and half choked him, and the brute
managed to disarm him. So he had to go for him with
his fists, and by punching merrily at his head managed
all right till he tripped over his cloak and fell "

" And then," put in another voice eagerly, " Tombs,
his Major, who had been running from his tent through
the thick of those charging devils on foot to see what
was up that the Carabineers should be retiring, saw him
lying on the ground, took a pot shot at thirty paces — and
dropped his man ! "

" By George, what luck! " commented someone; " he
must have been blown ! "

" Accustomed to turnips, I should say," remarked
another, with a curiously even voice ; the voice of one with
a lump in his throat, and a slight difficulty in keeping
steady.

" Did they kill the lot? " asked Major Erlton quickly.

326 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Bungled it rather, but it was all right in the end.
They were a plucky set, though ; charged to the very mid-
dle of the camp, shouting to the black artillery to join
them, to come back with them to Delhi."

" But they met with a pluckier lot! " interrupted the
man who had suggested turnips. ' The black company
wasn't ready for action. The white one behind it was;
unlimbered, loaded. And the blackies knew it. So they
called out to fire — fire at once — fire sharp — fire through

them — Well! d n it all, black or white, I don't care,

it's as plucky a thing as has been done yet." He moved
away, his hands in his pockets, attempting a whistle; per-
haps to hide his trembling lips.

" I agree," said the Doctor gravely, " though it wasn't
necessary to take them at their word. But somehow it
makes that mistake afterward all the worse."

" How many of the poor beggars were killed, Doctor,"
asked an uneasy voice in the pause which followed.

" Twenty or so. Grass-cutters and such like. They
were hiding in the cemetery from the troopers, who were
slashing at everyone, and our men pursuing the party
which escaped over the canal bridge — made — made
a mistake. And — I'm sorry to say there was a
woman "

:< There have been too many mistakes of that sort,"
said an older voice, breaking the silence. " I wish to God
some of us would think a bit. What would our lives be
without our servants, who, let us remember, outnumber
us by ten to one? If they weren't faithful—

" Not quite so many, Colonel," remarked the Doctor
with a nod of approval. " Twenty families came to the
Brigade-major to-day with their bundles, and told him
they preferred the quiet of home to the distraction of
camp. I don't wonder."

" It is all their own fault," broke in an angry young
voice, " why did they —

And so began one of the arguments, so common in
camp, as to the right of revenge pure and simple. Argu-
ments fostered by the newspapers, where, every day, let-
ters appeared from " Spartacus," or " Fiat Justitia," or
some such nom dc plume. Letters all alike in one thing,

BUGLES AND FIFES. 327

that they quoted texts of Scripture. Notably one about
a daughter of Babylon and the blessedness of throwing
children on stones.

But Major Erlton did not stop to listen to it. The
ethics of the question did not interest him, and in truth
mere revenge was lost in him in the desire, not so much
to kill, as to fight. To go on hacking and hewing for
ever and ever. As he drifted on smoking his cigar he
thought quite kindly of the poor devils of grass-cutters
who really worked uncommonly well; just, in fact, as if
nothing had happened. So did the old khansaman, and
the sweeper who had come back to him on his return to
the Ridge, saying that the Huzoor would find the tale of
chickens complete. And the garden of the ruined house
near the Flagstaff Tower whither his feet led him uncon-
sciously, as they often did of an evening, was kept tidy;
the gardener — when he saw the tall figure approaching —
going over to a rose-bush, which, now that the rain had
fallen, was new budding with white buds, and picking him
a buttonhole. He sat down on the plinth of the veranda
twiddling it idly in his fingers as he looked out over the
panorama of the eastern plains, the curving river, and
the city with the white dome of the mosque hanging un-
supported above the smoke and mist wreaths. For now,
at sunsetting, the sky was a mass of rose-red and violet
cloud and a white steam rose from the dripping trees and
the moist ground. It was a perfect picture. But he only
saw the city. That, to him, was India. That filled his eye.
The wide plains east and west, north and south, where
the recent rain had driven every thought save one of a
harvest to come, from the minds of millions, where the
master meant simply the claimer of revenue, might have
been non-existent so far as he, and his like, were con-
cerned.

Yet even for the city he had no definite conception.
He merely looked at it idly, then at the rosebud he
held. And that reminding him of a certain white marble
cross with " Thy will be done " on it, he rose suddenly,
almost impatiently. But there was no resignation in his
face, as he wandered toward the batteries again with the
white flower of a blameless life stuck in his old flannel

328 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

coat and a strange conglomerate of pity and passion in
his heart, while the city — as the light faded — grew more
and more like the clouds above it, rose-red and purple;
until, in the distance, it seemed a city of dreams.

In truth it was so still, despite the clangor of bugles
and fifes which Bukht Khan brought with him when, on
the 1st of July, he crossed the swollen river in boats with
five thousand mutineers. A square-shouldered man
was Bukht Khan, with a broad face and massive beard;
a massive sonorous voice to match. A man of the
Cromwell type, of the church militant, disciplinarian
to the back-bone, believing in drill, yet with an eye to a
Providence above platoon exercise. And there was no
lack of soldiers to drill in Delhi by this time. They came
in squads and battalions, to jostle each other in the streets
and overflow into the camp on the southern side of the
city; that furthest from the obstinate colony on the Ridge.
But first they flung themselves against it in all the ardor
of new brooms, and failing to sweep the barnacles away,
subsided into the general state of dreaminess and drugs.
For the bugles and fifes could always be disobeyed on
the plea that they were not sounded by the right Com-
mander-in-Chief. There were three of them now.
Bukht Khan the Queen's nominee, Mirza Moghul, and
another son of the King's, Khair Sultan. So that Abool-
Bukr's maudlin regrets for possible office became acute,
and Newasi's despairing hold on his hand had to gain
strength from every influence she could bring to bear
upon it. Even drunkenness and debauchery were safer
than intrigue, to that vision of retribution which seemed
to have left him, and taken to haunting her day and night.
So she held him fast, and when he was not there wept and
prayed, and listened hollow-eyed to a Moulvie who
preached at the neighboring mosque; a man who
preached a judgment.

" Thou art losing thy looks, mine Aunt," said the
Prince to her one day. Not unkindly; on the contrary,
almost tenderly. " Dost know, Newasi, thou art more
woman than most, for thou dost brave all things, even loss
of good name — for I swear even these Mufti folk com-
plain of thee — for nothing. None other I know would

BUGLES AND FIFES. 329

do it, so I would not have it — for something. Yet some
day we shall quarrel over it; some day thy patience will
go; some day thou wilt be as others, thinking of thyself;
and then "

" And then, nephew? " she asked coldly.

He laughed, mimicking her tone. " And then I shall
grow tired and go mine own way to mine own end."

In the meantime, however, the thrummings and drum-
mings went on until Kate Erlton, watching a sick bed
hard by, felt as if she must send round and beg for
quiet. It seemed quite natural she should do so, for
she was completely absorbed over that patient of hers,
who, without being seriously ill, would not get better.
Who passed from one relapse of fever to another with a
listless impatience, and now, nearly a month after he had
stumbled over the threshold, lay barely convalescent. It
had been a strange month. Stranger even than the pre-
vious one, when she had dragged through the lonely days
as best she could, and he had wandered in and out rest-
lessly, full of strain and stress. If even that had been a
curious linking of their fates, what was this when she
tended him day and night, when the weeks slipped by
securely, almost ignorantly? For though Soma came
every day to inquire after the master, standing at the
door to salute to her, spick and span in full uniform, he
brought no disturbing news.

It seemed to her, now, that she had known Jim Doug-
las all his life. And in truth she had learned something
of the real man during the few days of delirium conse-
quent on the violent inflammation which set in on the in-
jured ankle. But for the most part he had muttered and
moaned in liquid Persian. He had always spoken it with
Zora, who had been taught it as part of her attractions,
and no doubt it was the jingle of the jewels as Kate
tended him, which reminded him of that particular part
of his life.

By the time he came to himself, however, she had re-
moved all the fineries, finding them in the way; save the
heavy gold bangle which would not come off — at least
not without help. He used to watch it half confusedly
at first as it slipped up and down her arm, and wondered

33° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

why she had not asked Tara to take it off for her; but he
grew rather to like the look of it; to fancy that she had
kept it on on purpose, to be glad that she had; though it
was distinctly hanjwhen she raised him up on his pillows!
For, after alL^fate~)linked them strangely, and he was
grateful to her^-very grateful.

" You are laughing at me," she said one morning as
she came up to his bed, with a tray improvised out of a
brass platter, and found him smiling.

" I have been laughing at you all the morning, when
I haven't been grumbling," he replied, " at you and the
chicken tea, and that little fringed business, to do
duty as a napkin, I suppose, and the fly-paper — which
isn't the least use, by the way, and I'm sure I could make
a better one — and the mosquito net to give additional
protection to my beauty when I fall asleep. Who could
help laughing at it? "

She looked at him reproachfully. " But it makes you
more comfortable, surely?"

"Comfortable," he echoed, "my dear lady! It is a
perfect convalescent home ! "

But in the silence which followed his right hand
clenched itself over a fold in the quilt unmistakably.

" If you will take your chicken tea," she replied cheer-
fully, despite a faint tremble in her voice, " you will
soon get out of it. And really, Mr. Greyman, you don't
seem to have lost any chance. Soma is not very com-
municative, but everything seems as it was. I never
keep back anything from you. But, indeed, the chief
thing in the city seems that there is no money to pay the
soldiers. Do you know, I'm afraid Soma must loot the
shops like the others. He seems to get things for noth-
ing; though of course they are extraordinarily cheap.
When I was a mem I used to pay twice as much for
eggs."

He interrupted her with a laugh that had a tinge of
bitterness in it. " Do you happen to know the story of
the Jew who was eating ham during a thunderstorm,
Mrs. Erlton?"

She shook her head, smiling, being accustomed by this
time to his unsparing, rather reckless ridicule,

BUGLES AND FIFES. 33 1

" He looked up and said, ' All this fuss about a little
bit of pork.' So all this fuss has taught you the price of
eggs. Upon my word! it is worse than the convales-
cent home! " He lay back upon his pillows with a half-
irritated weariness.

" I have learned more than that, surely " she began.

"Learned!" he echoed sharply. "You've learned
everything, my dear lady, necessary to salvation. That's
the worst of it ! Your chatter to Tara — I hear when you
think I am asleep. You draw your veil over your face
when the water-carrier comes to fill the pots as if you had
been born on a housetop. You — Mrs. Erlton! If I
were not a helpless idiot I could pass you out of the city
to-morrow, I believe. It isn't your fault any longer. It's
mine, and Heaven only knows how long. Oh! confound
that thrumming and drumming. It gets on my nerves —
my nerves ! — pshaw ! "

It was then that Kate declared that she would really
send Tara

" Mrs. Erlton presents her compliments to the Prin-
cess Farkhoonda Zamani, and will be obliged," jested
Jim Douglas; then paused, in truth more irritated than
amused, despite the humor on his face. And suddenly
he appealed to her almost pitifully, " Mrs. Erlton! if any-
one had told you it would be like this — your chance and
mine — when the world outside us was alive — was strug-
gling for life — would you — would you have believed it? "

She bent to push the chicken tea to a securer position.
''' No," she said softly; then to change the subject, added,
" How white your hands are getting again! I must put
some more stain on them, I suppose." She spoke regret-
fully, though she did not mind putting it on her own.
But he looked at the whiteness with distinct distaste.

" It is with doing nothing and lying like a log. Well!
I suppose I shall wake from the dream some day, and
then the moment I can walk —

i( There will be an end of peace," she interrupted, quite
resolutely. " I know it is very hard for you to lie still,
but really you must see how much safer and smoother
life has been since you were forced to give in to (Fate/j

" And Kate," he muttered crossly under his breatnT

33 2 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

But she heard it, and bit her lip to prevent a tender smile
as she went off to give an order to Tara. For the vein of
almost boyish mischief and lighthearted recklessness
which showed in him at times always made her think
how charming he must have been before the cloud shad-
owed his life.

" The master is much better to-day, Tara," she said
cheerfully. " I really think the fever has gone for good."

" Then he will soon be able to take the mem away,"
replied the woman quickly.

" Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? " asked
Kate with a smile, for she had grown fond of the tall,
stately creature, with her solemn airs of duty, and abso-
lute disregard of anything which came in its way. The
intensity of the emotion which swept over the face, which
was usually calm as a bronze statue, startled Kate.

" Of a truth I shall be glad to go back. The Huzoors'
life is not my life, their death not my death."

It was as if the woman's whole nature had recoiled, as
one might recoil from a snake in the path, and a chill
struck Kate Erlton's heart, as she realized on how
frail a foundation peace and security rested. A look, a
word, might bring death. It seemed to her incredible
that she should have forgotten this, but she had. She
had almost forgotten that they were living, in a be-
leagured city, though the reverberating roll of artillery,
the rush and roar of shells, and the crackle of musketry
never ceased for more than a few hours at a time.

She was not alone, however, in her forgetfulness. Half
Delhi had become accustomed to cannon, to bugles and
fifes, and went on its daily round indifferently. But in
the Palace the dream grew ominously thin once or twice.
For not a fraction remained in the Treasury, no effort
to collect revenue had been made anywhere, and fat
Mahboob, the only man who knew how to screw money
out of a stone, lay dying of dropsy. And as he lay, the
mists of personal interest in the future dispersing, he told
his old master, the King, some home truths privately,
while Ahsan-Oolah, the physician, administering cooling
draughts as usual, added his wisdom to the eunuch's.
There was no hope where there was no money. Life

BUGLES AND FIFES. 333

was not worth living without a regular pension. Let the
King secure his and secure pardon while there was
yet time, by sending a letter to the General on the Ridge,
and offering to let the English in by Selimgarh and be-
tray the city. When all was said and done, others had
betrayed him, had forced his hand; so let him save him-
self if he could, quietly, without a word to any but
Ahsan-Oolah. Above all, not one word to Zeenut
Maihl, Hussan Askuri, and Bukht Khan — that Trinity of
Dreams!

With which words of wisdom mayhap lightening his
load of sins, the fat eunuch left the court once and for
all. So the old King, as he sat listening to the quarrels
of his Commander-in-Chief, had other consolation be-
sides couplets; 'and when he wrote

" No peace, no rest, since armies round me riot,
Life lingers yet, but ere long I shall die o't,"

he knew — though his yellow, wax-like mask hid the
knowledge from all — that a chance of escape remained.

The old King's letter reached the Ridge easily. There
was no difficulty in communication now. Spies were
plentiful, and if Jim Douglas had been able to get about,
he could have set Major Erlton's mind at rest without
delay. But Soma positively refused to be a go-between;
to do anything, in short, save secure the master's safety.
And the offer of betrayal arrived when the man who held
command of the Ridge felt uncertain of the future ; all the
more so because of the telegrams, the letters — almost the
orders — which came pouring in to take Delhi — to take it
at once! Early in the month, the gamester's throw of
assault had been revived with the arrival of reinforce-
ments, only to be abandoned once more, within an hour
of the appointed time, in favor of the grip-of-death. But
now, though the whisper had gone no further than the
General's tent, a third possibility was allowed — retreat.
The six thousand were dwindling day by day, the men
were half dead with picket duty, wearied out with need-
less skirmishes, crushed by the tyranny of bugles and
fifes.

If this then could be? There was no lack of desire to

334 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

believe it possible; but Greathed of the politicals, and
Sir Theophilus Metcalfe shook their heads doubtfully.
Hodson, they said, had better be consulted. So the tall
man with the blue hawk's eyes, who had lost his temper
many times since that dawn of the I2th of June, when the
first assault had hung fire, was asked for his opinion.

" We had a chance at the beginning," he said. " We
could have a chance now, if there was someone — but that
is beside the question. As for this, it is not worth the
paper it is written on. The King has no power to fulfill
his promise. He is virtually a prisoner himself. That
is the truth. But don't send an answer. Refer it, and
keep him quiet."

" And retreat? "

" Retreat is impossible, sir. It would lose us India."

"Any news, Hodson?" asked Major Erlton, meeting
the free-lance as he rode back to his tent after his fashion,
with loose rein and loose seat, unkempt, undeviating,
with an eye for any and every advantage.

" None."

" Any chance of — of anything? "

" None with our present chiefs. If we had Sir Henry
Lawrence here it would be different."

But Sir Henry Lawrence, having done his duty to the
uttermost, already lay dead in the residency at Lucknow,
though the tidings had not reached the Ridge. And yet
more direful tidings were on their way to bring July, that
month of clouds and cholera, of flies and funerals, of end-
less buglings and fifings, to a close.

It came to the city first. Came one afternoon when
the King sat in the private Hall of Audience, his back
toward the arcaded .view of the eastern plains, ablaze
with sunlight, his face toward the garden, which, through
the marble-mosaic traced arches, showed like an em-
broidered curtain of green set with jeweled flowers.
Above him, on the roof, circled the boastful legend:

" If earth holds a haven of bliss
It is this— it is this— it is this ! "

And all around him, in due order of precedence, ac-
cording to the latest army lists procurable in Delhi, were

AND MJrjES. 335

ranged the mutinous native officers; for half the King's
sovereignty showed itself in punctilious etiquette. At his
feet, below the peacock throne, stood a gilded cage con-
taining a cockatoo. For Hafzan had been so far right
in her estimate of Hussan Askuri's wonders that poor lit-
tle Sonny's pet, duly caught, and with its crest dyed an
orthodox green, had been used — like the stuffed lizard —
to play on the old man's love of the marvelous. So, for
the time being, the bird followed him in his brief journey-
ings from Audience Hall to balcony, from balcony to bed.

The usual pile of brocaded bags lay below that again,
upon the marble floor, where a reader crouched,
sampling the most loyal to be used as a sedative. One
would be needed ere long, for the Commanders-in-Chief
were at war; Bukht Khan, backed by Hussan Askuri,
with his long black robe, his white beard, and the wild
eyes beneath his bushy brows, and by all the puritans and
fanatics of the city; Mirza Moghul by his brother, Khair
Sultan, and most of the Northern Indian rebels who re-
fused a mere ex-soubadar's right to be better than they.

" Let the Light-of-the- World choose between us,"
came the sonorous voice almost indifferently; in truth
those secret counsels of Bukht Khan with the Queen, of
which the Palace was big with gossip, held small place,
allowed small consideration for the puppet King.

" Yea! let the Pillar-of-State choose," bawled the shrill
voice of the Moghul, whose yellow, small-featured face
was ablaze with passion. " Choose between his son and
heir and this low-born upstart, this soubadar of artillery,
this puritan by profession, this debaucher of King's "

He paused, for Bukht Khan's hand was on his sword;
and there was an ominous stir behind Hussan Askuri.
Ahsan-Oolah, a discreet figure in black standing by the
side of the throne, craned his long neck forward, and his
crafty face wore an amused smile.

Bukht Khan laughed disdainfully at the Mirza's full
stop. " What I am, sire, matters little if I can lead
armies to victory. The Mirza hath not led his, as yet."

"Not led them?" interrupted an officious peace-
bringer. " Lo ! the hell-doomed are reduced to five hun-
dred; the colonels are eating their horses' grain, the

336 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

captains are starving, and our shells cause terror as they
cry, 'Coffin! Coffin! (boccus! boccus!) '"

" The Mirza could do as well as thou," put in a parti-
san, heedless of the tales to which the King, however,
had been nodding his head, " if, as thou hast, he had
money to pay his troops. The Begum Zeenut Maihl's
hoards "

The sword and the hand kept company again signifi-
cantly. " I pay my men by the hoard I took from the
infidel, Meean-jee," retorted the loud, indifferent voice.
" And when it is done I can get more. The Palace is
not sucked dry yet, nor Delhi either."

The Meean, well known to have feathered his nest
bravely, muttered something inaudible, but a stout,
white-robed gentleman bleated hastily:

" There is no more money to be loaned in Delhi, be
the interest ever so high."

The broad face broadened with a sardonic smile. " I
borrow, banker-jee, according to the tenets of the faith,
without interest ! For the rest, five minutes in thy house
with a spade and a string bed to hang thee on head down,
and I pay every fighter for the faith in Delhi his arrears."

" Wah! Wah! " A fierce murmur of approval ran
round the audience, for all liked that way of dealing with
folk who kept their money to themselves.

"But, Khan-jee! there is no such hurry," protested
the keeper of peace, the promoter of dreams. ;< The
hell-doomed are at the last gasp. Have not two
Commanders-in-Chief had to commit suicide before their
troops? And was not the third allowed by special favor
of the Queen to go away and do it privately? This one
will have to do it also, and then "

" And a letter has but this day come in," said a grave,
clever-looking man, interrupting the tale once more,
" offering ten lakhs ; but as the writer makes stipula-
tions, we are asking what treasury he means to loot, or
if it is hidden hoards."

Bukht Khan shrugged his shoulders. " The Meean's
or the banker's hoards are nearer," he said brutally,
" and money we must have, if we are to fight as soldiers.
Otherwise " He paused. There was a stir at the

BUGLES AND FIFES. 337

entrance, where a news-runner had unceremoniously
pushed his way in to flourish a letter in a long envelope,
and pant with vehement show of breathlessness. " In
haste! In haste! and buksheesh for the bringer."

The King, who had been listening wearily to the dis-
pute, thinking possibly that the paucity of commanders
on the Ridge was preferable to the plethora of them at
court, looked up indifferently. They came so often,
these bearers of wonderful news. Not so often as the
little brocaded bags; but they had no more effect.

" Reward him, Keeper-of-the-Purse," he said punc-
tiliously, " and read, slave. It is some victory to our
troops, no doubt."

There was a pause, during which people waited indif-
ferently, wondering, some of them, if it was bogus news
that was to come or not.

Then the court moonshee stood up with a doubtful
face. : 'Tis from Cawnpore^" he murmured, forgetting
decorum and etiquette"; forgetting everything save the
news that the Nana of Bithoor had killed the two hun-
dred women -and children he had pledged himself to
save.

Bukht Khan's hand went to his sword once more, as
he listened, and he turned hastily to Hussan Askuri.
;< That settles it as thou wouldst have it," he whispered.
" It is Holy War indeed, or defeat."

But Mirza Moghul shrank as a man shrinks from the
scaffold.

The old King stood up quickly; stood up between the
lights looking out on the curtain of flowers. " What-
ever happens," he said tremulously, " happens by the
will of God."

His sanctimoniousness never failed him.

So on the night of the 23d of August there was an
unwonted stillness in the city, and the coming of day did
not break it. The rain, it is true, fell in torrents, but
many an attack had been made in rain before. There
was none now. The bugles and fifes had ended, and
folk were waiting for the drum ecclesiastic to begin.
What they thought meanwhile, who knows? Delhi held
a hundred and fifty thousand souls, swelled to nigh two

33^ ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

hundred thousand by soldiers. Only this, therefore, is
certain, the thoughts must have been diverse.

But on the Ridge, when, after a few days, the tidings
reached it with certainty, there was but one. It found
expression in a letter which the General wrote on the last
day of July. " It is my firm intention to hold my present
position and resist attack to the last. The enemy are
very numerous, and may possibly break through our
intrenchments and overwhelm us, but the force will die
at its post."

No talk of retirement now! The millions of peasants
plowing their land peaceably in firm faith of a just mas-
ter who would take no more than his due, the thousands
even in the bloody city itself waiting for this tyranny to
pass, were not to be deserted. The fight would go on.
The fight for law and order.

So the sanctimonious old King had said sooth, " What-
ever happens, happens by the will of God."

Those two hundred had not died in vain.

CHAPTER V.

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC.

THE silence of the city had lasted for seven days. And
now, on the 1st of August, the dawn was at hand, and the
rain which had been falling all night had ceased, leaving
pools of water about the city walls. Still, smooth pools
like plates of steel, dimly reflecting the gray misty sky
against which the minarets of the mosque showed as
darker streaks, its dome like a faint cloud.

And suddenly the silence ended. The first shudder-
ing beat of a royal salute vibrated through the heavy
dewy air, the first chord of " God save the Queen,"
played by every band in Delhi, floated Ridgeward.

The cheek of it!

That phrase — no other less trenchant, more refined —
expressed purely the feeling with which the roused six
thousand listened from picket or tent, comfortable bed or

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC.

339

damp sentry-go, to this topsy-turveydom of anthems!
The cheek of it! The very walls ought to fall Jericho-
wise before such sacrilegious music.

But in the city it sent a thrill through hearts and
brains. For it roused many a dreamer who had never
felt the chill of a sword-hilt on his palm to the knowl-
edge that the time for gripping one had come.

Since this was Bukr-eed, the Great Day of Sacrifice.
No common Bukr-eed either, when the blood of a goat
or a bull would worthily commemorate Abraham's sacri-
fice of his best and dearest, but something more akin to
the old patriarch's devotion. Since on Bukr-eed, 1857,
the infidel was to be sacrificed by the faithful, and the
faithful by the infidel.

For the silence of seven days had been a silence only
from bugles and fifes; the drum ecclesiastic had taken
their place. The mosques had resbunded day and night
to the wild tirades of preachers, and even Mohammed
Ismail, feeling that in religious war lay the only chance
of forgiveness for past horrors, spent every hour in paint-
ing its perfections, in deprecating any deviation from its
rule. The sword or the faith for men; the faith without
the sword for those who could not fight. But others
were less scrupulous, their denunciations less guarded,
and as the processions passed through the narrow streets
flaunting the green banner, half the Mohammedan popu-
lation felt that the time had come to strike their blow for
the faith. And Hussan Askuri dreamed dreams; and
the Bird-of-Heaven, with its crest new-dyed for the occa-
sion, gave the Great Cry viciously as it was paraded
through jostling crowds in the Thunbi Bazaar, where
religion found recruits by the score even among the
women. While Abool-Bukr, vaguely impressed by the
stir, the color, the noise, took to the green and swore to
live cleanly. So that Newasi's soft eyes shone as she
repeated Mohammed Ismail's theories. They were very
true, the Prince said; besides this could be nothing but
honest fighting since there were no women on the Ridge ;
whereupon she stitched away at his green banner fear-
lessly.

But in the Palace it needed all Bukht Khan's determi-

34° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

nation and Hussan Askuri's wily dreams to reconcile the
old King to the breach of etiquette which the sacrifice
of a camel instead of a bull by the royal hands involved.
For the army — three-quarters Brahmin and Rajpoot —
had been promised, as a reward for helping to drive out
the infidel, that no sacred kine should be killed in
Hindustan.

And others besides the King objected to the restric-
tion. Old Fatma, for instance, Shumsha-deen the seal-
cutter's wife, as she swathed her husband's white beard
with pounded henna leaves to give it the orthodox red
dye.

"What matters it, woman?" he replied sternly, but
with an odd quaver in his voice. ' There is a greater
sacrifice than the blood of bulls and goats, and that I
may yet offer this blessed Eed."

" And mayhap, mother," suggested the widowed,
childless daughter-in-law, " a goat will serve our turn
better than a stirk this year: there will be enough for
offering, and belike there may be no feasting."

The old lady, high-featured, high-tempered, wept pro-
fusely between her railings at the ill-omened suggestion;
but the old Turk admitted the possibility with a strained
wondering look in the eyes which had lost their keenness
with graving texts. So, as the day passed the women
helped him faithfully in his bath of purification, and the
daughter-in-law, having the steadiest hand, put the anti-
mony into the old man's eyes as he squatted on a clean
white cloth stretched in the center of the odd little court-
yard. She used the stylus she had brought with her to
the house as a bride, and it woke past memories in the
old brain, making the black-edged old eyes look at the
wife of his youth with a wistful tenderness. For it was
years since a woman had performed the kindly office;
not since the finery and folly of life had passed into the
next generation's hands. But old Fatma thought he
still looked as handsome as any as he finally stepped into
the streets in his baggy trousers with one green shawl
twisted into a voluminous waistband, another into a tur-
ban, his flaming red beard flowing over his white tunic,

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 341

and a curved scimitar — it was rather difficult to get out
of its scabbard by reason of rust — at his side.

" Lo! here comes old Fatma's Shumsha-deen," whis-
pered other women, peeping through other chinks. " He
looks well for sure; better by far than Murri-am's Faiz-
Ahmud for all his new gold shoes! "

And those two, daughter and mother-in-law, huddled
in unaccustomed embrace to see the last of their martyr
through the only convenient crack, felt a glow of pitiful
pride before they fell a-weeping and a-praying the old
pitiful prayer of quarrelers that God would be good to
His own.

There were thousands in Delhi about sunsetting on
the ist of August praying that prayer, though there were
hundreds who held aloof, talking learnedly of the House
of Protection as distinguished from the House of the
Enemy, as they listened to the evening call to prayer.
How could there be Holy War, when that had echoed
freely during the British rule? And Mohammed Ismail,
listening to their arguments feverishly, knew in his heart
that they were right.

But the old Shumsha-deens did not split hairs. So as
the sun set they went forth in thousands and the gates
were closed behind them; for they were to conquer or
die. They were to hurl themselves recklessly on the
low breastworks which now furrowed the long line of
hill. Above all, on that which had crept down its side
to a ruined temple within seven hundred yards of the
Moree Bastion.

So, about the rising of the moon, two days from full,
began such a cannonading and fusillading as was not
surpassed even on that final day when the Ridge, taking
similar heart of grace, was to fling itself against the city.

Major Erlton, off duty but on pleasure in the Saming-
House breastwork, said to his neighbor that they must
be mad, as a confused wild rush burst from the Moree
gate. Six thousand or so of soldiers and Shumsha-deens
with elephants, camels, field-pieces, distinct in the moon-
light. And behind them came a hail of shell and shot,
with them a rain of grape and musket-balls. But

342 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

above all the din and rattle could be heard two things:
The cries of the muezzins from the minarets, chanting
to the four corners of Earth and Sky that " Glory is for
all and Heaven for those who bleed," and an incessant
bugling.

" It's that man in front," remarked Major Erlton.
" Do you think we shall manage, Reid? There's an
awful lot of them."

Major Reid looked round on his little garrison of
dark faces; for there was not an Englishman in the post;
only a hundred quaint squat Ghoorkas, and fifty tall fair
Guides from the Western frontier.

" We'll do for just now, and I can send for the Rifles
by and by. There's to be no pursuit, you know. The
order's out. Ought to have been out long ago. Re-
serve your fire, men, till they come close up."

And come close they did, while Walidad Khan, fierce
fanatic from Peshawur, and Gorakh-nath, fiercer Bhud-
dist from Nepal, with fingers on trigger, called on them
jibingly to come closer still; though twenty yards from
a breastwork bristling with rifles was surely close
enough for anyone? But it was not for the bugler who
led the van, sounding assemblies, advances, doubles;
anything which might stir the hearts behind.

" He has got a magnificent pair of bellows," jremarked
an officer, who, after a time, came down with a hundred
and fifty of the Rifles to aid that hundred and fifty natives
in holding the post against six thousand and more of
their countrymen.

" Splendid! he has been at it this hour or more," said
Major Erlton. " I really think they are mad. They
don't seem to aim or to care. There they are again ! "'

It was darker now, and Walidad Khan from Peshawur
and Gorakh-nath from Nepal, and Bill Atkins from
Lambeth had to listen for that tootling of assemblies and
advances to tell them when to fire blindly from the
embrazures into the smoke and the roar and the rattle.
So they fell to wondering among themselves if they had
nicked him that time. Once or twice the silence seemed
to say they had; but after a bit the tootling began again,
and a disappointed pair of eyes peeping curiously, reck-

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 343

lessly, would see a dim figure running madly to the
assault again.

"Plucky devil!" muttered Major Erlton as with the
loan of a rifle he had his try. There was a look of hope
on dark faces and white alike as they cuddled down to
the rifle stocks and came up to listen. It was like shoot-
ing into a herd of does. for the one royal head; and some
of the sportsmen had tempers.

" Shaitan-ke-butcha! " (Child of the devil), muttered
Walidad Khan, whereat Gorakh-nath grinned from ear
to ear.

" Wot cher laughin' at? " asked Bill Atkins, who had
been indulging in language of his own. " A feller can't
'it ghosts. An' 'e's the piper as played afore Moses;
that's what 'ee is."

"Look sharp, men!" came the officer's warning.
" There's a new lot coming on. Wait and let them
have it."

They did. The din was terrific. The incessant
flashes lighting up the city, showed its roofs crowded
with the families of absent Shumsha-deens. So High
Heaven must have been assailed, indeed, that night.

And even when dawn came it brought no Sabbath
calm. Only a fresh batch of martyrs. But they had no
bugler; for with the dawn some fierce frontiersman,
jesting Cockney, or grinning Ghoorkha may have risked
his life for a fair shot in daylight at the piper who played
before Moses. Anyhow, he played no more. Perhaps
the lack of him, perhaps the torrents of rain which began
to fall as the sun rose, quenched the fires of faith. Any-
how, by nine o'clock the din was over, the drum eccle-
siastic ceased to beat, and the English going out to count
the dead found the bugler lying close to the breastwork,
his bugle still in his hand; a nameless hero save for that
passing jest.

But someone in the city no doubt mourned the piper
who played before Moses, as they mourned other
martyrs. More than a thousand of them.

Yet the Ridge, despite the faith, and fury, and fusillad-
ing, had only to dig one grave; for fourteen hours of
what the records call " unusual intrepidity " — contemp-

344 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

tuously cool equivalent for all that faith and fury — had
only killed one infidel.

Shumsha-deen's Fatma, however, was as proud as if
he had killed a hundred; for he had bled profusely for
the faith, having been at the very outset of it all kicked
by a camel and sent flying- on to a rock to dream con-
fused dreams of valor till the bleeding from his nose re-
lieved the slight concussion of his brain, and enabled him
to go home, much shaken, but none the worse.

But many hundreds of women never saw their Shum-
sha-deens again, or if they saw them, only saw some-
thing to weep over and bind in white swaddling clothes
and gold thread.

So by dark on the 2d of August the sound of wailing
women rose from every alley, and the men, wandering
restlessly about the bazaars, listened to the sound of
tattoo from the Ridge and looked at each other almost
startled.

" Go-to-bed-Tom ! Go-to-bed-Tom ! Drunk-or-sober-
go-to-bed-Tom ! "

The Day of Sacrifice was over, and Tom was going to
bed quietly as if nothing had happened! They did not
know that three-quarters of the Toms had been in bed
the night before, undisturbed by the martyrs' supreme
effort. If they had, they might have wondered still
more persistently what Providence was about.

But in the big mosque, among the great white bars of
moonlight slanting beneath the dome, one man knew.
He stood, a tall white figure beneath a furled green ban-
ner, his arms outspread, his voice rising in fierce denun-
ciation.

" Cursed * be they who did the deed, who killed jehad!
Lo! I told you in my dream in the past and ye would
not believe. I tell it again that ye may know. It was
dawn. And the Lord Christ and the Lord Mohammed
sat over the World striving each for His own according
to the Will of the Most High who sets men's quarrels
before the Saints in Heaven with a commander to each.
And I saw the Lord Christ weep, knowing that justice

* From a contemporaneous account.

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC.

345

was on our side. So the fiat for victory went forth, and
I slept. But I dreamed again and lo! it was eve with a
blood-red sunsetting westward. And the Lord Christ
wept still, but the Lord Mohammed's voice rang loud
and stern. ' Reverse the fiat. Give the victory to the
women and the children.' So I woke. And it is true!
is true! Cursed be they who killed jehad! "

The voice died away among the arches where, in deli-
cate tracery, the attributes of the Great Creator were cut
into changeless marble. Truth, Justice, Mercy, all the
virtues from which all religions make their God.

" He is mad," said some; but for the most part men
were silent as they drifted down the great Flights-of-
Steps to the city, leaving Mohammed Ismail alone under
the dome.

"Didst expect otherwise, my Queen?" said Bukht
Khan hardily. " So did not I ! But the end is gained.
Delhi was not ours in heart and soul before. It is now.
When the assault comes those who fought for faith will
fight for their skins. And at the worst there is Lucknow
for good Sheeahs like the Queen and her slave. We
have no tie here among these Sunnies who think only of
their hoards."

Zeenut Maihl shrank from him with her first touch of
fear, for she had eight or nine lakhs of rupees hidden in
that very house. This man whom she had summoned
to her aid bid fair to make flight necessary even for a
woman. Had she ventured too much? Was there yet
time to throw him over, throw everyone over and make
her peace? She turned instinctively in her thoughts to
< >ne who loved money also, who also had hoards to save.
And so, within half an hour of Bukht Khan's departure,
Ahsan-Oolah was closeted with the Queen, who after the
excitement of the day needed a cooling draught.

Most people in the Palace needed one that night, for
by this time almost all the possible permutations of con-
federacy had come about, with the result that — each
combination's intrigue being known to the next — a
general distrust had fallen upon all. In addition, there
was now a fourth Commander-in-Chief; one Ghaus
Khan, from Neemuch, who declared the rest were fools.

346 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

In truth the Dream was wearing thin indeed within
the Palace.

But on that peaceful little housetop in the Mufti's quar-
ter it seemed more profound than ever; it seemed as if
Fate was determined to leave nothing wanting to the
strange unreal life that was being lived in the very heart
of the city. Jim Douglas was almost himself again. A
little lame, a little uncertain still of his own strength;
and so, remembering a piece of advice given him by the
old Baharupa never to attempt using the Gift when he
was not strong enough for it to be strong, he had been
patient beyond Kate's hopes. But on this 2d of August,
after lying awake all night listening to the roar and the
din, he had insisted on going out when Soma did not
turn up as usual to bring the news. He would not be
long, he said, not more than an hour or two, and the
attempt must be made some time. At no better one
than now, perchance, since folk would be occupied in
their own affairs.

" Besides," he added with a smile, " I'm ready to allow
the convalescent home its due. While I've been kept
quiet the very thought of concealed Europeans has died
out."

"I don't know!" she interrupted quickly. "It isn't
long since Prince Abool-Bukr chased that blue-eyed boy
of the Mufti's over the roofs thinking he was one — don't
you remember I was so afraid he might climb up here? "

" That's the advantage of being up-top," he replied
lightly. " Now, if anything were to happen, you could
scramble down. But the Prince was drunk, and I won't
go near his haunts — there isn't any danger — really there
isn't!"

" I shall have to get accustomed to it even if there is/'
she replied in the same tone.

Jim Douglas paused at the door irresolutely. " Shall
I wait till Tara returns? "

" No, please don't. She is not coming back till late.
She grows restless if she does not go — and I am all
right."

In truth Tara had been growing restless of late.
Kate, looking up from the game of chess — at which her

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC.

347

convalescent gave her half the pieces on the board and
then beat her easily — used to find those dark eyes watch-
ing them furtively. Zora Begum had never played
shatrinj with the master, had never read with him from
books, had never treated him as an equal. And,
strangely enough, the familiar companionship — inevit-
able under the circumstances — roused her jealousy more
than the love-making on that other terraced roof had
done. That she understood. That she could crush with
her cry of suttee. But this — this which to her real devo-
tion seemed so utterly desirable; what did it mean? So
she crept away, when she could, to take up the saintly
role as the only certain solace she knew for the ache in
her heart.

Therefore Kate sat alone, darning Jim Douglas' white
socks — which as a better-class Afghan he was bound to
wear — and thinking as she did so how incredibly domes-
tic a task it was ! Still socks had to be darned, and with
Tara at hand to buy odds and ends, and Soma with his
knowledge of the Huzoor's life ready to bring chess-
boards, and soap, and even a book or two, it seemed as if
the roof would soon be a very fair imitation of home.
So she sat peacefully till, about dusk, hearing a footfall
on the stairs halting with long pauses between the steps,
her vexation at .her patient's evident fatigue overcame
her usual caution; and without waiting for his signal
knock she set the door wide and stepped out on to the
stairs to give him a hand if need be. And then out of
the shadow of the narrow brick ladder came a strange
voice panting breathlessly:

"Salaam! mem-sahib." She started back, but not in
time to prevent a bent figure with a bundle on its back
from stumbling past her on to the roof; where, as if ex-
hausted, it leaned against the wall before slipping the
bundle to the floor. It was an ordinary brown blanket
bundle full of uncarded cotton, and the old woman who
carried it was ragged and feeble. Emaciated too beyond
belief, as if cotton-spinning had not been able to keep
soul and body comfortably together. Not a very for-
midable foe this — if foe it was. Why! surely she knew
the face.

348 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" I have brought Sonny back, Huzoor," came the
breathless voice.

Sonny! Kate Erlton gave a little cry. She recol-
lected now. " Oh, ayah! " she began recklessly, " what?
where is he? "

The old woman stumbled to the door, closed the catch,
and then leaned exhausted upon the lintel, sinking down
slowly to a squatting position, her hand upon her heart.
There was more in this than the fatigue of the stairs,
Kate recognized.

" He is in the bundle, Huzoor. The mem did not
know me. She will know the baba."

Know him! As her almost incredulous fingers
fumbled at the knots, her mind was busy with an ador-
able vision of white embroideries, golden curls, and
kissable, dimpled milk and roses. So it was no wonder
that she recoiled from the ragged shift and dark skin,
the black close-cropped hair shaved horribly into a wide
gangway from nape to forehead.

" Oh, ayah ! " she cried reproachfully, " what have
you done to Sonny baba ! " for Sonny it was unmistak-
ably in the guise of a street urchin. A foolish remark
to make, doubtless, but the old Mai, most of whose life
had been passed in the curling of golden curls, the prink-
ing of mother's darlings, did not think it strange. She
looked wistfully at her charge, then at Kate apolo-
getically.

" It was safer, Huzoor. And at least he is fat and
fresh. I gave him milk and chikken-brat.* And it was
but a tiny morsel of opium just to make him quiet in the
bundle."

Something in the quavering old voice made Kate
cross quickly to the old woman and kneel beside her.

" You have done splendidly, ayah, no one could have
done better! "

But the interest had died from the haggard face.
" They said folk would be damned for it," she muttered
half to herself, " but what could I do? The mem, my
mem, said ' Take care of the boy.' So I gave him
chikken-brat and milk." She paused, then looked up at
* Chicken broth.

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 349

Kate slowly. " But I can grind and spin no more,
Huzoor. My life is done. So I have brought him
here — and " she paused again for breath.

" How did you find me out? " asked Kate, longing to
give the old woman some restorative, yet not daring
to offer it, for she was a Mussulmani.

The old Mai reached out a skeleton of a hand, half-
mechanically, to flick away a fluff of cotton wool from
the still sleeping child's face. " It was the chikken-
brdt, Huzoor. The Huzoor will remember the old mess
khansaman? He did the pagul khanas [picnics] and
nautches for the sahib logue. A big man with gold lace
who made the cake at Christmas for the babas and set
fire to plum-puddeens as no other khansaman did. And
made estarfit turkeys and sassets [stuffed turkey and

sausages] — and " She seemed afloat on a Bagh-o-

bahar list of comestibles, a dream of days when, as ayah,
she had watched many a big dinner go from the cook
room.

" But about the chikken-brat, ayah? " asked Kate with
a lump in her throat; for the wasted figure babbling of
old days was evidently close on death.

" Huzoor! Mungul Khan keeps life in him, these
hard times, with the selling of eggs and fowls. So he,
knowing me, said there was more chikken-brat than
mine being made in the quarter. The Huzoor need have
no fear. Mungul weeps every day and prays the sahibs
may return, because his last month's account was not
paid. A sweeper woman, he said, bought ' halflings '
for an Afghan's bibi. As if an Afghani would use three
halflings in one day! No one but a mem making
chikken-brat would do that. So I watched and made
sure, against this day; for I was old, and I had not spun
or ground for long."

(< You should have come before," said Kate gently.
" You have worn yourself out."

The old woman stumbled to her feet. " My life was
worn before, Huzoor. I am very old. I have put many
boy-babies into the mem's arms to make them forget
their pain, and taken them from them to put the flowers
round them when they were dead. He was safer with

35° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

me speaking our language; with you he may remember.
But I shall be dead, so I can do no more."

" Wait, do wait till the sahib returns," pleaded Kate.

The Mai paused, her hand on the latch. " What have
I to do with the sahibs, Huzoor? Mine were not much
count. They made my mems cry, or laugh; cry first,
then laugh. It is bad for mems. But my mem did
not care, she only cared for the babies and so there was
always a flower for the grave. Matadeen, the gardener,
made it and the big Huzoor — Erlton sahib —

She ceased suddenly and went mumbling down the
stairs leaving Kate to close the door again and drop on
her knees beside the sleeping child. Was he sleeping

or had the opium ? She gave a sigh of relief as — her

hair tickling his cheek as she bent to listen — up came a
chubby unconscious hand to brush the tickle away.

Sonny! It seemed incredible. The house would be
a home indeed with his sweet " Mifis Erlton " echoing
through it. No! what the old Mai had said was true.
There would be danger in English prattle. She must
not tell him who she was. He must be kept as safe as
that other child over across the seas whose empty place
this one had partly filled; that other child who in all
these storms and stress was, thank Heaven! so safe.
She must deny herself that pleasure, and be content with
this terribly disguised Sonny. Then she wondered if
the dye came off as hers did; so with wet finger began
trying the experiment on the child's cheek. A little;
but perhaps soap and warm water might — She gath-
ered Sonny in her arms and went over to the cooking-
place. And there, to her unreasoning delight, after a
space, was a square inch or so of milk and roses. It was
trivial, of course; Mr. Greyman would say womanish,
but she should like to see the real Sonny just once! She
could dye him again. So, with the sleeping child on her
lap, she began soft dabbings and wipings on the forehead
and cheeks. It was a fascinating task and she forgot
everything else; till, as she began work on the nose, what
with the tickling and the tepid bathings dispelling the
opium drowsiness, Sonny woke, and finding himself in
strange arms began to scream horribly. And there she

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 35 *

was forgetful of caution among other things, kissing and
cuddling the frightened child, asking him if he didn't
know her and telling him he was a good little Sonnikins
whom nobody in the world would hurt! At which
juncture, with brain started in a new-old groove, he said
amid lingering sobs:

" Oh, Mifis Erlton! What has a-come of my polly? "

She recognized her slip in a second; but it was too
late. And hark! Steps on the stair, and Sonny prat-
tling on in his high, clear lisp! Not one step, but two;
and voices. A visitor no doubt. Sometimes, to avoid
suspicion, it was necessary to bring them in. She knew
the routine. The modest claim for seclusion to her
supposed husband in Persian, the leaving of the door on
the latch, the swift retreat into the inner roof during the
interval decorously allowed for such escape. All this
was easy without Sonny. The only chance now was to
stop his prattle even by force, give the excuse that other
women were within, and trust to a man's quickness
outside.

Vain hope! Sonny wriggled like an eel, and, just as
the expected knock came, evaded her silencing hand, so
that the roof rang with outraged yells :

" Oh! 'oo's hurtin' me! Oo's hurtin' me! "

Without the words even, the sound was unmistakable.
No native child was ever so ear-piercing, so wildly indig-
nant. Kate, beside herself, tried soothings and force
distractedly, in the midst of which an imperative voice
called fiercely:

" Open the door quick, for God's sake! Anything's
better than that."

For the moment, doubtless, Sonny's yells ending with
victory; but another cry came sharp and short, as — the
door giving under Kate's hasty fingers — two men
tumbled over the threshold. Jim Douglas uppermost,
his hands gripping the other's throat.

"Shut the door!" he gasped. "Lock it. Then my
revolver — no — a knife — no noise — quick. I can't hold —
the brute long."

Kate turned and ran mechanically, and the steel in her
hand gleamed as she flew back. Jim Douglas, digging

35 2 ON- THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

his knees into the ribs below them, loosened one hand
cautiously from the throat and held it out, trembling,
eager.

But Kate saw his face.' It might have been the Gor-
gon's, for she stood as if turned to stone.

" Don't be a fool! " he panted — " give it me! It's the

only " A sudden twist beneath him sent his hand

back to the throat. " It's — it's death anyway '

Death! What did that matter? she asked herself.
Let it come, rather than murder!

" No! " she said suddenly, " you shall not. It is not
worth it." The knife, flung backward, fell with a clang,
but the eyes which — though that choking grip on the
throat made all things dim — had been fixed on its gleam,
turned swiftly to those above them and the writhing body
lay still as a corpse. None too soon, for Jim Douglas
was almost spent.

" A rope," he muttered briefly, " or stay, your veil will
do."

But Kate, trembling with the great passion and pity of
her decision, had scarce removed it ere Jim Douglas,
changing his mind, rose to his feet, leaving his antago-
nist free to do so likewise.

" Get up, Tiddu," he said breathlessly, " and thank the
mem for saving your life. But the door's locked, and if
you don't swear "

" The Huzoor need not threaten," retorted Tiddu, far
more calmly as he retwisted his rag of a turban. " The
Many-Faced know gratitude. They do not fall on those
who find them helpless and protect them."

The thrust was keen, for in truth the old Baharupa
had, not half an hour before, by sheer chance found his
pupil in difficulties and insisted on seeing him safe home,
and on his promising not to go out again till he was
stronger; to both of which coercions Jim Douglas, in
order to evade suspicion, had consented. Yet, but for
Kate, he would have knifed the old man remorselessly.
Even now he felt doubtful.

Tiddu, however, saved him further anxiety by stepping
close to Kate and salaaming theatrically.

" By Murri-am and the neem, the mem is as my
mother, the child as my child."

THE DRUM ECCLESIASTIC. 353

So, for the first time, both he and Jim Douglas looked
toward Sonny, who, with wide-planted legs and wonder-
ing eyes, had been watching Tiddu solemnly; the
quaintest little figure with his red and white cheeks and
black muzzle.

The old mime burst into a guffaw. " Wah! what a
monkeyling! Wah! what a tamasha" (spectacle), he
cried, squatting down on his heels to look closer. In
truth Sonny was like a hill baboon, especially when he
smiled too; broadly, expectantly, at the familiar word.

" Tamatha-wallah! " he said superbly, " bunao ramdtha.
juldi bunao! " (Make an amusement; make it quick.)

Tiddu, a child himself like all his race in his delight in
children, a child also in his capacity of sudden serenity,
caught up Kate's fallen veil, and in an instant dashed
into the hackneyed part of the daughter-in-law, while
Kate and Jim Douglas stared; left behind, as it were, by
this strange irresponsible pair — the mimic of life, and the
child ignorant of what was mimicked. Tragedy a min-
ute ago! Now Farce! They looked at each other,
startled, for sympathy.

" Make a funny man now," came Sonny's confident
voice, " a funny man behind a curtain — a funny man —
wif a gween face an' a white face, an' a lot of fwowers an'
a bit o' tring."

Tiddu looked round quickly at Jim Douglas. " Wah! "
he said, " the little Huzoor has a good memory. He
remembers the Lord of Life and Death."

But Kate had remembered it too, and she also had
turned to Jim Douglas passionately, almost accusingly.
" It was you ! You were Fate — you Ah ! I under-
stand now! "

" Do you? " he answered with a frown. " Then it's
more than I do." He walked away moodily toward the
knife Kate had flung away, and stooped to pick it up.
" But you were right in what you did. It was an inspira-
tion. Look there! "

He pointed to the old Baharupa, who was playing
antics to amuse Sonny, who lisped, " Thd bath! "
(bravo!) solemnly at each fresh effort. But Kate
shivered. " I did nothing. I thought I did; but it was
Fate."

354 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" My dear lady," he retorted with a kindly smile, " it
is all in the nature of dreams. The convalescent home
is turned into a creche. But we must transfigure the
street urchin into the darling of his parents' hearts —
He paused and looked at Kate queerly. " I'll tell Tara
to rig him out properly; and you must take off half the
stain, you know, and leave some color on his cheeks;
for he must play the part as well as — He laughed

suddenly. " It is really more dream-like than ever! " he
added. And Kate thought so too.

CHAPTER VI.

VOX HUMANA.

THE five days following on the 2d of August were a
time of festivity for the Camp, a time of funerals for the
City. There was a break in the rains, and on the Ridge
the sunshine fell in floods upon the fresh green grass,
and the air, bright and cool, set men's minds toward mak-
ing the best of Nature's kindness; for she had been kind,
indeed, to the faithful little colony, and few even of the
seniors could remember a season so favorable in every
way. And so the messes talked of g;ames, of races; and
men, fresh from seeing their fellows killed by balls on one
side of the Ridge, joined those who, on the other side,
were crying " Well bowled!" as wickets went down be-
fore other balls.

But in the city the unswept alleys fermented and fes-
tered in the vapors and odors which rose from the great
mass of humanity pent within the rose-red walls. For
the gates had been closed strictly save for those with per-
mits to come and go. This was Bukht Khan's policy.
Delhi was to stand or fall as one man. There was to be
no sneaking away while yet there was time. So hun-
dreds of sepoys protesting illness, hunger, urgent private
affairs — every possible excuse for getting leave — were
told that if they would not fight they could sulk. Starve
they might, stay they should. The other Commanders-

VOX HUMANA. 355

in-Chief, it is true, spent money in bribing mercenaries
for one week's more fighting; but Bukht Khan only
smiled sardonically. He had tried bugles and fifes, he
had tried the drum-ecclesiastic; he was now trying his
last stop. The vox humana of self-preservation.

In the city itself, however, the preservation of life took
for the present another form, and never within the
memory of man had there been such a pounding of pes-
tles and mortars over leaf-poultices. The sound of it
rose up at dawn and eve like the sound of the querns,
mingling with the vox humana of grief as the eastern and
southern gates were set wide to let the dead pass out, and
allow the stores for the living to pass in.

It formed a background to the gossip at the wells
where the women met to draw water.

" Faiz-Ahmed found freedom at dawn," said one be-
tween her yawns. " He was long in the throes. The
bibis made a great wailing, so I could not even sleep
since then. There are no sons, see you, and no money
now the old man's annuity is gone."

" Loh, sister! " retorted another, " thou speakest as if
death were a morsel of news to let dissolve on the tongue.
There be plenty such soppets in Delhi, and if I know
aught of wounds there will be another at nightfall. My
mistress wastes time in the pounding of simples, and I
waste time in waiting for them till my turn comes at the
shop; for if it be not gangrened, I have no eyes." The
speaker jerked her pot to her shoulder deftly and passed
down the alley.

" Juntu is wise in such matters," said a worn-looking
woman with sad eyes; " I must get her to glance at my
man's cut. 'Tis right to my mind — he will put naught
but water to it, after some foreign fashion — but who can
tell these times?"

" Save that none pass their day, sister. Death will
come of the Great Sickness, or the wound, as it chooses/'
put in a half-starved soul who had to carry a baby besides
her pot. " The cholera rages in our alley. 'Tis the
smell. None sweep the streets or flush the gutters now."

" Ari, Fukra! " cried a fierce virago, " thou art a traitor
at heart! She bewails the pig-eating infidels who gave

35<5 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

her man five rupees a month to bring water to the drains.
Ai teri! If they saved one life from good cholera, have
they not reft a hundred in exchange from widows and
orphans? Oo-ai-ie-ee ! "

Her howling wail, like a jackal's, was caught up whim-
peringly by the others; and so they passed on with their
water pots, to spread through the city the tale of Faiz-
Ahmed's freedom, Juntu's suspicions of gangrene, and
Karuria the butcher's big wife's retort. And, in the even-
ing, folk gathered at the gates, and talked over it all
again as the funerals passed out; old Faiz- Ahmed, in his
new gold shoes, looking better as a corpse, tied up in tin-
sel, than as a martyr, so the spectators agreed. Whereat
his family had their glow of pride also.

Then, when the show was over, the crowd dispersed
to pay visits of condolence, and raise the wailing vox
Humana in every alley.

Greatly to Jim Douglas' relief, for there was another
voice difficult to keep quiet when the cool evenings came,
and all Kate's replies in Hindustani would not beguile
Sonny's tongue from English. He was the quaintest
mother's darling now, in a little tinsel cap fringed with
brown silk tassels hiding that dreadful gangway, anklets,
and bracelets on his bare corn-colored limbs, the ruddy
color showing through the dye on his cheeks, his palms
all henna-stained, his eyes blackened with kohl, and a
variety of little tinsel and brocaded cootees ending far
above his dimpled knees. There were little muslin and
net ones too, cunningly streaked with silver and gold,
for Tara was reckless over the boy. She insisted, too,
on a great black smudge on his forehead to keep away the
evil eye; and Soma, coming now with the greatest regu-
larity, brought odd little coral and grass necklets such
as Rajpoot bairns ought to wear; while Tiddu, the
child's great favorite, had a new toy every day for the
little Huzoor. Paper whirligigs, cotton-wool bears on
a stick, mud parrots, and such like, whereat Sonny would
lisp, " Thd bath, Tiddu." Though sometimes he would
go over to Kate and ask appealingly, " Miffis Erlton!
What has a-come of my polly?"

Then she, startled into realities by the words, would

VOX HUMANA. 357

catch him up in her arms, and look around as if for pro-
tection to Jim Douglas, who, having overdone himself
in the struggle with Tiddu, had felt it wiser to defer fur-
ther action for a day or two. The more so because Tiddu
had promised to help him to the uttermost if he would
only be reasonable and leave times and seasons to one
who had ten times the choice that he had.

So he would smile back at Kate and say, " It's all
right, Mrs. Erlton. At least as right as it can be. The
lot of them are devoted to the child."

Yet in his heart he knew that there was danger in so
many confederates. He felt that this incredibly peaceful
home on the housetop could not last. Here he was look-
ing at a woman who was not his wife, a child who was not
his child, and feeling vaguely that they were as much a
part of his life as if they were. As if, had they been
so, he would have been quite contented. More contented
than he had been on that other roof. He was, even now,
more contented than he had been there. As he sat, his
head on his hand, watching the pretty picture which Kate,
in Zora's jewels, made with the be-tinseled, be-scented,
bedecked child, he thought of his relief when years before
he had looked at a still little morsel lying in Zora's veil.
Had it been brutal of him? Would that dead baby have
grown into a Sonny? Or was it because Sonny's skin
was really white beneath the stain that he thought of him
as something to be proud of possessing; of a boy who
would go to school and be fagged and flogged and inherit
familiar virtues and vices instead of strange ones?

"What are you thinking of, Mr. Greyman? Do you
want anything? " came Kate's kind voice.

" Nothing," he replied in the half-bantering tone he so
often used toward her; " I have more than my fair share
of things already, surely! I was only meditating on the
word ' Om ' — the final mystery of all things."

So, in a way, he was. On the mystery of fatherhood
and motherhood, which had nothing to do with that pure
idyl of romantic passion on the terraced roof at Lucknow,
yet which seemed to touch him here, where there was not
even love. Yet it was a better thing. The passion of
protection, of absolute self-forgetfulness, seeking no re-

358 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

ward, which the sight of those two raised in him, was a
better thing than that absorption in another self. The
thought made him cross over to where Kate sat with the
child in her lap, and say gravely:

" The creche is more interesting than the convales-
cent home, at least to me, Mrs. Erlton! I shall be quite
sorry when it ends."

" When it ends? " she echoed quickly. " There is noth-
ing wrong, is there? Sonny has been so good, and that
time when he was naughty the sweeper-woman seemed
quite satisfied when Tara said he was speaking Pushtoo."

" But it cannot last for all that," he replied. " It is
dangerous. I feel it is. This is the 5th, and I am nearly
all right. I must get Tiddu to arrange for Sonny first.
Then for you."

"And you?" she asked.

" I'll follow. It will be safer, and there is no fear for
me. I can't understand why I've had no answer from
your husband. The letter went two days ago, and I am
convinced we ought."

The frown was back on his face, the restlessness in his
brain; and both grew when in private talk with Tiddu
the latter hinted at suspicions in the caravan which had
made it necessary for him to be very cautious. The let-
ter, therefore, had certainly been delayed, might never
have reached. If no answer came by the morrow, he
himself would take the opportunity of a portion of the
caravan having a permit to pass out, and so insure the
news reaching the Ridge; trusting to get into the city
again without delay, though the gates were very strictly
kept. Nevertheless, in his opinion, the Huzoor would
be wiser with patience. There was no immediate danger
in continuing as they were, and the end could not be
long if it were true that the great Nikalseyn was with
the Punjab reinforcements. Since all the world knew
that Nikalseyn was the prince of sahibs, having the gift,
not only of being all things to all people, but of making
all people be all things to him, which was more than the
Baharupas could do.

In truth, the news that John Nicholson was coming to
Delhi made even Jim Douglas hesitate at risking any-

VOX HUMANA. 359

thing unnecessarily, so long as things went smoothly.
As for the letter to Major Krlton, it was no doubt true
that the number of spies sending information to the
Ridge had made it difficult of late to send any, since the
guards were on the alert.

It was, indeed, even for the Queen herself, who had a
missive she was peculiarly anxious should not fall into
strange hands.

" There is no fear, Ornament of Palaces," said Ahsan-
Oolah urbanely; " I will stake my life on its reaching."
He did not add that his chief reason for saying so was
that a similar letter, written by the King, had been safely
delivered by Rujjub AH, the spy, whose house lay conven-
iently near the physician's own, and from whom both the
latter and Elahi-Buksh heard authentic news from the
Ridge. News which made them both pity the poor old
pantaloon who, as they knew well, had been a mere pup-
pet in stronger hands. And these two, laying their heads
together, in one of those kaleidoscope combinations of in-
trigue which made Delhi politics a puzzle even at the time,
advised the King to use the vox celeste as an antidote to the
vox humana of the city, which was being so diligently fos-
tered by the Queen and Bukht Khan. Let him say he
was too old for this world, let him profess himself unable
longer to cope with his coercers and claim to be allowed
to resign and become a fakir! But the dream still lin-
gered in the old man's brain. He loved the brocaded
bags, he loved the new cushion of the Peacock throne;
and though the cockatoo's crest was once more showing
a yellow tinge through the green, the thought of jehad
lingered sanctimoniously. But other folk in the Palace
were beginning to awake. Other people in Delhi besides
Tiddu had heard that Nikalseyn was on his way from the
Punjab and not even the rose-red walls had been able to
keep out his reputation. Folk talked of him in whispers.
The soldiers, unable to retreat, unwilling to fight, swore
loudly that they were betrayed ; that there were too many
spies in the city. Of that there could be no doubt.
Were not letters found concealed in innocent looking
cakes and such like? Had not one, vaguely suggesting
that some cursed infidels were still concealed in the city,

360 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

been brought in for reward by a Bunjarah who swore he
had picked it up by chance? The tales grew by the
telling in the Thunbi Bazaar, making Prince Abool-Bukr,
who had returned to it incontinently after the disastrous
failure of faith on the 2d, hiccough magnificently that,
poor as he was, he would give ten golden mohurs to any-
one who would set him on the track of a hell-doomed.
Yea! folk might laugh,, but he was good for ten still.
Ay! and a rupee besides, to have the offer cried through
the bazaar; so there would be an end to scoffers!

" What is't? " asked the languid loungers in the
wooden balconies, as the drum came beating down the
street.

" Only Abool offering ten mohurs for a Christian to
kill," said one.

" And he swore he had not a rupee when I danced for
him but yesterday," said another.

" He has to pay Newasi, sister," yawned a third.

" Then let her dance for him — I do it no longer," re-
torted the grumbler.

So the crier and his drums passed down the scoffing
bazaar. " He will find many at that price," quoth some,
winking at their neighbors; for the Prince was a butt
when in his cups.

Thus at earliest dawn next morning, the 7th of August,
Tiddu gave a signal knock at the door of the roof, rousing
Jim Douglas who, since the child's arrival, had taken to
sleeping across it once more.

" There is danger in the air, Huzoor," he said briefly;
" they cried a reward for the infidels in the bazaar yester-
day. There is talk of some letter."

" The child must go — go at once," replied his hearer,
alert in an instant; but Tiddu shook his head.

" Not till dark, Huzoor. The bullocks are to pass out
with the moon, and he must pass out with them. In a
sack, Huzoor. Say nothing till the last. Then, the
Huzoor knows the cloth merchant's by the Delhi gate? "

Jim Douglas nodded.

" There is a court at the back. The bullocks are there,
for we are taking cloth the Lala wants to smuggle out.
A length or two in each empty sack; for he hath been

VOX HUMANA. 361

looted beyond limits. So he will have no eyes, nor the
caravan either, for secret work in dark corners. Bring
the boy drugged as he came here, the Rajpootni will
carry the bundle as a spinner, to the third door down the
lane. " Tis an empty yard; I will have the bullock there
with the half-load of raw cotton. We have two or three
more as foils to the empty bags. Come as a Bunjarah,
then the Huzoor can see the last of the child, and see old
Tiddu's loyalty."

The familiar whine came back to his voice; he could
scarcely resist a thrust forward of his open hand. But
dignity or no dignity, Jim Douglas knew that itching
palm well, and said significantly:

" It will be worth a thousand rupees to you, Tiddu,
if the child gets safe."

A look of offended virtue came over the smooth face.

" This slave is not thinking of money. The child is
as his own child."

" And the mem as your mother, remember," put in
the other quickly.

Tiddu hesitated. " If his servant saves the baba, can-
not the master save the lady? " he said with the effrontery
of a child trying how far he might go ; but Jim Douglas'
revolver was out in a second, and Tiddu, with an air of
injured innocence, went on without a pause:

" The mem will be safe enough, Huzoor, when the
child is gone, if the Huzoor will himself remain day and
night to answer for the screened, sick woman within.
His slave will be back by dawn; and if he smells trouble,
the mem must be moved in a dhoolie to another house,
the Rajpootni must go home, and I will be mother-in-
law. I can play the part, Huzoor."

He could indeed! If Kate were to be safe anywhere,
it would be with this old scoundrel with his thousand-
faces, his undoubted gift for influencing the eyes of men.
Three days of passing from one place to another, with
him in some new character, and their traces must be lost.
A good plan certainly!

"And there is no danger to-day?" he asked finally.

Tiddu paused again, and his luminous eyes sought the
sahib's. " Who can say that, Huzoor, for a mem, in this

362 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

city. But I think none. We can do no more, danger
or not. And I will watch. And see, here is the dream-
giver. The Rajpootni will know the dose for the child."

The dream-giver! All that day the little screw of
paper Tiddu had taken from his waistbelt lay in a fold
of Jim Douglas' high-twined pugri, and its contents
seemed to make him dull. Not that*it mattered, since
there was literally nothing to be done before dusk; for
it would be cruel to tell Kate and keep her on tenter-
hooks all day to no purpose. But after a while she
noticed his dullness, and came over to where he sat, his
head on his hand, in his favorite attitude.

" I believe you are going to have fever and ague
again," she said solicitously; "do take some aconite; if
we could only get some quinine, that would end the tire-
some thing at once."

He took some to please her, and because her sugges-
tion gave him a reasonable excuse for being slack; but as
he lounged about lazily, watching her playing with the
boy, seeing her put him to sleep as the heat of the day
came on, noting the cheerful content with which she
adapted herself to a simplicity of life unknown to her
three months before, the wonder of the circumstances
which had led to it faded in the regret that it should be
coming to an end. It had been three months of incredi-
ble peace and good-will ; and to-day the peace and good-
will seemed to strike him all the more keenly because he
knew that in an hour or so at most he must disturb it.
It seemed hard.

But something else began the task for him. About
sunset a sudden flash dazzled his eyes, and ere he grasped
its vividness the walls were rocking silently, and a second
after a roar as of a thousand thunder-claps deafened his
ears. Kate had Sonny in her arms ere he could reach
her, thrusting her away from the high parapet wall,
which, in one already cracked corner, looked as if it must
come down; which did indeed crumble outward, leaving
a jagged gap halfway down its height, the debris falling
with a rattle on the roof of the next house.

But ere the noise ended the vibration had passed, leav-

VOX HUMANA. 363

ing him with relief on his face looking at a great mush-
room of smoke and steam which had shot up into the sky.

" It's the powder factory! " he exclaimed, using Hindu-
stani for Tara's benefit as well, since she had rushed in
from the outer court at the first hint of danger to cling
round his feet. " It is all over now, but it's lucky we
were no nearer."

As he spoke he was wondering if this would make any
difference in Tiddu's plans for the night, since the powder
factory had stood equa-distant between them and the
Delhi gate. He wondered also what had caused the ex-
plosion. Not a shell certainly. The factory had pur-
posely been placed at the furthest point from the Ridge.
However, there was a fine supply of powder gone, and,
he hoped, a few mutineers. But Kate's mind had re-
verted to that other explosion which had been the pro-
logue to the three months of peace and quiet. Was this
one to be the epilogue? A vague dread, a sudden pre-
monition made her ask quickly :

" Can it mean anything serious? Can anything be
the matter, Mr. Greyman? Is anything wrong?"

It was a trifle early, he thought. She might have had
another half hour or so. But this was a good beginning,
or rather a fitting end.

"And you have known this all day?" she said re-
proachfully when he told her the truth. " How unkind
of you not to tell me! "

"Unkind!" he echoed. "What possible good—

" I should have known it was the last day — I — I should
have made the — the most of it."

He felt glad of his own impatience of the sentimentality
as he turned away, for in truth the look on her face hit
him hard. It sent him to pace up and down the outer
roof resting till the time for action came. Then he had a
whispered consultation with Tara regarding the dose of
raw opium safe for a child of Sonny's years.

"Are you sure that is not too much?" he asked
anxiously.

Tara looked at the little black pellet she was rolling
gravely. " It is large, Huzoor, but it is for life or death;

364 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

and if it was the Huzoor's own son I would give no
less."

Once more the remembrance of the still little morsel
in Zora's tinsel veil brought an odd compunction; the
very possibility of this strange child's death roused
greater pain than that certainty had done. He felt un-
nerved at the responsibility; but Kate, looking up as he
rejoined her, held out her hand without a tremor.

" Give it me, please," she said, and her voice was
steady also ; " he will take it best from me. I have some
sugar here."

The child, drowsy already with the near approach of
bedtime, was in her lap, and rested its head on her breast,
as with her arms still round him her hands disguised the
drug.

" It is a very large dose," she said dully. " I knew
it must be; that's why I wanted to give it — myself.
Sonny! Open your mouth, darling — it's sweet — there —
swallow it quick — that's a good Sonnikins."

" You are very brave," he said with a catch in his
voice.

She glanced up at him for a second with a sort of
scorn in her eyes. " I knew he would take it from me,"
she replied, and then, shifting the child to an easier
position, began to sing in a half voice :

' ' There is a happy land "

" Far — farze — away," echoed Sonny contentedly. It
was his usual lullaby, chosen because it resembled a
native air, beloved of ayahs.

And as she sang and Sonny's eyelids drooped the man
watched them both with a tender awe in his heart ; and the
other woman, crouching in the corner, watched all three
with hungry, passionate eyes. Here, in this group of
man, woman, and child, without a personal claim on each
other, was something new, half incomprehensible, wholly
sweet.

" He is asleep now," said Kate after a time. " You had
better take him."

He stooped to obey, and she stooped also to leave a
long, lingering kiss on the boy's soft cheek. It sent a

VOX HUMANA. 365

thrill through the man as he recognized that in giving
him the child she had given him more than kisses.

The feeling that it was so made him linger a few min-
utes afterward at the door with a new sense of his re-
sponsibilities toward her to say:

" I wish I had not to leave you alone."

" You will be back directly, and I shall be all right,"
she said, pausing in her closing of the door, for Tara had
already passed down the stair with her bundle.

" Shall I lock it outside? " he began. Tara and he had
been used to do so in those first days when they left her.

She laid her hand lightly on his arm. " Don't," she
said, " dpn't get anxious about me again. What can
happen in half an hour? "

He heard her slip the catch on the staple, however,
before he ran downstairs. He was to take a different
road to the Delhi gate from the quiet, more 'devious
alleys which Tara would choose in her character of poor
spinner carrying her raw stuff home. She was to await
his arrival, to deposit the bundle somewhere close to
the third door in the back lane by the cloth mer-
chant's shop, leaving it to him to take inside, as if he
were one of the caravan ; this plan insuring two things —
immunity from notice in the streets, and also in the
yard. But, as Tara would be longer than he by a
few minutes in reaching the tryst, he purposely went
through a bit of the Thunbi Bazaar to hear what he
could of the explosion. He was surprised — a trifle
alarrried — at the excitement. Crowds were gathered
round many of the balconies, talking of spies, swearing
that half the court was in league with the Ridge, and that,
after all, Abool-Bukr might not have a wild-goose chase.

''' There will be naught but slops and slaps for him in
my information, I'll swear," said one with a laugh. " I'll
back old Mother Sobrai to beat off a dozen princes."

" And blows and bludgeons in mine," chuckled another.
* I chose the house of Bahadur, the single-stick player."

And as, having no more time to lose, he cut across
gateward, he saw down an alley a mob surging round
Ahsan-Oolah, the physician's, house, and heard a passer-
by say, " They have the traitor safe." It made him

366 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

vaguely uneasy, since he knew that when once the talk
turns on hidden things, people, not to be behindhand in
gossip, rake up every trivial doubt and wonder.

Still there was a file of bullocks waiting by the cloth
merchant's as arranged. And as he passed into the lane
a dim figure, scarce seen in the dark, slipped out of the
further end. And there was the bundle. He caught it
up as if it belonged to him, and after knocking gently at
the third door, pushed it open, knowing that he must
show no hesitation. He found himself in a sort of out-
house or covered entrance, pitch dark save for a faintly
lighter square showing an outlet, doubtless into the yard
beyond. He moved toward it, and stumbled over some-
thing unmistakably upon the floor. A man! He
dropped the bundle promptly to be ready in case the
sleeper should be a stranger. But there was no move-
ment, and he kneeled down to feel if it was Tiddu. A
Bunjarah! — that was unmistakable at the first touch —
but the limpness was unmistakable too. The man was
dead — still warm, but dead! By all that was unlucky! —
not Tiddu surely! With the flint and steel in his waist-
cloth, he lit a tuft of cotton from the bundle as a torch.

It was Jhungi! — Jhungi, with a knife in his heart!

" Huzoor! " came the familiar creak, as Tiddu,
attracted by the sudden light, stole in from the yard be-
yond. " Quick! there is no time to lose. Give me the
bundle and go back."

" Go back! " echoed Jim Douglas amazed.

" Huzoor! take off the Bunjarah's dress. I have a
green turban and shawl here. The Huzoor must go
back to the mem at once. There is treachery."

Jim Douglas swore under his breath as he obeyed.

" I know not what, but the mem must not stay there.
I heard him boasting before, and just now I caught him
prying."

"Who, Jhungi?"

Even at such a moment Tiddu demurred.

" The Huzoor mistakes. It is the miscreant Bhungi—
Jhungi is virtuous —

" You killed him then? " interrupted the hearer, putting
the last touch to his disguise.

VOX HUMANA. 3^7

" What else could I do, Huzoor? I had only my
knife. And it is not as if it were — Jhungi "

But Jim Douglas was already out of the door, run-
ning through the dark, deserted lanes while he dared,
since he must walk through the bazaar. And as he ran
he told himself that he was a fool to be so anxious.
What could go wrong in half an hour?

What indeed!

As he stood five minutes after, staring into the dark
emptiness of the roof, he asked himself again and again
what could have happened? There had been no answer
to his knock; the door had been hasped on the outside,
yet the first glance as he entered made him realize that
the place was empty of life. And though he had lit the
cresset, with a fierce fear at what it might reveal, he could
find no trace, even of a struggle. Kate had disappeared !
Had she gone out? Impossible. Had Tara heard of the
danger, returned, and taken her elsewhere? Possible,
but improbable. He passed rapidly down the stairs
again. The story below the roof, being reserved for the
owner's use on his occasional visits to Delhi, was empty ;
the occupants of the second floor, pious folk, had fled
from the city a day or two before ; and when he paused to
inquire on the ground floor to know if there had been
any disturbance he found the door padlocked outside —
sure sign that everyone was out. Oh ! why, he thought,
had he not padlocked that other door upstairs? He
passed out into the street, beginning to realize that his
task was over just as he had ceased to gird at it. There
was nothing unusual to be seen. The godly folk about
were beginning to close their gates for the night, and
some paused to listen with an outraged air to the thrum-
mings and drummings from the Princess Farkhoonda's
roof. And that was Abool Bukr's voice singing:

" Oh, mistress rare, divine ! "

Then it could scarcely be he, and Kate might have
found friends in that quarter, where so many learned
folk deemed the slaughter of women unlawful. But
there was no use in speculating. He must find Tara first.
He paused, however, to inquire from the cobbler at the

368 ON THE FACE OF TttE WATERS.

corner. "Disturbance?" echoed the man. Not much
more than usual; the Prince, who had passed in half an
hour agone, being perhaps a bit wilder after his wild-
goose-chase. Had not the Agha-sahib heard? The
wags of the bazaar had taken up the offer made by the
Prince, and his servants had sworn they were glad to get
him to the Princess', since they had been whacked out of
half a dozen houses. He was safe now, however, since
when he was of that humor Newasi Begum never let him
go till he was too drunk for mischief.

Then, thought Jim Douglas, it was possible that
Jhungi might have given real information; still but one
thing was certain — the roof was empty; the dream had
vanished into thin air.

He did not know as he passed through the dim streets
that their dream was over also, and that John Nicholson
stood looking down from the Ridge on the shadowy mass
of the town. He had posted in a hundred and twenty
miles that day, arriving in time to hear the explosion of
the magazine. The city's salute of welcome, as it were,
to the man who was to take it.

He had been dining at the Headquarters mess, taciturn
and grave, a wet blanket on the jollity, and the Moselle
cup, and the fresh cut of cheese from the new Europe
shop; and now, when others were calling cheery good-
nights as they passed to their tents, he was off to wander
alone round the walls, measuring them with his keen,
kindly eyes. A giant of a man, biting his lips beneath
his heavy brown beard, making his way over the rocks,
sheltering in the shadow, doggedly, moodily, lost in
thought. He was parceling out his world for conquest,
settling already where to prick the bubble.

But, in a way, it was pricked already. For, as he
prowled about the Palace walls, a miserable old man,
minus even the solace of pulse-feeling and cooling
draughts, was dictating a letter to Hafzan, the woman
scribe. A miserable letter, to be sent duly the next day
to the Commanders-in-Chief, and forwarded by them to
the volunteers of Delhi. A disjointed rambling effusion
worthy of the shrunken mind and body which held but
a rambling disjointed memory even of the advice given it.

VOX HUMANA. 369

" Have I not done all in my power to please the
soldiery?" it ran. "But it is to be deplored that you
have, notwithstanding, shown no concern for my life, no
consideration for my old age. The care of my health was
in the hands of Ahsan-Oolah, who kept himself con-
stantly informed of the changes it underwent. Now
there is none to care for me but God, while the changes
in my health are such as may not be imagined; there-
fore the soldiers and officers ought to gratify me and
release the physician, so that he may come whenever he
thinks it necessary to examine my pulse. Furthermore,
the property plundered from his house belonged to the
King, therefore it should be traced and collected and con-
veyed to our presence. If you are not disposed to com-
ply, let me be conveyed to the Kutb shrine and employ
myself as a sweeper of the Mosque. And if even this
be not acceded I will still relinquish every concern and
jump up from my seat. Not having been killed by the
English I will be killed by you; for I shall swallow a dia-
mond and go to sleep. Moreover, in the plunder of the
physician's house, a small box containing our seal was
carried away. No paper, therefore, of a date subsequent
to the 7th of August, 1857, bearing our seal, will be
valid."

A miserable letter indeed. The dream of sovereignty
had come to an end with that salute of welcome to John
Nicholson.

BOOK V.
" THERE AROSE A MAN."

CHAPTER I.

FORWARD.

" ARE you here on duty, sir? " asked a brief, imperious
voice. Major Erlton, startled from a half dream as he
sat listlessly watching the target practice from the Crow's
Nest, rose and saluted. His height almost matched the
speaker's, but he looked small in comparison with the
indescribable air of dominant power and almost arrogant
strength in the other figure. It seemed to impress him,
for he pulled himself together smartly with a certain
confidence, and looked, in truth, every inch a soldier.

" No, sir," he replied as briefly, " on pleasure."

A distinct twinkle showed for a second in. General
Nicholson's deep-set hazel eyes. " Then go to your bed,
sir, and sleep. You look as if you wanted some." He
spoke almost rudely; but as he turned on his heel he
added in a louder voice than was necessary had he meant
the remark for his companion's ear only, " I shall want
good fighting men before long, I expect."

If he did, he might reckon on one. Herbert Erlton
was not good at formulating his feelings into definite
thoughts, but as he went back to the peaceful side of the
Ridge he told himself vaguely that he was glad Nicholson
had come. He was the sort of a man a fellow would be
glad to follow, especially when he was dead-sick and
weary of waiting and doing nothing save get killed!
Yes! he was a real good sort, and as even the Chaplain
had said at mess, they hadn't felt quite so besieged on the

370

FOR WARD.

37*

Ridge these last two days since he came. And, by
George! he had hit the right nail on the head. A man
wasn't much good without sleep.

So, with a certain pride in following the advice, Major
Erlton flung himself on his cot and promptly dozed off.
In truth he needed rest. Sonny Seymour's safe arrival
in camp two nights before, in charge of a Bunjarah,
from whom even Hodson had been unable to extract any-
thing— save that the Agha-sahib had forgotten a letter
in his hurry, and that the mem was safe, or had been
safe — had sent Major Erlton to watch those devilish
walls more feverishly than ever. Not that it really mat-
tered whether Kate was alive or dead, he told himself.
No! he did not mean that, quite. He would be awfully
glad — God! how glad! to know her safe. But it
wouldn't alter other things, would not even alter them
in regard to her. So, once more he waited for the fur-
ther news promised him, with a strange indifference,
save to the thought that, alive or dead, Kate was within
the walls — like another woman — like many women.

And now he was dreaming that he was inside them
also, sword in hand.

There seemed some chance of it indeed, men were say-
ing to each other, as they looked after John Nicholson's
tall figure as it wandered into every post and picket;
asking brief questions, pleased with brief replies. Every
now and again pausing, as it were, to come out of his
absorption and take a sudden, keen interest in something
beyond the great question. As when, passing the tents
of the only lady in camp, he saw Sonny, who had been
made over to her till hie could be sent back to his mother,
who had escaped to Meerut, during which brief time he
was the plaything of a parcel of subalterns who delighted
in him, tinsel cap, anklets, and all. Major Erlton had
at first rather monopolized the child, trying to find out
something definite from him; but as he insisted that
" Miffis Erlton lived up in the 'ky wif a man wif a gween
face, and a white face, and a lot of fwowers, and a bit of
tring," and spoke familiarly of Tiddu, and Tara, and
Soma, without being able to say who they were, the
Major had given it up as a bad job, and gone back to the

372 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

walls. So the subalterns had the child to themselves,
and were playing pranks with him as the General
passed by.

" Fine little fellow! " he said suddenly. " I like to see
children's legs and arms. Up in Bunnoo the babies were
just like that young monkey. Real corn-color. I got
quite smitten with them and sent for a lot of toys from
Lahore. Only I had to bar Lawrence from peg-tops,
for I knew I should have got peg-topping with the boys,
and that would have been fatal to my dignity as D. C.
That is the worst of high estates. You daren't make
friends, and you have to make enemies."

The smile which had made him look years younger
faded, and he was back in the great problem of his life:
how to keep pace with his yoke-fellows, how to scorn
consequences and steer straight to independent action,
without spoiling himself by setting his seniors and
superiors in arms against him. He had never solved it
yet. His career had been one long race with the curb
on. A year before he had thrown up the game in dis-
gust, and begged to be transferred 'from the Punjab
while he could go with honor, and even his triumphant
march Delhi-ward — in which he found disaffection, dis-
obedience, and doubt, and left fear, trembling, and
peace — had been marred by much rebuking. So that
once, nothing but the inner sense that pin-points ought
not to let out the heart's blood, kept him at his post; and
but two days before, on the very eve of that hundred-
and-twenty mile rush to Delhi, he had written claiming
definitely the right of an officer in his position to quarrel
with anybody's opinion, and asserting his duty of speak-
ing out, no matter at what risk of giving offense.

And now, a man years younger than those in nominal
command, — he was but six-and-thirty, — and holding
views diametrically opposed to theirs, he had been sent
here, virtually, to take Delhi because those others could
not. No wonder, then, that the question how to avoid
collision puzzled him. Not because he knew that his ap-
pointment was in itself an offense, that some people
affected to speak of him still as Mr. Nicholson — that
being his real rank; but because he knew in his heart

FORWARD. 373

of hearts that at any moment he might do something
appalling. Move troops under someone else's com-
mand, without a reference, as he had done before, dur-
ing his career! Then, naturally, there must be ructions.
He had a smile for the thought himself. Still, for the
present, concord was assured; since until his column
arrived, the repose of the lion crouching for a spring was
manifestly the only policy; though it might be necessary
to wag the tail a bit — to do more than merely forbid
sorties and buglings. The fools, for instance, who har-
rassed the Metcalfe House picket might be shown their
mistake and made to understand that, if the Ridge called
" time ! " for a little decent rest before the final round, it
meant to have it. So he passed on his errand to incul-
cate Headquarters with his decision, leaving Sonny play-
ing with the boys.

Meanwhile one of the garrison, at least, had found the
benefit of his keen judgment. Herbert Erlton had
passed from dreams of conflict to the' real rest of uncon-
scious sleep, oblivious of everything, even those rose-
red walls.

But within them another man, haggard and anxious as
he had been, was still allowing himself none in his search
for Kate Erlton. Tara, as much at a loss as he, helping
him; for though at first she had been relieved at the
idea of the mem's disappearance, she had soon realized
that the master ran more risk than ever in his reckless
determination to find some trace of the missing woman.
And Tiddu, who had returned, helped also. The mem,
he said, must have found friends; must be alive. Such
a piece of gossip as the discovery and death of an Eng-
lish woman could not have been kept from the Thunbi
Bazaar. Then those who had passed from the roof had
been calm enough to hasp the door behind them; that
did not look like violence. If the Huzoor would only be
patient and wait, something would turn up. There were
other kindly folk in the city besides himself! But, in
the meantime, he would do well to allow Soma to slip
into the sulky indifference he semed to prefer, and take
no notice of it. It only meant that he, and half the good
soldiers in Delhi, were mad with themselves for having

374 -ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

chosen the losing side. For with Nikalseyn on the
Ridge, what chance had Delhi?

This was rather an exaggerated picture; still it was
a fairly faithful presentment of the inward thoughts of
many, who, long before this, had begun to ask them-
selves what the devil they were doing in that galley?
Yet there they were, and there they must fight. Soma,
however, was doubtful even of that. His heart positively
ached as he listened to the tales told in the very heart of
Delhi of the man whom other men worshiped — the man
who took forts single-handed, and said that, given the
powers of a provost-marshal, he would control a dis-
obedient army in two days ! The man who yoked bribe-
taking tahseeldars into the village well-wheel to draw
water for the robbed ryots, and set women of loose vir-
tue, who came into his camp, to cool in muddy tanks.
The man who flung every law-book on his office table at
his clerks' heads, and then — with a kindly apologetic
smile — paused while they replaced them for future use.
The man who gave toys to children, and remorselessly
hung two abettors of a vile murder, when he could not
lay hands on the principal. The man, finally, who
flogged those who worshiped him into promising adora-
tion for the future to a very ordinary mortal of his
acquaintance! Briefly the hero, the demi-god, who
perhaps was neither, but, as Tiddu declared, had simply
the greatest gift of all — the gift of making men what he
wished them to be. Either way it was gall and worm-
wood to Soma — hero-worshiper by birth — that his side
should have no such colossal figure to follow. So, sulky
and sore, he held aloof from both sides, doing his
bounden duty to both, and no more. Keeping guards
when his fellows took bribes to fight, and agreeing with
Tiddu, that since some other besides themselves knew of
the roof, it was safer for the master to lock it up, and
live for a time elsewhere.

So, all unwittingly, the only chance of finding Kate
was lost. For what had happened was briefly this : Five
minutes after Jim Douglas had left her, Prince Abool-
Bukr, who had kept this renseignement — given him by a
Bunjarah, who had promised to be in waiting and was

FORWARD. 375

not — to the last, because it was close to the haven where
he would be, had come roystering up the stairs followed
by his unwilling retainers, suggesting that the Most
Illustrious had really better desist from violating seclu-
sion since they were all black and blue already. But,
from sheer devilry and desire to outrage the quarter,
which by its complaints had already brought him into
trouble, the Prince had begun battering at the door.
Kate, running to bar it more securely, saw that the hasp,
carelessly hitched over the staple, was slipping — had
slipped; and had barely time to dash into the inner roof
ere the Prince, unexpectant of the sudden giving way,
tumbled headlong into the outer one. The fall gave
her an instant more, but made him angry; and the end
would have been certain, if Kate, seeing the new-made
gap in the wall before her, had not availed herself of it.
There was a roof not far below she knew; trie debris
would be on a slope perhaps — the blue-eyed boy had
escaped by the roofs. All this flashed through her, as
by the aid of a stool, which she kicked over in her
scramble, she gained the top of the gap and peered over.
The next instant she had dropped herself down some
four feet, finding a precarious foothold on a sliding
slope of rubble, and still clinging to the wall with her
hands. If no one looked over, she thought breathlessly,
she was safe! And no one did. The general air of
decent privacy alarmed the retainers into remembering
that two of their number had found death their reward
for their master's last escapade in that quarter; so, after
one glance round, they swore the place was empty, and
dragged him off, feebly protesting that it was his last
chance, and he had not bagged a single Christian.

Kate heard the door closed, heard the voices retreat
downstairs, and then set herself to get back over the gap.
It did not seem a difficult task. The slope on which she
hung gave fair foothold, and by getting a good grip on
the brickwork, and perhaps displacing a brick or two in
the crack lower down, as a step, she ought to get up
easily. It was lucky the crack was there, she thought.
In one way, not in another, for, as in her effort she neces-
sarily threw all her weight on the wall, another bit of it

376

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

gave way, she fell backward, and so, half covered with
bricks and mud, rolled to the roof below, which was
luckily not more than eight or nine feet down. It was far
enough, however, for the fall to have killed her; but,
though she lay quite unconscious, she was not dead, only
stunned, shaken, confused, unable absolutely to think.
It was almost dawn, indeed, before she realized that her
only chance of getting up again was in calling for help,
and by that time the door of the roof above had been
locked, and there was no one to hear her. The few
square yards of roof on to which she had rolled belonged
to one of those box-like buildings, half-turrets, half-sum-
mer houses, which natives build here, there, and every-
where at all sorts of elevations, until the view of a town
from a topmost roof resembles nothing so much as the
piles of luggage awaiting the tidal train at Victoria.

This particular square of roof belonged to a tiny out-
house, which stood on a long narrow roof belonging in
its turn to an arcaded slip of summer-house standing on
a square, set round by high parapet walls. Quite a stair-
case of roofs. Her one had had a thatch set against
the wall, but it had fallen in with the weight of bricks and
mortar. Still she might be able to creep between it and
the wall for shelter. And on the slip of roof below,
Indian corn was drying, during this break in the rains.
Rains which had rilled a row of water-pots quite full.
Since she could not make those above her hear, she
thought it might be as well to secure herself from abso-
lute starvation, before broad daylight brought life to the
wilderness of roofs around her. So she scrambled down
a rough ladder of bamboo tied with string, and, after a
brief look into the square below, came back with some
parched grain she had found in a basket, and a pot of
water. She would not starve for that day. By this time
it was dawn, and she crept into her shelter, listening
all the while for a sound from above; every now and
again venturing on a call. But there was no answer,
and by degrees it came to her that she must rely on her-
self only for safety. She was not likely to be disturbed
that day where she was, unless people came to repair
the thatch. And under cover of night she might surely

FORWARD. 377

creep from roof to roof down to some alley. What alley?
True, her goal now lay behind her, but these roofs, set
at every angle, might lead her far from it. And how
was she to know her own stair, her own house, from the
outside? She had passed into it in darkness and never
left it again. Then what sort of people lived in these
houses through which she must creep like a thief? Mur-
derers, perhaps. Still it was her only chance; and all
that burning, blistering day, as she crouched between the
thatch and the wall, she was bolstering up her courage
for the effort. She could see the Ridge clearly from her
hiding place. Ah! if she had only the wings of the
doves — those purple pigeons which, circling from the
great dome of the mosque, came to feast unchecked on
the Indian corn. The people below, then, must be pious
folk.

It was past midnight and the silence of skep had
settled over the city before she nerved herself to the
chance and crept down among the corn. No difficulty
in that ; but to her surprise, a cresset was still burning in
the arcaded veranda below, sending three bars of light
across the square through which she must pass. It would
be better to wait a while ; but an hour slipped by and still
the light gleamed into the silence. Perhaps it had been
forgotten. The possibility made her creep down the
brick ladder, prepared to creep up again if the silence
proved deceptive. But what she saw made her pause,
hesitating. It was a woman reading from a large book
held in a book-rest. The Koran, of course. Kate
recognized it at once, for just such another had been
part of the necessary furniture of her roof. And what
a beautiful face! Tender, refined, charming. Not the
face of a murderess, surely? Surely it might be trusted?
Those three months behind the veil had made Kate
realize the emotionality of the East; its instinctive sym-
pathy with the dramatic element in life., She remem-
bered her sudden impulse in regard to the knife and its
effect on Tiddu; she felt a similar impulse toward confi-
dence here. And then she knew that the doors might be
locked below, and that her best chance might be to throw
herself on the mercy of this woman.

378

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

The next moment she was standing full in the light
close to the student, who started to her feet with a faint
cry, gazing almost incredulously at the figure so like her
own, save for the jewels gleaming among the white
draperies.

" Bibi," she faltered.

" I am no bibi," interrupted Kate hurriedly in Hin-
dustani. " I am a Christian — but a woman like your-
self— a mother. For the sake of yours — or the sake of
your sons, if you are a mother too — for the sake of what
you love best — save me."

" A Christian ! a mem ! " In the pause of sheer aston-
ishment the two women stood facing each other, looking
into each other's eyes. Prince Abool-Bukr had been
right when he said that Kate Erlton reminded him of
the Princess Farkhoonda da Zamani. Standing so,
they showed strangely alike indeed, not in feature, but
in type; in the soul which looked out of the soft dark,
and the clear gray eyes.

" Save you ! " The faint echo was lost in a new sound,
close at hand. A careless voice humming a song; a
step coming up the dark stair.

" O mistress rare, divine ! "

God and His Prophet! Abool himself! Newasi
flung her hands up in sheer horror. Abool! and this
Christian here! The next instant with a fierce " Keep
still," she had thrust Kate into the deepest shadow and
was out to bar the brick ladder with her tall white grace.
She had no time for thought. One sentence beat on her
brain — " for the sake of what you love best, save me ! "
Yea! for his sake this strange woman must not be seen —
he must not, should not guess she was there!

" Stand back, kind one, and let me pass," came the
gay voice carelessly. It made Kate shudder back into
further shadow, for she knew now where she was; and
but that she would have to pass those bars of light would
have essayed escape to the roofs again.

But Newasi stood still as stone on the first step of the
stairs.

"Pass!" she repeated clearly, coldly. "Art mad,

FORWARD. 379

Abool? that thou comest hither with no excuse of
drunkenness and alone, at this hour of the night. For
shame! "

Why, indeed, she asked herself wildly, had he come?
He was not used to do so. Could he have heard? Had
he come on purpose? There was a sound as if he re-
treated a step, and from the dark his voice came with a
wonder in it.

"What ails thee, Newasi?"

" What ails me! " she echoed, " what I have lacked too
long. Just anger at thy thoughtless ways. Go '

" But I have that to tell thee of serious import that
none but thou must hear. That which will please thee.
That which needs thy kind wise eyes upon it."

" Then let them see it by daylight, not now. I will
not, Abool. Stand back, or I will call for help."

The sound of retreat was louder this time, and a mut-
tered curse came with it; but the voice had a trace of
anxiety in it now — anxiety and anger.

"Thou dost not mean it, kind one; thou canst not!
When have I done that which would make thee need
help? Newasi! be not a fool. Remember it is I, Abool;
Abool-Bukr, who has a devil in him at times! "

Did she not know it by this time? Was not that the
reason why he must not find this Christian? Why she
must refuse him hearing? Though it was true that he
had a right to be trusted; in all those long years, when
had he failed to treat her tenderly, respectfully? As
she stood barring his way, where he had never before
been denied entrance, she felt as if she herself could have
killed that strange woman for being there, for coming
between them.

"Listen, Abool!" she said, stretching out her hands
to find his in the dark. " I mean naught, dear, that is
unkind. How could it be so between me and thee?
But 'tis not wise." She paused, catching her breath in
a faint sob. He could not see her face, perhaps if he
had, he would have been less relentless.

" Wherefore? Canst not trust thy nephew, fair aunt? "

The sarcasm bit deep.

380

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Nephew! A truce, Abool, to this foolish tale," she
began hotly, when he interrupted her.

" Of a surety, if the Princess Farkhoonda desires it !
Yet would Mirza Abool-Bukr still like to know where-
fore he is not received? "

His tone sent a thrill of terror through her, his use of
the name he hated warned her that his temper was ris-
ing— the devil awakening.

" Canst not see, dear," she pleaded, trying to keep
the hands he would have drawn from hers — " folk have
evil minds."

He gave an ugly laugh. " Since when hast thou be-
gun to think of thy good name, like other women, Ne-
wasi? But if it be so, if all my virtue — and God knows
'tis ill-got — is to go for naught, let it end."

She heard him, felt him turn, and a wild despair surged
up in her. Which was worst? To let him go in anger
beyond the reach of her controlling hand mayhap — go
to unknown evils — or chance this one? Since — since at
the worst death might be concealed. God and His
Prophet! What a thought! No! she would plead
again — she would stoop — she would keep him at any
price.

" Listen! " she whispered passionately, leaning toward
him in the dark, " dost ask since when I have feared for
my good name? Canst not guess? — Abool! what — what
does a woman, as I am, fear — save herself — save her own
love "

There was an instant's silence, and then his reckless
jeering laugh jarred loud.

" So it has come at last! and there is another woman
for kisses. That is an end indeed! Did I not tell thee
we should quarrel over it some day? Well, be it so,
Princess! I will take my virtue elsewhere."

She stood as if turned to stone, listening to his retreat-
ing steps, listening to his nonchalant humming of the
old refrain as he passed through the courtyard into the
alley. Then, without a word, but quivering with pas-
sion, she turned to where Kate cowered, and dragged
her by main force to the stairs where, a minute before^
she had sacrificed everything for her. No! tlQt for her,
for him!

FORWARD. 381

" Go," she said bitterly. " Go! and my curse go with
you."

Kate fled before the anger she saw but did not under-
stand. Yet as she flew down the steep stairs she paused
involuntarily to listen to the sound — a sound which
needed no interpreter as the liquid Persian had done —
of a woman sobbing as if her heart would break.

She had no time, however, even for wonder, and the
next instant she was out in the alley, turning to the right.
For the knowledge that it was the Princess Farkhoonda
who had helped her, gave the clew to her position. But
the house, the stair? How could she know it? She
must try them one after another; since she would know
the landing, the door she had so often opened and shut.
Still it was perilously near dawn ere she found what she
was sure was the right one; but it was padlocked.

They must have gone; gone and left her alone!

For the first time, ghastly, unreasoning fear seized on
her; she could have beaten at the door and screamed
her claim to be let in. And even when, the rush of ter-
ror passed, she sat stupidly on the step, not even wonder-
ing what to do next, till suddenly she remembered that
she had keys in her pocket. That of the inner padlock,
certainly; perhaps of the outer one, also, since Tara had
given up using her duplicate altogether.

She had; and five minutes after, having satisfied her-
self that the roof remained as it was — that it was merely
empty for a time — she tried to feel grateful. But the
loneliness, the dimness, were too much for her fatigue,
her excitement. So once more the sound which needs
no interpreter rose on the warm soft night.

It was two days after this that Tiddu held a secret
consultation with Soma and Tara. The Agha-sahib, he
said, was getting desperate. He was losing his head,
as the Huzoors did over women-folk, and he must be
got out of the city. It was not as if he did any good by
staying in it. The mem was either dead, or safely con-
cealed. There was no alternative, unless, indeed, she
had already been passed out to the Ridge. There was
talk of that sort among Hodson's spies, and he was going
to utilize the fact and persuade the Huzoor to creep out

382 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

to the camp and see. Soma could pass him out, and
would not pass him in again; which was fortunate.
Since folk in addition to protecting masters had to make
money, when every other corn-carrier in the place was
coining it by smuggling gold and silver out of the city
for the rich merchants. Tara, with a sudden fierce exul-
tation in her somber eyes, agreed. Let the Huzoor go
back to his own life, she said; let him go to safety, and
leave her free. As for the mem, the master had done
enough for her. And Soma, sulky and lowering with
the dull glow of opium in his brain — for the drug was
his only solace now — swore that Tiddu was right. Delhi
was no place for the master. And once out of it, the
fighting would keep him: he knew him of old. As for
the mern, he would not harm her, as Tara had once sug-
gested he should. That dream was over. The Huzoors
were the true masters; they had men who could lead
men. Not Princes in Cashmere shawls who couldn't
understand a word of what you said, and mere soubadars
cocked up, but real Colonels and Generals.

The result of this being that on the night of the nth,
between midnight and dawn, Jim Douglas, with that ela-
tion which came to him always at the prospect of action,
prepared to slip out of the sally-port by the Magazine,
disguised as a sepoy. This was to please Soma. To
please Tiddu, however, he wore underneath this disguise
the old staff uniform from the theatrical properties. It
reminded him of Alice Gissing, making him whisper
another " bravo " to the memory of the woman whom
he had buried under the orange-trees in the crimson-
netted shroud made of an officer's scarf.

But Tiddu's remark, that an English uniform would be
the safest, once he was beyond the city, sent sadness fly-
ing, in its frank admission that the tide had turned.

Turned, indeed! The certainty came with a great
throb of fierce joy as, half an hour afterward, slipping
past the gardens of Ludlow Castle, he found himself in
the thick of English bayonets, and felt grateful for the
foresight of the old staff uniform. They were on their
way to surprise and take the picket; not to defend but
to attack.

FOR WARD. 383

The opportunity was too good to be lost. There was
no hurry. He had arranged to remain three days on the
Ridge — he might not have another opportunity of a free
fair fight.

He had forgotten every woman in the world, every-
thing save the welcome silence before him as he turned
and stole through the trees also, sword in hand.

By all that was lucky and well-planned! the picket
must be asleep! Not a sound save the faint crackle of
stealthy feet almost lost in the insistent quiver of the
cicalas. No! there was a challenge at last within a foot
or two.

" Who— kum— dar? "

And swift as an echo a young voice beside him came
jibingly:

" It's me, Pandy! Take that."

It's me! Just so; me with a vengeance. ^ For the
right attack and the left were both well up. There was
a short, sharp volley; then the welcome familiar order.
A cheer, a clatter, a rush and clashing with the bayonets.
It seemed but half a minute before Jim Douglas found
himself among the guns slashing at a dazed artilleryman
who had a port-fire in his hand. So the artillery on
either side never had a chance, and Major Erlton, riding
up with the 9th Lancers as the central attack, found
that bit of the fighting over. The picket was taken,
the mutineers had fled cityward leaving four guns be-
hind them. And against one of these, as the Major rode
close to gloat over it, leaned a man whom he recognized
at once.

"My God! Douglas," he said, "where — where's
Kate? — where's my wife? "

It was rather an abrupt transition of thought, and Jim
Douglas, who was feeling rather queer from something,
he scarcely knew what, looked up at the speaker doubt-
fully.

" Oh, it is you, Major Erlton," he said slowly. " I
thought — I mean I hoped she was here — if she isn't —
why, I suppose I'd better go back."

He took his arm off the gun and half-stumbled for-
ward, when Major Erlton flung himself from his horse
and laid hold of him.

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" You're hit, man — the blood's pouring from your
sleeve. Here, off with your coat, sharp! "

" I can't think why it bleeds so?" said Jim Douglas
feebly, looking down at a clean cut at the inside of the
elbow from which the blood was literally spouting. " It
is nothing — nothing at all."

The Major gave a short laugh. " Take the go out of
you a bit, though. I'll get a tourniquet on sharp, and
send you up in a dhooli."

" What an unlucky devil I am ! " muttered Jim Doug-
las to himself, and the Major did not deny it: he was in
a hurry to be off again with the party told to clear the
Koodsia Gardens. Which they did successfully before
sunrise, when the expedition returned to camp cheering
like demons and dragging in the captured guns, on which
some of the wounded men sat triumphantly. It was
their first real success since Budli-ke-serai, two months
before; and they were in wild spirits.

Even the Doctor, fresh from shaking his head over
many a form lifted helplessly from the dhoolis, was jubi-
lant as he sorted Jim Douglas' arm.

" Keep you here ten days or so I should say. There's
always a chance of its breaking out again till the wound
is quite healed. Never mind! You can go into Delhi
with the rest of us, before then."

" Yoicks forward!" cried a wounded lad in' the cot
close by. The Doctor turned sharply.

" If you don't keep quiet, Jones, I'll send you back
to Meerut. And you too, Maloney. I've told you to
lie still a dozen times."

" Sure, Docther dear, ye couldn't be so cruel," said a
big Irishman sitting at the foot of his bed so as to get
nearer to a new arrival who was telling the tale of the
fight. " And me able-bodied and spoiling to be at me
wurrk this three days."

" It's a curious fact," remarked the Doctor to Jim
Douglas as he finished bandaging him, " the hospital has
been twice as insubordinate since Nicholson came in.
The men seem to think we are to assault Delhi to-
morrow. But we can't till the siege train comes, of
course. So you may be in at the death! "

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 385

Jim Douglas felt glad and sorry in a breath.

Finally he told himself he could let decision stand over
for a day or two. He must see Hodson first, and find
out if the letter he had had from his spies about an Eng-
lishwoman, concealed in Delhi, referred to Kate Erlton.

CHAPTER II.

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS.

THE letter, however, did not refer to Kate; thougn,
curiously enough, the Englishwoman it concerned had
been, and still was concealed in an Afghan's house.
Kate, then, had not been the only Englishwoman in
Delhi. There was a certain consolation in the' thought,
since what was being done for one person by kindly
natives might very well be done for another. Besides,
removed as he was now from the fret and strain of actual
search, Jim Douglas admitted frankly to Major Hodson
that he was right in saying that Mrs. Erlton must either
have come to an end of her troubles altogether, or have
found friends better able, perhaps, than he to protect her.

Regarding the first possibility also Major Hodson was
skeptical. He had hundreds of spies in the city. Such
a piece of good luck as the discovery of a Christian must
have been noised abroad. They had not mentioned it;
he did not, therefore, believe it had occurred. He
would, however, inquire, and till the answer came ir
would be foolish to go back to the city. Jim Douglas
admitted this also; but as the days passed, the desire to
return increased; especially when Major Erlton came
to see him, which he did with dutiful regularity. Jim
Douglas could not help admiring him when he stood,
stiff and square, thanking him as Englishmen thank
their fellows for what they know to be beyond thanks.

" I am sure no one could have done more, and I know
I couldn't have done a quarter so much; and I'm grate-
ful," he said awkwardly. Then with the best intentions,
born from a real pity for the haggard man who sat on

386 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the edge of his cot looking as men do after a struggle of
weeks with malarial fever, he added, " And the luck has
been a bit against you all the time, hasn't it? "

" As yet, perhaps," replied Jim Douglas, feeling in-
clined then and there to start cityward, " but the game
isn't over. When I go back —

" Hodson says you could do no good," continued the
big man, still with the best intentions.

" I don't agree with him," retorted the other sharply.

" Perhaps not — but — but I wouldn't, if I were you.
Or — rather — / should of course — only — you see it is
different for me. She — Major Erlton paused, find-

ing it difficult to explain himself. The memory of that
last letter he had written to Kate was always with him,
making him feel she was not, in a way, his wife. He had
never regretted it. He had scarcely thought what would
happen if she came back from the dead, as it were, to
answer it; for he hated thought. Even now the com-
plexity of his emotions irritated him, and he broke
through them almost brutally. " She was my wife, you
see. But you had nothing to do with it; so you had
better leave it alone. You've done enough already.
And as I said before, I'm grateful."

So he had stalked away, leaving his hearer frowning.
It was true. The luck had been against him. But what
right had it to be so? Above all, what right had that big
brutal fellow to say so? There he was going off to win
more distinction, no doubt. He would end by getting
the Victoria Cross, and confound him! from what people
said of him, he would well deserve it.

While he? Even • these two days had brought his
failure home to him. And yet he told himself, that if he
had failed to save one Englishwoman, others had failed
to save hundreds. Fresh as he was to the facts, they
seemed toihim almost incredible. As he wandered round
the Ridge inspecting that rear-guard of graves, or sat
talking to some of the thousand-and-odd sick and
wounded in hospital, listening to endless tales of courage,
pluck, sheer dogged resistance, he realized at what a ter-
rible cost that armed force, varying from three to six
thousand men, had simply clung to the rocks and looked

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS, 3^7

at the city. There seemed enough heroism in it to have
removed mountains; and coming upon him, not in the
monotonous sequence of day-to-day experience, but in
a single impression, the futility of it left him appalled.
So did the news of the world beyond Delhi, heard,
reliably, for the first time. Briefly, England was every-
where on her defense. It seemed to him as if from that
mad dream of conquest within the city he had passed to
as strange a dream of defeat. And why? The fire, un-
checked at first, had blazed up with fresh fuel in place
after place and left? — Nothing. Not a single attempt to
wrest the government of the country from us; not even
an organized resistance, when once the order to advance
had been given. Had there been some mysterious influ-
ence abroad making men blind to the truth?

It was about to pass away if there had been, he felt,
when on the I4th, he watched John Nicholson" re-enter
the Ridge at the head of his column. And many others
felt the same, without in any way disparaging those who
for long months of defense had borne the burden and
heat of the day. They simply saw that Fate had sent a
new factor into the problem, that the old order was
changing. The defense was to be attack.

And why not, with that reinforcement of fine fighting
men? Played in by the band of the 8th, amid cheering
and counter-cheering, which almost drowned the music,
it seemed fit — as the joke ran — if not to face hell itself, at
any rate to take Pandymonium. The 52d Regiment
looked like the mastiff to which its leader had likened it.
The 2d Sikhs were admittedly the biggest fellows ever
seen. The wild Mooltanee Horse sat their lean Be-
loochees with the loose security of seat which tells of men
born to the saddle.

Jim Douglas noted these things like his fellows; but
what sent that thrill of confidence through him was the
look on many a face, as at some pause or turn it caught
a glimpse of the General's figure. It was that heroic
figure itself, seen for the first time, riding ahead of all
with no unconsciousness of the attention it attracted!
but with a self-reliant acceptance of the fact — as far from
modesty as it was from vanity — that here rode John

388 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Nicholson ready to do what John Nicholson could do.
But in the pale face, made paler by the darkness of the
beard, there was more than this. There was an almost
languid patience as if the owner knew that the men
around him said of him, " If ever there is a desperate
deed to do in India, John Nicholson is the man to do it,"
and was biding his time to fulfill their hopes.

The look haunted Jim Douglas all day, stimulating
him strangely. Here was a man, he felt, who was in the
grip of Fate, but who gave back the grip so firmly that
his Fate could not escape him. Gave it back frankly,
freely, as one man might grip another's hand in friend-
ship. And then he smiled, thinking that John Nichol-
son's hand-clasp would go a long way in giving anyone
a help over a hard stile. If he had had a lead-over like
that after the smash came; if even now — Idle
thoughts, he told himself; and all because the pictur-
esqueness of a man's outward appearance had taken his
fancy, his imagination. For all he knew, or was ever
likely to know

He had been sitting idly on the edge of his cot in the
tiny tent Major Erlton had lent him, having in truth
nothing better to do, and now a voice from the blaze and
blare of the heat and light outside startled him.

" May I come in — John Nicholson? "

He almost stammered in his surprise ; but without wait-
ing for more than a word the General walked in, alone.
He was still in full uniform ; and surely no man could be-
come it more, thought Jim Douglas involuntarily.

" I have heard your story, Mr. Douglas," he began in
a sonorous but very pleasant voice. " It is a curious one.
And I was curious to see you. You must know so
much." He paused, fixed his eyes in a perfectly unem-
barassed stare on his host's face, then said suddenly, with
a sort of old-fashioned courtesy : " Sit you down again,
please; there isn't a chair, I see; but the cot will stand
two of us. If it doesn't it will be clearly my fault." He
smiled kindly. " Wounded too — I didn't know that."

" A scratch, sir," put in his hearer hastily, fighting shy
even of that commiseration. " I had a little fever in the
city; that is all."

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 389

The bright hazel eyes, with a hint of sunlight in them,
took rather an absent look. " I should like to have done
it myself. I've tried that sort of thing; but they always
find me out."

" I fancy you must be rather difficult to disguise," be-
gan Jim Douglas with a smile, when John Nicholson
plunged straight into the heart of things.

" You must know a lot I want to know. Of course
I've seen Hodson and his letters; but this is different.
First: Will the city fight?"

" As well as it knows how, and it knows better than
it did."

" So I fancied. Hodson said not. By the way, he
told me that you declared his Intelligence Department
was simply perfect. And his accounts — I mean his in-
formation— wonderfully accurate."

" I did, indeed, sir," replied Jim Douglas, smiling
again.

Nicholson gave him a sharp look. " And he is a won-
derfully fine soldier too, sir; one of the finest we have.
Wilson is sending him out this afternoon to punish those
Ranghars at Rohtuck. I don't know why I should pre-
sent you with this information, Mr. Douglas?"

" Don't you, sir? " was the cool reply; " I think I do.
Major Hodson may have his faults, sir, but the Ridge
couldn't do without him. And I'm glad to hear he is
going out. It is time we punished those chaps; time we
got some grip on the country again."

The General's face cleared. " Hm," he said, " you
don't mince matters; but I don't think we lost much grip
in the Punjab. And as for punishments! Do you know
over two thousand have been executed already? "

" I don't, sir; though I knew Sir John's hand was out.
But if you'll excuse me, we don't want the hangings now
—they can come by-and-by. We want to lick them —
show them we are not really in a blind funk."

'* You use strong language too, sir — -very strong
language."

" I did not say we were in one " began Jim Doug-
las eagerly, when a voice asking if General Nicholson
were within interrupted him.

39° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" He is," replied the sonorous voice calmly. " Come
in, Hodson, and I hope you are prepared to fight." The
bright hazel eyes met Jim Douglas' with a distinct twin-
kle in them; but Major Hodson entering — a perfect
blaze of scarlet and fawn and gold, loose, lank, lavish —
gave the speech a different turn.

" I hope you'll excuse the intrusion, sir," he said
saluting, as it were, loudly, " but being certain I owed
this piece of luck to your kind offices, I ventured to fol-
low you. And as for the fighting, sir, trust Hodson's
Horse to give a good account of itself."

" I do, Major, I do," replied Nicholson gravely,
despite the twinkle, " but at present I want you to fight
Mr. Douglas for me. He suggests we are all in a blind
funk."

With anyone else Jim Douglas might have refused
this cool demand, for it was little else, that he should de-
fend his statement against a man who in himself
was a refutation of it, who was a type of the most reck-
less, dare-devil courage and dash; but the thought
of that umpire, ready to give an overwhelming thrust at
any time, roused his temper and pugnacity.

" I'm not conscious of being in one myself," said the
Major, turning with a swing and a brief " How do, Doug-
las." He was the most martial of figures in the last-de-
veloped uniform of the Flamingoes, or the Hing-tailed
Roarers, or the Aloo Bokhara's, as Hodson's levies were
called indiscriminately during their lengthy process of
dress evolution. " And what is more, I don't under-
stand what you mean, sir! "

" General Nicholson does, I think," replied the other.
" But I will go further than I did, sir," he added, facing
the General boldly : " I only said that the natives thought
we were in a blind funk. I now assert that they had a
right to say so. We never stirred hand or foot for a
whole month."

"Oh! I give you in Meerut," interrupted Hodson
hastily. " It was pitiable. Our leaders lost their heads."

" Not only our leaders. We all lost them. From
that moment to this it seems to me we have never been
calm,"

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 39 T

"Calm!" echoed Hodson disdainfully. "Who wants
to be calm? Who would be calm with those massacred
women and children to avenge."

" Exactly so. The horrors of those ghastly murders
got on our nerves, and no wonder. We exaggerated the
position from the first; we exaggerate the dangers of it
now."

" Of taking Delhi, you mean? " interrupted Nicholson
dryly.

Jim Douglas smiled. " No, sir! Even you will find
that difficult. I meant the ultimate danger to our
rule "

" There you mistake utterly," put in Hodson magnifi-
cently. " We mean to win — we admit no danger. There
isn't an Englishman, or, thank Heaven, an English-
woman "

" Is the crisis so desperate that we need levy the
ladies?" asked his adversary sarcastically. "Personally
I want to leave them out of the question as much as I
can. It is their intrusion into it which has done the mis-
chief. I don't want to minimize these horrors; but if
we could forget those massacres "

" Forget them ! I hope to God every Englishman
will remember them when the time comes to avenge
them! Ay! and make the murderers remember them,
too."

" If I had them in my power to-day," put in the
sonorous voice, " and knew I was to die to-morrow, I
would inflict the most excruciating tortures I could think
of on them with an easy conscience."

" Bravo! sir," cried Hodson, " and I'd do executioner
gladly."

John Nicholson's face flinched slightly. " There is
generally a common hangman, I believe," he said; then
turned on Jim Douglas with bent brows: "And you, sir? "

" I would kill them, sir; as I would kill a mad dog in
the quickest way handy; as I'd kill every man found with
arms in his hands. Treason is a worse crime than mur-
der to us now ; and by God ! if I tortured anyone it would
be the men who betrayed the garrison at Cawnpore. Yet
even there, in our only real collapse, what has happened?

392 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

It is reoccupied already — the road to it is hung with
dead bodies. Havelock's march is one long procession
of success. Yet we count ourselves beleaguered. Why?
I can't understand it! Where has an order to charge,
to advance boldly, met with a reverse? It seems to me
that but for these massacres, this fear for women and
children, we could hold our own gayly. Look at
Lucknow "

" Yes, Lucknow," assented Hodson savagely. " Sir
Henry, the bravest, gentlest, dead! Women and chil-
dren pent up — by Heaven! it's sickening to think what
may have happened."

John Nicholson shot a quick glance at Jim Douglas.

" It proves my contention," said the latter. " Think
of it! Fifteen hundred, English and natives, in a weak
position with not even a palisade in some places between
them and five times their number of trained soldiers
backed by the wildest, wickedest, wantonest town rabble
in India! What does it mean? Make every one of the
fifteen hundred a paladin, and, by Heaven! they are
heroes. Still, what does it mean?"

He spoke to the General, but he was silent.

"Mean?" echoed Hodson. ''Palpably that the foe
is contemptible. So he is. Pandy can't fight —

" He fought well enough for us in the past. I know

my regiment " Jim Douglas caught himself up hard.

" I believe they will fight for us again. The truth is
that half, even of the army, does not want to fight, and
the country does not mean fight at all."

" Delhi? " came the dry voice again.

" Delhi is exceptional. Besides, it can do nothing else
now. Remember we condemned it, unheard, on the 8th
of June.';

" I told you that before, sir; didn't I? " put in Hodson
quickly. "If we had gone in on the nth, as I sug-
gested."

" You wouldn't have succeeded," replied Jim Douglas
coolly. Nicholson rose with a smile.

" Well, we are going to succeed now. So, good-luck
in the meantime, Hodson. Put bit and bridle on the
Ranghars. Show them we can't have 'em disturbing the

• BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 393

public peace, and kicking up futile rows. Eh — Mr.
Douglas?"

" No fear, sir! " said Hodson effusively. " The Ring-
tailed Roarers are not in a blind funk. I only wish that
I was as sure that the politicals will keep order when
we've made it. I had to do it twice over at Bhagput.
And it is hard, sir, when one has fagged horses and men
to death, to be told one has exceeded orders "

" If you served under me, Major Hodson," said the
General with a sudden freeze of formality, " that would
be impossible. My instructions are always to do every-
thing that can be done."

Jim Douglas felt that he could well believe it, as with a
regret that the interview was over, he held the flap of the
tent aside for the imperial figure to pass out. But it
lingered in the blaze of sunshine after Major Hodson
had jingled off.

" You are right in some things, Mr. Douglas," said the
sonorous voice suddenly: " I'd ask no finer soldiers than
some of those against us. By and by, unless I'm wrong,
men of their stock will be our best war weapons; for,
mind you, war is a primitive art and needs a primitive
people. And the country isn't against us. If it were,
we shouldn't be standing here. It is too busy plowing,
Mr. Douglas; this rain is points in our favor. As for
the women and children — poor souls " — his voice soft-
ened infinitely — " they have been in our way terribly; but
—we shall fight all the better for that, by and by. Mean-
while we have got to smash Delhi. The odds are bigger
than they were first. But Baird Smith will sap us in
somehow, and then — He paused, looking kindly at

Jim Douglas, and said, " You had better stop and go in
with — with the rest of us."

" I think not, sir "

" Why? Because of that poor lady? Woman again
—eh?"

" In a way; besides, I really have nothing else to do."

John Nicholson looked at him for a moment from head
to foot; then said sharply:

" I didn't know, sir, I give my personal staff plenty
of work,"

394 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

For an instant the offer took his hearer's breath away,
and he stood silent.

" I'm afraid not, sir," he said at last, though from the
first he had known what his answer would be. " I — I
can't, that's the fact. I was cashiered from the army
fifteen years ago."

General Nicholson stepped back, with sheer anger in
his face. " Then what do you mean, sir, by wearing Her
Majesty's uniform?"

Jim Douglas looked down hastily on old Tiddu's staff
properties, which he had quite forgotten. They had
passed muster in the darkness of the tent, but here, in the
sunlight, looked inconceivably worn, and shabby, and un-
real. He smiled rather bitterly; then held out his sleeve
to show the braiding.

" It's a general's coat, sir," he said defiantly. " God
knows what old duffer it belonged to; but I might have
worn it first- instead of second-hand, if I hadn't been a
d d young fool."

The splendid figure drew itself together formally, but
the other's pride was up too, and so for a minute the two
men faced each other honestly, Nicholson's eyes narrow-
ing under their bent brows.

" What was it? A woman, I expect."

" Perhaps. I don't see that it matters."

A faint smile of approval rather took from the stern-
ness of the military salute. " Not at all. That ends it,
of course."

" Of course."

Not quite; for ere Jim Douglas could drop the cur-
tain between himself and that brilliant, successful figure,
it had turned sharply and laid a hand on his shoulder.
A curiously characteristic hand — large, thin, smooth, and
white as a woman's, with a grip in it beyond most men's.

" You have a vile habit of telling the truth to superior
officers, Mr. Douglas. So have I. Shake hands on it."

With that hand on his shoulder, that clasp on his, Jim
Douglas felt as if he were in the grip of Fate/ itself, and
following John Nicholson's example, gave it t>ack frankly,
freely. So, suddenly the whole face before him melted
into perfect friendliness. " Stick to it, man — stick to it!

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 395

Save that poor lady — or — or kill somebody. It's what
we are all doing. As for the rest " — the smile was almost
boyish — " I may get the sack myself before the general's
coat. I'm insubordinate enough, they tell me — but I
shall have taken Delhi first. So — so good-luck to you ! "

As he walked away, he seemed to the eyes watching
him bigger, more king-like, more heroic than ever; per-
haps because they were dim with tears. But as Jim
Douglas went off with a new cherfulness to see Hodson's
Horse jingle out on their lesson of peace, he told himself
that the old scoundrel, Tiddu, had once more been right.
Nikalseyn had the Great Gift. He could take a man's
heart out and look at it, and put it back sounder than it
had been for years. He could put his own heart into a
whole camp and make it believe it was its own.

Such a clattering of hoofs and clinking of bits and
bridles had been heard often before, but never with such
gay light-heartedness. Only two days before a lesson
had been given to the city. There had been no more har-
rassing of pickets at night. Now the arm of the law was
going coolly to reach out forty miles. It was a change
indeed. And more than Jim Douglas watched the sun
set red on the city wall that evening with a certain cont' nt
in their hearts. As for him, he seemed still to feel that
grip, and hear the voice saying, " Stick to it, man, stick
to it! Save that poor lady or kill somebody. It's what
we are all doing."

He sat dreaming over the whole strange dream with
a curious sense of comradeship and sympathy through it
all, until the glow faded and left the city dark and stern
beneath the storm-clouds which had been gathering all
day.

Then he rose and went back to his tent cheerfully. He
would run no needless risks; he would not lose his head;
but as soon as the doctors said it was safe, he would find
and save Kate, or — kill somebody. That was the whole
duty of man.

Kate, however, had already been found, or rather she
had never been lost; and when Tara, a few hours after
Jim Douglas slipped out of the city, had gone to the roof
to fetch away her spinning wheel, and finding the door

396 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

padlocked on the inside, had in sheer bewilderment tried
the effect of a signal knock, Kate had let her in as if, so
poor Tara told herself, it was all to begin over again.

All over again, e/en though she had spent those few
hours of freedom in a perfect passion of purification, so
that she might return to her saintship once more.

The gold circlets were gone already, her head was
shaven, the coarse white shroud had replaced the crim-
son scarf. Yet here was the mem asking for the Huzoor,
and setting her blood on fire with vague jealousies.

She squatted down almost helplessly on the floor,
answering all Kate's eager questions, until suddenly in
the midst of it all she started to her feet, and flung up her
arms in the old wild cry for righteousness, " I am suttee!
before God! I am suttee! "

Then she had said with a gloomy calm, " I will bring
the mem more food and drink. But I must think. Tiddu
is away; Soma will not help. I am alone; but I am
suttee."

Kate, frightened at her wild eyes, felt relieved when
she was left alone, and inclined not to open the door to
her again. She could manage, she told herself, as she
had managed, for a few days, and by that time Mr. Grey-
man would have come back. But as the long hours
dragged by, giving her endless opportunity of thought,
she began to ask herself why he should come back at all.
She had not realized at first that he had escaped, that he
was safe; that he was, as it were, quit of her. But he
was, and he must remain so. A new decision, almost a
content, came to her with the suggestion. She was busy
in a moment over details. To begin with, no news must
be sent. Then, in case he were to return, she must leave
the roof. Tara might do so much for her, especially if
it was made clear that it was for the master's benefit.
But Tara might never return. There had been that in
her manner which hinted at such a possibility, and the
stores she had brought in had been unduly lavish. In
that case, Kate told herself, she would creep out some
night, go back to the Princess Farkhoonda, and see if
she could not help. If not, there was always the alterna-

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 397

tive of ending everything by going into the streets boldly
and declaring herself a Christian. But she would appeal
to these two women first.

And as she sat resolving this, the two women were
cursing her in their inmost hearts. For there had been
no bangings of drums or thrumming of sutdras on Ne-
wasi's roof these three days. Abool-Bukr had broken
away from her kind, detaining hand, and gone back
to the intrigues of the Palace. So the Mufti's quarter
benefited in decent quiet, during which the poor Prin-
cess began that process of weeping her eyes out, which
left her blind at last. But not blind yet. And so she sat
swaying gracefully before the book-rest, on which lay the
Word of her God, her voice quavering sometimes over
the monotonous chant, as* she tried to distill comfort to
her own heart from the proposition that " He is Might
and Right."

And far away in another quarter of the town Tara,
crouched up before a mere block of stone, half hidden
in flowers, was telling her beads feverishly. " Ram-
Ram- Sit a-Ram! " That was the form she used for a
whole tragedy of appeal and aspiration, remorse, despair,
and hope. And as she muttered on, looking dully at the
little row of platters she had presented to the shrine that
morning — going far beyond necessity in her determi-
nation to be heard — the groups of women coming in to
lay a fresh chaplet among the withered ones and give a
" jow " to the deep-toned bell hung in the archway in
order to attract the god's attention to their offering,
paused to whisper among themselves of her piety. While
more than once a widow crept close to kiss the edge of
her veil humbly.

It was balm indeed! It was peace. The mem might
starve, she told herself fiercely, but she would be suttee.
After all the strain, and the pain, and the wondering ache
at her heart, she had come back to her own life. This
she understood. Let the Huzoors keep to their own.
This was hers.

The sun danced in motes through the branches of the
peepul tree above the little shrine, the squirrels chirruped

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

among them, the parrots chattered, sending a rain of soft
little figs to fall with a faint sound on the hard stones, and
still Tara counted her beads feverishly.

" Ram-Ram-Sita-Ram! Ram-Ram-Sita-Ram! "

" Ari! sisters! she is a saint indeed. She was here at
dawn and she prays still," said the women, coming in the
lengthening shadows with odd little bits of feastings. A
handful of cocoa-nut chips, a platter of flour, a dish of
curds, or a dab of butter.

" Ram-Ram-Sita-Ram! "

And all the while poor Tara was thinking of the
Huzoor's face, if he ever found out that she had left the
mem to starve. It was almost dark when she stood up,
abandoning the useless struggle, so she waited to see the
sacred Circling of the Lights and get her little sip of holy
water before she went back to her perch among the pig-
eons, to put on the crimson scarf and the gold circlets
again. Since it was hopeless trying to be a saint till she
had done what she had promised the Huzoor she would
do. She must go back to the mem first.

But Kate, opening the door to her with eyes a-glitter
and a whole cut-and-dried plan for the future, almost
took her breath away, and reduced her into looking at
the Englishwoman with a sort of fear.

" The mem will be suttee too," she said stupidly, after
listening a while. '' The mem will shave her head and
put away her jewels! The mem will wear a widow's
shroud and sweep the floor, saying she comes from Ben-
gal to serve the saint? "

" I do not care, Tara, .how it is done. Perhaps you
may have a better plan. But we must prevent the mas-
ter from finding me again. He has done too much for
me as it is; you know he has," replied Kate, her eyes
shining like stars with determination. " I only want you
to save him ; that is all. You may take me away and kill
me if you like; and if you won't help me to hide, I'll go
out into the streets and let them kill me there. I will not
have him risk his life for me again."

"Ram-Ram-Sita-Ram!" said Tara under her breath.
That settled it, and at dawn the next day Tara stood in
her odd little perch above the shrine among the pigeons,

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 399

looking down curiously at the mem who, wearied out by
her long midnight walk through the city and all the ex-
citement of the day, had dozed off on a bare mat in the
corner, her head resting on her arm. Three months
ago Kate could not have slept without a pillow; now,
as she lay on the hard ground, her face looked soft and
peaceful in sheer honest dreamless sleep. But Tara had
not slept; that was to be told from the anxious strain of
her eyes. She had sat out since she had returned home,
on her two square yards of balcony in the waning moon-
light, looking down on the unseen shrine, hidden by the
tall peepul tree whose branches she could almost touch.

Would the mem really be suttee? she had asked herself
again and again. Would she do so much for the master?
Would she — would she really shave her head? A grim
smile of incredulity came to Tara's face, then a quick,
sharp frown of pain. If she did, she must care very much
for the Huzoor. Besides, she had no right to do it! The
mems were never suttee. They married again many
times. And then this mem was married to someone else.
No! she would never shave her head for a strange man.
She might take off her jewels, she might even sweep the
floor. But shave her head? Never!

But supposing she did?

The oddest jumble of jealousy and approbation filled
Tara's heart. So, as the yellow dawn broke, she bent
over Kate.

" Wake, mem sahib! " she said, " wake. It is time to
prepare for the day. It is time to get ready."

Kate started up, rubbing her eyes, wondering where
she was; as in truth she well might, for she had never
been in such a place before. The long, low slip of a room
was absolutely empty save for a reed mat or two; but
every inch of it, floor, walls, ceiling, was freshly plastered
with mud. That on the floor was still wet, for Tara had
been at work on it already. Over each doorway hung a
faded chaplet, on each lintel was printed the mark of a
bloody hand, and round and about, in broad finger-marks
of red and white, ran the eternal Ram- Ram- Sit a- Ram in
Sanskrit letterings. In truth, Tara's knowledge of secu-
lar and religious learning was strictly confined to this

4o6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

sentence. There was a faint smell of incense in the
room, rising from a tiny brazier sending up a blue spiral
flame of smoke before a two-inch high brass idol with an
elephant's head which sat on a niche in the wall. It rep-
resented Eternal Wisdom. But Kate did not know this.
Nor in a way did Tara. She only knew it was Gunesh-
jee. And outside was the yellow dawn, the purple
pigeons beginning to coo and sidle, the quivering hearts
of the peepul leaves.

" I have everything ready for the mem," began Tara
hurriedly, 4< if she will take off her jewels."

" You must pull this one open for me, Tara," said
Kate, holding out her arm with the gold bangle on it.
" The master put it on for me, and I have never had it
off since."

Tara knew that as well as she. Knew that the master
must have put it on, since she had not. Had, in fact,
watched it with jealous eyes over and over again. And
there was the mem without it, smiling over the scantiness
and the intricacies of a coarse cotton shroud.

" There is the hair yet," said Tara with quite a catch in
her voice; "if the mem will undo the plaits, I will go
round to the old poojarnis and get the loan of her
razor — she only lives up the next stair."

" We shall have to snip it off first," said Kate quite
eagerly, for, in truth, she was becoming interested in her
own adventures, now that she had, as it were, the con-
trol over them. " It is so long." She held up a tress as
she spoke. It was beautiful hair; soft, wavy, even, and
the dye — unrenewed for days — had almost gone, leaving
the coppery sheen distinct.

" She would never cut it off! " said Tara to herself as
she went for the razor. No woman would ever shave
her head willingly. Why! when she had had it done
for the first time, she had screamed and fought. Her
mother-in-law had held her hands, and —

She paused at the door as she re-entered, paralyzed by
what she saw. Kate had found the knife Tara used for
her limited cooking, and, seated on the ground cheer-
fully, was already surrounded by rippling hair which she
had cut off by clubbing it in her hand and sawing away
as a groom does at a horse's tail.

BITS, BRIDLES, SPURS. 4°*

Tara's cry made her pause. The next moment the
Rajpootni had snatched the knife from her and flung it
one way, the razor another, and stood before her with
blazing eyes and heaving breast.

"It is foolishness!" she said fiercely. "The mems
cannot be suttee. I will not have it."

Kate stared at her. " But I must " she began.

" There is no must at all," interrupted Tara superbly ;
" I will find some other way." And then she bent over
quickly, and Kate felt her hands upon her hair. " There
is plenty left," she said with a sigh of relief. " I will
plait it up so that no one will see the difference."

And she did. She put the gold bangle on again also,
and by dawn the next day Kate found herself once more
installed as a screened woman; but this time as a Hindoo
lady under a vow of silence and solitude in the hopes of
securing a son for her lord through the intercession of
old Anunda, the Swami.

" I have told Sri Anunda," said Tara with a new
respect in her manner. " I had to trust someone. And
he is as God. He would not hurt a fly." She paused,
then went on with a tone of satisfaction, " But he says
the mem could not have been suttee, so that foolishness
is well over."

" But what is to be done next, Tara? " asked Kate,
looking in astonishment round the wide old garden,
arched over by tall forest trees, and set round with high
walls, in which she found herself. In the faint dawn she
could just see glimmering straight paths parceling it out
into squares; and she could hear the faint tinkle of the
water runnels. " I can't surely stop here."

" The mem will only have to keep still all day in the
darkest corner with her face to the wall," said Tara.
" Sri Anunda will do the rest. And when Soma returns
he must take the mem away before the thirty regiments
come and the trouble begins."

''' Thirty regiments! " echoed Kate, startled.

" He and others have gone out to see if it is true.
They say so in the Palace; but it is full of lies," said
Tara indifferently.

It was indeed. More than ever. But they began to

402 ON THE FACE OF TtiE WATERS.

need confirmation, and so there was big talk of action,
and jingling of bits and bridles and spurs in the city as
well as in the camp. They were to intercept the siege
train from Firozpur; they were to get round to the rear
of the Ridge and overwhelm it. They were to do every-
thing save attack it in face.

And, meanwhile, other people besides Soma and
such-like Sadducean sepoys had gone out to find the
thirty regiments, and secret scouts from the Palace were
hunting about for someone to whom they might deliver a
letter addressed

" To the Officers, Subadars, Chiefs, and others of the
whole military force coming from the Bombay Presi-
dency:

" To the effect that the statement of the defeat of the
Royal troops at Delhi is a false and lying fabrication con-
trived by contemptible infidels — the English. The true
story is that nearly eighty or ninety thousand organized
Military Troops, and nearly ten or fifteen thousand regu-
lar and other Cavalry, are now here in Delhi. The
troops are constantly engaged, night and day, in attacks
on the infidels, and have driven back their batteries from
the Ridge. In three or four days, please God, the whole
Ridge will be taken, when every one of the base unbe-
lievers will be sent to hell. You are, therefore, 'on seeing
this order, to use all endeavors to reach the Royal Pres-
ence, so, joining the Faithful, give proofs of zeal, and
establish your renown. Consider this imperative."

But though they hunted high and low, east, north,
south, and west, the Royal scouts found no one to re-
ceive the order. So it came back to Delhi, damp and
pulpy; for the rains had begun again, turning great
tracts of country into marsh and bog, and generally
wetting the blankets in which the sepoys kept guard
sulkily.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 4°3

CHAPTER III.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

THEY drenched Kate Erlton also, despite the arcaded
trees above her corner as she sat with her face to the
wall in the wide old garden. At first her heart beat at
each step on the walk behind her, but she soon realized
that she was hidden by her vow, happed about from the
possibility of intrusion by her penance. But not many
steps came by her; they kept chiefly to the other end of
the garden where Sri Anunda was to be found. It was
a curious experience. There was a yard of two of thatch,
screened by matting and suported by bamboos, leaning
not far off against the wall; and into this she crept at
night to find the indulgence of a dry blanket. At first she
felt inclined to seek its shelter when the rain poured
loudly on the leaves above her and fell thence in big
blobs, making a noise like the little ripe figs when the
squirrels shook them down; but the remembrance that
such women as Tara performed like vows cheerfully
kept her steady. And after a day or two she often
started to find it was already noon or dusk, the .day half
gone or done. Time slipped by with incredible swiftness
in watching the squirrels and the birds, in counting the
raindrops fall from a peepul leaf. And what a strange
peace and contentment the life brought! As she sat
after dark in the thatch, eating the rice and milk and
fruit which Tara brought her stealthily, she felt, at times,
a terrified amaze at herself. If she ever came through
the long struggle for life, this surely would be the
strangest part of the dream. Tara, indeed, used to re-
mark with a satisfied smile that though the mem could
not of course be suttee, still she did very well as a devoted
and repentant wife. Sri Anunda could never have had
a better penitent. And then, in reply to Kate's curious
questions, she would say that Sri Anunda was a Swami.
If the mem once saw and spoke to him she would know
what that meant. He had lived in the garden for fifteen
years. Not as a penance. A Swami needed no penance

4°4 ON THE PACE OF THE WATERS.

as men and women did; for he was not a man. Oh, dear
no! not a man at all.

So Kate, going on this hint of inhumanity, and guided
by her conventional ideas of Hindoo ascetics, imagined
a monstrosity, and felt rather glad than otherwise that
Sri Anunda kept out of her way.

She was eager also to know how long she might have
to stay in his garden. The vow, Tara said, lasted for
fifteen days. Till then no one would question her right
to sit and look at the wall ; and by that time Soma would
have returned, and a plan for getting the mem away to
the Ridge settled. For the master was evidently not go-
ing to return to the city; perhaps he had forgotten the
mem? Kate smiled at this, drearily, thinking that in-
deed he might; for he might be dead. But even this
uncertainty about all things, save that she sat and
watched the squirrels and the birds, had ceased to dis-
turb her peace.

As a matter of fact, however, he was thinking of her
more than ever, and with a sense of proprietorship that
was new to him. Here, by God's grace, was the one
woman for him to save; the somebody to kill, should he
fail, needing no selection. There were enough enemies
and to spare within the walls still, even though they had
been melting away of late. But a new one had come to
the Ridge itself, which, though it killed few, sapped
steadily at the vigor of the garrison. This was the
autumnal fever, bad at Delhi in all years, worse than
usual in this wet season, counterbalancing the benefit of
the coolness and sending half a regiment to hospital one
day and letting them out of it the next, sensibly less fit
for arduous work. It claimed Jim Douglas, already
weakened by it, and made his wound slow of healing.

" You haven't good luck certainly," said Major Erlton,
finding him with chattering teeth taking quinine dismally.
" I don't know how it is, but though I'm a lot thinner,
this life seems to suit me. I haven't felt so fit for ages."

He had not been so fit, in truth. It was a healthier,
simpler life than he had led for many a long year; and
ever since John Nicholson had bidden him go back to
his tent and sleep, even the haggardness had left his face;

THE BEGINNING OF 7 'HE END. 4°5

the restlessness having been replaced by an eager cer-
tainty of success. He was coming steadily to the front,
too, so the Ridge said, since Nicholson had taken him up.
And he had well deserved this, since there was not a bet-
ter soldier; cool, stubborn, certain to carry out orders.
The very man, in short, whom men like the General
wanted; and if he stayed to the finish he would have a
distinguished career before him.

But Herbert Erlton himself never thought of this; he
hated thought instinctively, and of late had even given up
thinking of the city. He never sat and watched the rose-
red walls now. Perhaps because he was too busy. So
he left that to Jim Douglas, who had nothing else to do,
while he went about joyously preparing to accompany
Nicholson in his next lesson of law and order.

For in the city it was becoming more and more difficult
every day to make the lies pass muster, even in the Pal-
ace; and so, in despair, the four Commanders-in-Chief
for once had laid their heads together and concocted a
plan for intercepting the siege train from Ferozpur. So
it was necessary that they should be taught the futility
of such attempts. Not that even the Palace people really
believed them possible. How could they? when almost
every day, now, letters came to the Ridge from some
member or another of the Royal family asking effusively
how he could serve the English cause. Only the old
King,, revising his lists of precedence, listening still to
brocaded bags, taking cooling draughts, making coup-
lets, being cozened by the Queen, and breathed upon
by Hussan Askuri, hovered between the policy of being
the great Moghul and a poor prisoner in the hands of
fate. But the delights of the former were too much for
him as a rule, and he would sit and ringer the single gold
coin which had come as a present from Oude as if he
were to have the chance of minting millions with a simi-
lar inscription.

" Bahadur Shah Ghazee has struck upon gold the coin
of Victory."

Even in its solitary grandeur it had, in truth, a sur-
passing dignity of its own in the phrase — " struck upon
gold the coin of Victory." So, looking at it, he forgot

406 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

that it was a mere sample, sent, as the accompanying
brocaded bag said, with a promise to pay more when
more victory brought more gold. But Zeenut Maihl, as
she looked at it, thought with a sort of fury of certain gold
within reach, hidden in her house. What was to become
of these coins with John Company's mark on them? For
she still lingered in the Palace. Other women had fled,
but she was wiser than they. She knew that, come what
might, her life was safe with the English as victors; so
there was nothing but the gold to think of. The gold,
and Jewun Bukht, her son. The royal signet was in her
possession altogether now, and sometimes the orders,
especially when they were for payment of money, had to
go without it, because " the Queen of the World was
asleep." But she did not dream. That was over; though
in a way she clung fiercely to hope. So Ghaus Khan
with the Neemuch Brigade, and Bukht Khan with the
Bareilly Brigade, and Khair Sultan with the scrapings
and leavings of the regiments, who, owning no leader of
their own, did what was right in their own eyes, set out
to intercept the big guns; and Nicholson set out on the
dawn of the 25th to intercept them.

The rain poured down in torrents, the guns sank to
their axles in mud, the infantry slipped and slithered,
the cavalry were blinded by the mire from the flounder-
ing horses. So from daybreak till sunset the little force,
two thousand in all — more than one-half of whom were
natives — labored eighteen miles through swamps. At
noon, it is true, they called a halt nine miles out at a
village where the women clustered on the housetops in
wild alarm, remembering a day — months back — when
they had clustered round an unleavened cake, and the
head-man's wife had bidden them listen to the masters
gun over the far horizon.

They were to listen to it again that day. For the
enemy was ten miles further over the marshes; and it
was but noon. The force, no doubt, had been afoot since
four; but General Nicholson was emphatically not an
eight-hour man. So the shovings and slitherings of
guns and mortals began again cheerfully.

Still it was nigh on sundown when, across a deep

THE BEGINNING OF THE END, 4°7

stream flowing from the big marshes to the west, these
contract- workers came on the job they were eager to
finish ere nightfall. Six thousand rebels of all arms,
holding three villages, a bastioned old serai, and a town.
It was a strong position, in the right angle formed by
the stream and the flooded canal into which it flowed.
Water, impassable save by an unknown ford in the
stream, by a bridge held in force over the canal, on two
sides of it. On the others dismal swamps. A desper-
ately strong position to attack at sundown after eighteen
miles slithering and shoving in the pouring rain; espe-
cially with unknown odds against you. Not less, any-
how, than three to one. But John Nicholson had a
single eye; that is, an eye which sees one salient point.
Here, it was that bridge to the left, leading back to safe
shelter within the walls of Delhi. A cowardly foe must
have no chance of using that bridge during silent night
watches. So, without a pause, fifteen hundred of the
two thousand waded breast-high across the stream to
attack the six thousand, Nicholson himself riding ahead
for a hasty reconnoissance, since the growing dusk left
scant leisure for anything save action. Yet once more
a glance was sufficient; and, ere the men, exposed to a
heavy fire of grape in crossing the ford, were ready to
advance, the orders were given.

There was a hint of cover in some rising ground before
the old serai — the strongest point of the defense. He
would utilize this, rush the position, change front, and
sweep down on the bridge. That must not remain as a
chance for cowards an instant longer than he could help ;
for Nicholson in everything he did seems never to have
contemplated defeat.

So flanked by the guns, supported by squadrons of
the 9th Lancers and the Guides cavalry, the three regi-
ments * marched steadily toward the rising ground, fol-
lowing that colossa! figure riding, as ever, ahead. Till
suddenly, as his charger's feet touched the highest
ground, Nicholson wheeled and held up his hand to those
below him.

" Lie down, men! " came his clear strong voice as he

*6ist, 1st Fusiliers, 2d Punjabees.

40 8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

rode slowly along the line; " lie down and listen to what
I've got to say. It's only a few words."

So, sheltered from the fire, they lay and listened.
" You of the 6ist know what Sir Colin Campbell said
to you at Chillianwallah. He said the same thing
to others at the Alma. I say it to you all now. ' Hold
your fire till within twenty or thirty yards of that battery,
and then, my boys ! we will make short work of it ! ' :

Men cannot cheer lying on their stomachs, but the
unmelodious grunt — " We will, sir, by God, we will ! " —
was as good as one.

Nicholson faced round on the serai again, and gave
the order to the artillery. So, in sharp thuds widening
into a roar, the flanking guns began work. Half a dozen
rounds or so, and then the rider — motionless as a statue
in the center — looked back quickly, waved his sword,
and went on. The men were up, after him, over the
hillock, into the morass beyond, silently.

" Steady, men! steady with it. On with you! Steady! "

They listened to the clear sonorous voice once more,
though there was no shelter now from the grape and
canister, and musket balls; or rather only the shelter of
that one tall figure ahead riding at a foot's-pace.

" Steady ! Hold your fire ! I'll give the word, never
fear ! Come on ! Come on ! "

So through a perfect bog they stumbled on' doggedly.
Here and there a man fell; but men will fall sometimes.

" Now then! Let them have it."

They were within the limit. Twenty yards off lay the
guns. There was one furious volley; above it one word
answered by a cheer.

So at the point of the bayonet the serai was carried.
Then without a pause the troops changed front with a
swiftness unforeseen and swept on to the left.

"To Delhi, brothers! To Delhi!" The old cry,
begun at Meerut, rose now with a new meaning as the
panic-stricken guns limbered up and made for the
bridge. Too late! Captain Blunt's were after them,
chasing them. The wheel of the foremost, driven wildly,
jammed; those following couldn't pull up. So, helter
skelter, they were in a jumble, out of which Englishmen

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 4°9

helped the whole thirteen ! The day, or rather the night,
was won; for Nature's dark flag of truce hung even
between the assailants and the few desperate defenders
of the third village, who, with escape cut off, were selling
their lives at a cost to the attackers of seventeen out
of that total death-roll of twenty-five. But Nicholson
knew his position sure, so he left night to finish the rout,
and, with his men, bivouacked without food or cover
among the marshes; for it was too dark to get the bag-
gage over the ford. Yet the troops were ready to start
at daybreak for an eighteen miles tramp back to the
Ridge again. There was no talk of exhaustion now, as
at Budli-ke-serai; so just thirty-six hours after they
started, that is, just one hour for every mile of morass
and none for the fight, they startled the Ridge by march-
ing in again and clamoring for food! But Nicholson
was in a towering temper. He had found that another
brigade had been lurking behind the canal, and that if
he had had decent information he might have smashed
it also, on his way home.

" He hadn't even a guide that he didn't pick up him-
self," commented Major Erlton angrily. " By George !
how those niggers cave in to him! And his political
information was all rot. If the General had obeyed
instructions he would have been kicking his heels at
Bahadagurh still."

"We heard you at it about two o'clock," said a new
listener. " I suppose it was a night attack — risky busi-
ness rather."

Herbert Erlton burst into a laugh; but the elation on
his face had a pathetic tenderness in it. " That was the
bridge, I expect. He blew it up before starting. He sat
on it till then. Besides there were the wagons and tum-
brils and things. He told Tombs to blow them up, too,
for of course he had to bring the guns back, and he
couldn't shove the lot."

As he passed on some of his listeners smiled.

" It's a case of possession," said one to his neighbor.

" Pardon me," said another, who had known the
Major for years. " It's a case of casting out. I won-
der— The speaker paused and shrugged his
shoulders.

ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" Did you hear his name had gone up for the V. C? "
began his companion.

" Gone up! My dear fellow! It might have gone up
fifty times over. But it isn't his pluck that I wonder at;
it is his steadiness. He never shirks the little things. It
is almost as if he had found a conscience."

Perhaps he had. He was cheerful enough to have had
the testimony of a good one, as, in passing, he looked in
on Jim Douglas and met his congratulations.

" Bad shilling! " replied the Major, beautifully uncon-
scious. " So you've heard — and — hello! what's up?"
For Jim Douglas was busy getting into disguise.

" That old scoundrel Tiddu came into camp with the
news an hour ago," said the latter, whose face was by
no means cheerful. " He was out carrying grain — saw
the fugitives, and came in here, hoping for backsheesh,
I believe. But " — Jim Douglas looked round rapidly at
the Major — " I'm awfully afraid, Erlton, that he has not
been in Delhi, to speak of, since I left. And I was rely-
ing on him for news

" There isn't any — is there? " broke in Major Erlton
with a queer hush in his voice.

" None. But there may be. So I'm off at once. I
couldn't have a better chance. The villain says the
sepoys are slipping in on the sly in hundreds; for the
Palace folk, or at least the King, thinks the troops are
still engaged, arid is sending out reinforcements. So I
shall have no trouble in getting through the gates."

Major Erlton, radiant, splashed from head to foot, cov-
ered at once with mud and glory, looked at the man
opposite him with a curious deliberation.

" I don't see why you should go at all," he said slowly.
" I wouldn't, if I — I mean I would rather you didn't."

" Why? " The question came sharply.

" Do you want the truth? " asked Herbert Erlton
with a sudden frown.

" Certainly."

" Then I'll tell it, Mr. Greyman — I mean Douglas —

I — I'm grateful, but — d it me, sir, if — if I want to be

more so! I — I gave you my chance once — like a fool;
for I might have saved her "

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 4"

The hard handsome face was all broken up with pas-
sionate regret, and the pity of it kept Jim Douglas silent
for a moment. For he understood it.

" You might," he said at last. " But I don't interfere
with you here. You can't save her — your wife, I mean —
and if I fail you can always "

" There is no need to tell me what to do then," inter-
rupted Major Erlton grimly. " I'll do it without your
help."

He turned on his heel, then paused. " It isn't that
I'm ungrateful," he repeated, almost with an appeal in
his voice. "And I don't mean to be offensive; only
you and I can't— — "

His own mental position seemed beyond him, and he
stood for a moment irresolute. Then he held out his
hand.

" Well, good-by. I suppose you mean to stick to it? "

" I mean to stick to it. Good-by."

" And I must be off to my bed. Haven't slept a wink
for two nights, and I shall be on duty to-morrow. Well!
I believe I've as good a chance of seeing Kate here as
you have of finding her there; but I can't prevent your
going, of course."

So he went off to his bed, and Jim Douglas, following
Tiddu, who was waiting for him in the Koodsia Gar-
dens, carried out his intention of sticking to it; while
John Nicholson in his tent, forgetful of his advice to both
of them, was jotting down notes for his dispatch. One
of them was: "The enemy was driven from the serai
with scarcely any loss to us, and made little resistance as
we advanced." The other was: "Query? How many
men in buckram? Most say seven or eight thousand.
I think between three and four."

He had, indeed, a vile habit of telling the truth, even
in dispatches. So ended the day of Nujjufghar.

The next morning, the "27th," broke fine and clear.
Kate Erlton waking with the birds, found the sky full of
light already, clear as a pale topaz beyond the over-
arching trees.

She stood after leaving her thatch, looking into the
garden, lost in a sort of still content, It seemed impos-

412 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

sible she should be in the heart of a big city. There was
no sound but the faint rustling of the wet leaves drying
themselves in the soft breeze, and the twitterings of
squirrels and birds. There was nothing to be seen but
the trees, and the broad paths rising above the flooding
water from the canal-cut which ran at the further side.

And Sri Anunda had lived here for fifteen years; while
she? How long had she been there? She smiled to
herself, for, in truth, she had lost count of days alto-
gether, almost of Time itself. She was losing hold of
life. She told herself this, with that vague amaze at
finding it so. Yes! she was losing her grip on this
world without gaining, without even desiring, a hold on
the next. She was learning a strange new fellowship
with the dream 'of which she was a part, because it would
soon be past; because the trees, the flowers, the birds,
the beasts, were mortal as herself. A squirrel, its tail
a-fluff, was coming down the trunk of the next tree in
fitful half-defiant jerks, its bright eyes watching her.
The corner of her veil was full of the leavings of her
simple morning meal, which she always took with her
to scatter under the trees; and now, in sudden impulse,
she sank down to her knees and held a morsel of plantain
out tenderly.

Dear little mortal, she thought, with a new tenderness,
watching it as it paused uncertain; until the conscious-
ness that she was being watched in her turn made her
look up; then pause, as she was, astonished, yet not
alarmed, at the figure before her. It was neither tall nor
short, dark nor fair, and it was wrapped from knee to
shoulder in a dazzling white cloth draped like a Greek
chiton, which showed the thin yet not emaciated curves
of the limbs, and left the poise of the long throat bare.
The head was clean shaven, smooth as the cheek, and
the face, destitute even of eyebrows, was softly seamed
with lines and wrinkles which seemed to leave it younger,
and brighter, as if in an eternity of smile-provoking con-
tent. But the eyes! Kate felt a strange shock, as they
brought back to her the innocent dignity Raphael gave
to his San-Sistine Bambino. For this was Sri Anunda;
could be no one else, In his hand he held a bunch of

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 413

henna-blossom, the camphire of Scripture, the cypress of
the Greeks; yellowish green, insignificant, incomparably
sweet. He held it out to her, smiling, then laid it on her
outstretched hand.

" The lesson is learned, sister," he said softly. " Go
in peace, and have no fear."

The voice, musical exceedingly, thrilled her through
and through. She knelt looking after him regretfully
as, without a pause, he passed on his way. So that was
a Swami! She went back to her corner — for already
early visitors were drifting in for Sri Anunda's bless-
ing— and with the bunch of henna-blossom on the
ground before her sat thinking.

What an extraordinary face it was ! So young, so old.
So wise, so strangely innocent. Tara was right. It
was not a man's face. Yet it could not be called angelic,
for it was the face of a mortal. Yes ! that was it, a mor-
tal face immortal through its mortality; through the
circling wheel of life and death. The strong perfume of
the flowers reaching her, set her a-thinking of them.
Did he always give a bunch when the penance was over
and say the lesson was learned? It was a significant
choice, these flowers of life and death. For bridal hands
had been stained with henna, and corpses embalmed
with it for ages, and ages, and ages. Or was that " peace
go with you," that " have no fear " meant as an en-
couragement in something new? Had they been making
plans? had anything happened? She scarcely seemed
to care. So, as the cloudless day passed on, she sat
looking at the henna-blossom and thinking of Sri
Anunda's face.

But something had happened. Jim Douglas had come
back to the city and Tara knew it. She had barely
escaped his seeing her, and she felt she could not escape
it long. And then, it seemed to her, the old life would
begin again; for she would never be able to keep the
truth from him. The mem might talk of deceit glibly;
but if it came to telling lies to the master she would fail.

There was only one chance. If she could get the mem
safely out of the city at once; then she could tell the
truth without fear. The necessity for immediate action

41 4 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

came upon her by surprise. She had ceased to expect
the master's return, she had not cared personally for
Kate's safety, and so had been content to let the future
take care of itself. But now everything was changed.
If Kate were not got rid of, sent out of the city, one of
two things must happen : The master must be left to get
her out as best he could, at the risk of his life; or she,
Tara, must return to the old allegiance; return and sit
by, while the mem in a language she did not understand,
told the Huzoor how she had been willing to be suttee
for him!

So while Kate sat looking at the henna-blossom, Tara
sat telling herself that at all costs, all risks, she must be
got out of the city that night. She, and her jewels.
They were at present tied up in a bundle in Tara's room,
but the Huzoor might think her a thief if the mem
went without them. And another thing she decided.
She would not tell the mem the reason of this sudden
action. True, Kate had professed herself determined
that the master should not risk his life for her again;
but women were not — not always — to be trusted. For
the rest, Soma must help.

She waited till dusk, however, before appealing to
him, knowing that her only chance lay in taking him by
storm, in leaving him no time for reflection. So, just as
the lights were beginning to twinkle in the bazaars, she
made her way, full of purpose, to the half ruined sort cf
cell in the thickness of the wall not far from the sally-
port, in which of late — since he had taken morosely to
drugs — he was generally to be found at this time, wak-
ing drowsily to his evening meal before going out.

She found him thur, sure enough, and began at once
on her task. He mu st help. He could easily pass out
the mem. That was all she asked of him. But his
handsome face settled into sheer obstinacy at once. He
was not going to help anyone, he said, or harm anyone,
till they struck the first blow, and then they had better
defend themselves. That was the end. And so it
seemed; for after ten minutes of entreaty, he stood up
with something of a lurch ere he found his feet, and bid

THE BEGINNING OP THE END. 415

her go. She only wasted her time and his, since he must
eat his food ere he went to relieve the sentry at the sally-
port.

She caught him up reproachfully, almost indignantly.

" Then thou art there, on guard! and it needs but the
opening of a door, a thrusting of a woman out — to — die,
perchance, Soma. Remember that!"

She spoke with a feverish eagerness, as if the sugges-
tion had its weight with her, but he treated it contemp-
tuously.

" Loh! " he said in scorn. " What a woman's word!
Thank the Gods I was not born one."

The taunt bit deep, and Tara drew herself up angrily.
So the brother and sister stood face to face, strangely
alike.

" Was't not? " she retorted bitterly. " The Gods know.
Is there not woman in man, and man in woman, among
those born at a birth? Soma! for the sake of that — do
this for me — It was her last appeal; she had kept

it for the last, and now her somber eyes were ablaze with
passionate entreaty. "See, brother! I claim it of you
as a right. Thou didst take my sainthood from me once.
Count this as giving it back again."

"Back again?" echoed Soma thickly. "What fool's
talk is this?"

"Let it be fool's talk, brother," she interrupted, with
a strange intensity in her voice. " I care not — thou dost
not know; I cannot tell thee. But — but this will be
counted to thee in restitution. Soma! think of it as my
sainthood! Sure thou dost owe me it! Soma! for the
sake of the hand which lay in thine."

In her excitement she moved a step forward, and he
shrank back instinctively. True, she was a saint in an-
other way if those scars were true ; but — at the moment,
being angry with her, he chose to doubt, to remember.
"Stand back!" he cried roughly, unsteadily. "What
do I owe thee? What claim hast thou? "

The question, the gesture outraged her utterly. The
memory of a whole life of vain struggling after self-
respect surged to her brain, bringing that almost insane

416 ON THE FACE OF THE WATkkS.

light to her eyes. " What? " she echoed fiercely —
" this ! " Ere he could prevent it, her hand was in his,
gripping it like a vice.

" So in the beginning — so in the end! " she gasped, as
he struggled with her madly. u Tara and Soma hand in
hand. NayJ I am strong as thou."

She spoke truth, for his nerve and muscle were slack
with opium; yet he fought wildly, striking at her with
his left hand, until in a supreme effort she lost her foot-
ing, they both staggered, and he — as she loosed her
hold — fell backward, striking his head against a project-
ing brick in the ruined wall.

" Soma! " she whispered to his prostrate figure, "art
hurt, brother? Speak to me! "

But he lay still, and, with a cry, she flung herself on
her knees beside him, feeling his heart, listening to his
breathing, searching for the injury. It was a big cut on
the crown of the head; but it did not seem a bad one,
and she began to take his unconsciousness more calmly.
She had seen folk like that before from a sudden fall, and
they came to themselves, none the worse, after a while.
But scarcely, here, in time to relieve guard.

She stood up suddenly and looked round her. Soma's
uniform hung on a peg, his musket stood in a corner.

Half an hour after this, Kate, waiting in the thatch
for Tara to come as usual, gave a cry, more of surprise
than alarm, as a tall figure, in uniform, stepped into the
flickering light of the cresset.

" Soma! " she cried, " what is it? "

A gratified smile came to the curled mustachios.
" Soma or Tara, it matters not," replied a familiar voice.
:< They were one in the beginning. Quick, mem-sahib.
On with the jewels. I have a dark veil too for the gate."

Kate stood up, her heart throbbing. " Am I to go,
then? Is that what Sri Anunda meant? "

"Sri Anunda! hath he been here?" Tara paused,
sniffed, and once more those dark eyes met the light
ones with a fierce jealousy. " He hath given thee henna-
blossom. I smell it; and he gives it to none but those

who So the Swami's lesson is learned — and the

disciple can go in peace — She broke off with a

THE BEGINNING OF THE END, 4*7

petulant laugh. "Well! so be it. It ends my part.
The mem will sleep among her own to-night; Sri
Anunda hath said it. Come "

" But how? I must know how," protested Kate.

The laugh rose again. "Wherefore? The mem is
Sri Anunda's disciple. For the rest, I will let the mem
out through the little river-gate. There is a boat, and
she can go in peace."

There was something so wild, so almost menacing in
Tara's face, that Kate felt her only hope was to obey.
And, in good sooth, the scent of the henna-blossom she
carried with her, tucked into her bosom, gave her, some-
how, an irrational hope that all would go well as she
followed her guide swiftly through the alleys and
bazaars.

" The mem must wait here," whispered Tara at last,
pausing behind one of the ungainly mausoleums in what
had been the old Christian cemetery. " When she hears
me singing Sonny-baba's song, she must follow to the
Water-gate. It is behind the ruins, there."

Kate crouched down, setting her back, native fashion,
against the tomb. And as she waited she wondered idly
what mortal lay there; so, being strangely calm, she let
her fingers stray to the recess she felt behind her. There
should be a marble tablet there; and even in the dark
she might trace the lettering. But the recess was empty,
the marble having evidently been picked out. So it was
a nameless grave. And the next? She moved over to
it stealthily, then to the next. But the tablets had been
taken out of all and carried off — for curry-stones most
likely. So the graves were nameless; those beneath
them mortals — nothing more. As she waited under the
stars, her mind reverted to Sri Anunda and the Wheel of
Life and Death. The immortality of mortality! Was
that the lesson which was to let her go in peace?

She started from the thought as that native version of
the " Happy Land " came, nasally, from behind the ruins.
As she passed them, a group of men were squatted gos-
siping round a hookah, and more than one figure passed
her. But a woman with her veil drawn, and a clank of
anklets on her feet, did not even invite a curious eye;

418 ON- THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

for it was still early enough for such folk to be going
home.

Then, as she passed down a flight of steps, a hand stole
out from a niche and drew her back into a dark shadow.
The next minute, with a low whisper, " There is no fear!
Sri Anunda hath said it. Go in peace ! " she felt herself
thrust through a door into darkness. But a feeble
glimmer showed below her, and creeping down another
flight of steps, she found herself outside Delhi, looking
over the strip of low-lying land where in the winter the
buffaloes had grazed beneath Alice Gissing's house, but
which was now flooded into a still backwater by the ris-
ing of the river. And out of it the stunted kikar and
tamarisks grew strangely, their feathery branches arch-
ing over it. But to the left, beyond the Water Bastion,
rose a mass of darker foliage — the Koodsia Gardens.
Once there she would be beyond floods, and Tara had
said there was a boat. Kate found it, moored a little
further toward the river — a flat-bottomed punt, with a
pole. It proved easier to manage than she had ex-
pected; for the water was shallow, and the trunks and
branches of the trees helped her to get along, so that
after a time she decided on keeping to that method of
progress as long as she could. It enabled her to skirt
the river bank, where there were fewer lights telling of
watch-fires. Besides, she knew the path by the river
leading to Metcalfe House. It might be under water
now; but if she crept into the park at the ravine — if she
could take the boat so far — she might manage to reach
Metcalfe House. There was an English picket there,
she knew. So, as she mapped out her best way, a sud-
den recollection came to her of the last time she had seen
that river path, when her husband and Alice Gissing
were walking down it, and Captain Morecombe —

Ah! was it credible? Was it not all a dream? Could
this be real — could it be the same world?

She asked herself the question with a dull indifference
as she struggled on doggedly.

But not more than two hours afterward the conviction
that the world had not changed came upon her with a
strange pang as she stood once more on the terrace of
Metcalfe House with English faces around her.

AT LAST. 419

" By Heaven, it's Mrs. Erlton! " she heard a familiar
voice say. It seemed to her hundreds of miles away in
some far, far country to which she had been journeying
for years. "Here! let me get hold of her — and fetch
some water — wine — anything. How — how was it, Ser-
geant? "

" In a boat, sir, coming hand over hand down at the
stables. She sang out quite calmly she was an English-
woman, and "

" Then — then they touched their caps to me," said
Kate, making an effort, " and so I knew that I was safe.
It was so strange; it — it rather upset me. But I am all
right now, Captain Morecombe."

" We had better send up for Erlton," said another
officer aside; but Kate caught the whisper.

" Please not. I can walk up to cantonments quite
well. And — I would rather have no fuss — I — I couldn't
stand it."

She had stood enough and to spare, agreed the little
knot of men with a thrill at their hearts as they watched
her set off in the moonlight with Captain Morecombe
and an orderly. They were to go straight to the Major's
tent; and if he was still at mess, which was more than
likely, since it was only half-past nine, Captain More-
combe was to leave her there and go on with the news.
There would be no fuss, of that she might be sure, said
the latter, forbearing even to speak to her on the way,
save to ask her if she felt all right.

" I feel as if I had just been born," she said slowly.
In truth, she was wondering if that spinning of the Great
Wheel toward Life again brought with it this forlorn-
ness, this familiarity.

CHAPTER IV.

AT LAST.

No fuss indeed! Kate, as she sat in her husband's
little tent waiting for him to come to her, felt that so far
she might have arrived from a very ordinary journey.
The bearer, it is true, who had been the Major's valet for

420 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

years, had salaamed more profoundly than usual, had
even put up a pious prayer, and expressed himself
pleased; but he had immediately gone off to fetch hot
water, and returning with it and clean towels, had sug-
gested mildly that the mem might like to wash her face
and hands. Kate, with a faint smile, felt there was no
reason why she should not. She need not look worse
than necessary. But she paused almost with a gasp at
the familiar half-forgotten luxuries. Scented soap! a
sponge — and there on the camp table a looking-glass!
She glanced down with a start at the little round one in
the ring she wore ; then went over to the other. A toilet
cover, brushes, and combs, her husband's razors, gold
studs in a box; and there, her own photograph in aVj
frame, a Bible, and a prayer book, the latter things
bringing her no surprise, no emotion of any kind. For
they had always been fixtures on Major Erlton's dress-
ing-table, mute evidences to no sentiment on his part, but]
simply to the bearer's knowledge of the proprieties and
the ways of real sahibs. But the other things she saw
made her heart grow soft. The little camp bed, the sim-
plicity and hardness of all in comparison with what her
husband had been wont to demand of life; for he had!
always been a real prince, feeling the rose-leaf beneath
the feather bed, and never stinting himself in comfort.
Then the swords, and belts, and Heaven knows what \
panoply of war — not spick-and-span decorations as they
used to be in the old days, but worn and used — gave her
a pang. Well! he had always been a good soldier, they
said.

And then, interrupting her thoughts, the old khansa-
man had come in, having taken time to array himself
gorgeously in livery. The Father of the fatherless and
orphan, he said, whimperingly, alluding to the fact that
he had lost both parents — which, considering he was
past sixty, was only to be expected — had heard his
prayer. The mem was spared to Freddy-baba. And
would she please to order dinner. As the Major-sahib
dined at mess, her slave was unprepared with a roast.
Fish also would partake of tyranny; but he could open

AT LAST. 42I

a tin of Europe soup, and with a chicken cutlet — Kate
cut him short with a request for tea; by and by, when —
when the Major-sahib should have come. And when
she was alone again, she shivered and rested her head on
her crossed arms upon the table beside which she sat,
with a sort of sob. This — Yes! — this of all she had
come through was the hardest to bear. This surge of
pity, of tenderness, of unavailing regret for the past, the
present, the future. What? — What could she say to
him, or he to her, that would make remembrance easier,
anticipation happier?

Hark! there was his step! His voice saying good-
night to Captain Morecombe.

" I hope she will be none the worse," came the reply.
" Good-night, Erlton — I'm — I'm awfully glad, old
fellow."

"Thanks!"

She stood up with a sickening throb at her heart. Oh !
she was glad too! So glad to see him and tell him

How tall 'he was, she thought, with a swift recognition
of his good looks, as he came in, stooping to pass under
the low entrance. Very tall, and thin. Much thinner,-
and — and — different somehow.

"Kate!" He paused half a second, looking at her
curiously — " Kate! I'm — I'm awfully glad." He was
beside her now, his big hands holding hers; but she felt
that she was further away from him than she had been in
that brief pause when she had half-expected, half-wished
him to take her in his arms and kiss her as if nothing
•had happened, as if life were to begin again. It would
have been so much easier; they might have forgotten
then, both of them. But now, what came, must come
without that chrism of impulse; must come in remem-
brance and regret. Awfully glad! That was what Cap-
tain Morecombe had said. Was there no more between
them than that? No more between her and this man,
who was the father of her child. The sting of the
thought made her draw him closer, and with a sob rest
her head on his shoulder. Then he stooped and

422 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

kissed her. " I — I didn't know. I wasn't sure if you'd
like it," he said, " but I'm awfully glad, old girl, upon
my life I am. You must have had a terrible time."

She looked up with a hopeless pain in her eyes. He
was gone from her again ; gone utterly. " It was not so
bad as you might think," she answered, trying to smile.
" Mr. Greyman did so much

"Greyman! You mean Douglas, I suppose?"

She stared for a second. " Douglas? I don't know.

I mean " Then she paused. How could she say,

" The man you rode against at Lucknow," when she
wanted to forget all that; forget everything? And then
a sudden fear made her add hastily, " He is here, surely—
he came long ago."

Major Erlton nodded. "I know; but his real name
is Douglas; at least he says so. Do you mean to say
you haven't seen him? That he didn't help you to get
out?"

"You mean that — that he has gone back?" asked
Kate faintly.

Her husband gave a low whistle. " What a queer
start; a sort of Box and Cox. He went back to find
you yesterday."

Kate's hand went up to her forehead almost wildly.
Then Tara must have known. But why had she not
mentioned it? Still, in a way, it was best as it'was; since
once he heard she, Kate, had gone, he would return.
For Tara would tell him, of course.

These thoughts claimed her for the moment, and when
she looked up, she found her husband watching her
curiously.

" He must have done an awful lot for you, of course,"
he said shortly; " but I'd rather it had been anyone else,
and that's a fact. However, it can't be helped. Hullo!
here's the khansaman with some tea. Thoughtful of the
old scoundrel, isn't it?"

" I — I ordered it," put in Kate, feeling glad of the
diversion.

Major Erlton laughed kindly. " What, begun already?
The old sinner's had a precious easy time of it; but
now " He pulled himself up awkwardly, and, as if

AT LAST. 423

to cover his hesitation, walked over to a box, and after
rummaging in it, brought out a packet of letters.
" Freddy's," he said cheerfully. " He's all right. Jolly
as a sandboy. I kept them — in — in case "

A great gratitude made the past dim for a moment.
He seemed nearer to her again. " I can't look at them
to-night, Herbert," she said softly, laying her hand be-
side his upon them. " I'm — I'm too tired."

" No wonder. You must have your tea and go to
bed," he replied. Then he looked round the tent. " It
isn't a bad little place, you'll find — I'm on duty to-
night— so — so you'll manage, I dare say."

" On duty? " she echoed, pouring herself out a cup of
tea rather hastily. " Where? "

" Oh ! at the front. There is never anything worth
going for now. We are both waiting for the assault;
that's the fact. But I shan't .be back till dawn, so "

He was standing looking at her, tall, handsome, full of
vitality; and suddenly he lifted a fold of her tinsel-set
veil and smiled.

" Jolly dress that for a fancy ball, and what a jolly
scent it's got. It is that flower, isn't it? You look
awfully well in it, Kate! In fact, you look wonderfully
fit all round."

" So do you! " she said hurriedly, her hand going up
to the henna blossom. There was a sudden quiver in her
voice, a sudden fierce pain in her heart. " You — you
look "

"Oh! I," he replied carelessly, still with admiring
eyes, " I'm as fit as a fiddle. I say! where did you get
all those jewels? What a lot you have ! They're awfully
becoming."

'* They are Mr. Greyman's," she said; " they belonged
to his — to — " then she paused. But the contemptu-
ously comprehending smile on her husband's face made
her add quietly, " to a woman — a woman he loved very
dearly, Herbert."

There was a moment or two of silence, and then Major
Erlton went to the entrance, raised the curtain, and
looked out. A flood of moonlight streamed into the
tent,

424 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" It's about time I was off," he said after a bit, and
there was a queer constraint in his voice. Then he came
over and stood by Kate again.

" It isn't any use talking over — over things to-night,
Kate," he said quietly. " There's a lot to think of and I
haven't thought of it at all. I never knew, you see — if
this would happen. But I dare say you have; you were
always a oner at thinking. So — so you had better do it
for both of us. I don't care, now. It will be what you
wish, of course."

" We will talk it over to-morrow," she said in a low
voice. She would not look in his face. She knew she
would find it soft with the memory held in that one word
— now. Ah! how much easier it would have been if
she had never come back! And yet she shrank from the
same thought on his lips.

" There was always the chance of my getting potted,"
he said almost apologetically. " But I'm not. So-
well! let's leave it for to-morrow."

" Yes," she replied steadily, " for to-morrow."

He gathered some of his things together, and then
held out his hand. " Good-night, Kate. I wouldn't lie
awake thinking, if I were you. What's the good if it?
We will just have to make the best of it for the boy. But
I'd like you to know two things "

" Yes "

"That I couldn't forget, of course; and that " he

paused. " Well! that doesn't matter; it's only about my-
self and it doesn't mean much after all. So, good-night."

As she moved to the door also, forced into following
him by the ache in her heart for him, more than for her-
self, the jingle of her anklets made him turn with an easy
laugh.

"It doesn't sound respectable," he said; then, with a
sudden compunction, added: "But the dress is much
prettier than those dancing girls', and — by Heaven,
Kate! you've always been miles too good for me; and
that's the fact. Well ! — let us leave it for to-morrow."

Yes ! for to-morrow, she told herself, with a determina-
tion not to think as, dressed as she was, she nestled down
into the strange softness of the camp bed, too weary of

AT LAST.

425

the pain and pity of this coming back even for tears. Yet
she thought of one thing ; not that she was safe, not that
she would see the boy again. Only of the thing he had
been going to tell her about himself. What was it? She
wanted to know; she wanted to know all — everything.
"Herbert!" she whispered to the pillow, "I wish you
had told me — I want to know — I want to make it easier —
for — for us all."

And so, not even grateful for her escape, she fell asleep
dreamlessly.

It was dawn when she woke with the sound of some-
one talking outside. He had come back. No! that was
not his voice. She sat up listening.

" The servants say she is asleep. Someone had better
go in and wake her. The Doctor "

"He's behind with the dhooli. Ah! there's More-
combe; he knows her."

But there was no need to call her. Kate was already
at the door, her eyes wide with the certainty of evil.
There was no need even to tell her what had happened;
for in the first rays of the rising sun, seen almost star-
like behind a dip in the rocky ridge, she saw a little pro-
cession making for the tent.

" He — he is dead," she said quietly. There was hardly
a question in her tone. She knew it must be so. Had
he not begged her to leave it till to-morrow? and this was
to-morrow. Were not her eyes full of its rising sun,
and what its beams held in their bright clasp?

" It seems impossible," said someone in a low voice,
breaking in on the pitiful silence. " He always seemed
to have a charmed life, and then, in an instant, when
nothing was going on, the chance bullet."

It did not seem impossible to her.

" Please don't make a fuss about me, Doctor," she
pleaded in a tone which went to his heart when he pro-
posed the conventional solaces. " Remember I have
been through so — so much already. I can bear it. I
can, indeed, if I'm left alone with him — while it is possi-
ble. Yes! I know there is another lady, but I only want
to be alone, with him."

So they left her there beside the little camp-bed with

426 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

its new burden. There was no sign of strife upon him.
Only that blue mark behind his ear among his hair,
and his face showed no pain. Kate covered it with a
little fine handkerchief she found folded away in a scented
case she had made for him before they were married. It
had Alice Gissing's monogram on it. It was better so,
she told herself; he would have liked it. She had no
flowers except the faded henna blossom, but it smelled
sweet as she tucked it under the hand which she had
left half clasped upon his sword. She might at least tell
him so, she thought half bitterly, that the lesson was
learned, that he might go in peace.

Then she sat down at the table and looked over their
boy's letters mechanically; for there was nothing to think
of now. The morrow had settled the problem. Cap-
tain Morecombe came in once or twice to say a word or
two, or bring in other men, who saluted briefly to her as
they passed to stand beside the dead man for a second,
and then go out again. She was glad they cared to
come; had begged that any might come who chose, as if
she were not there. But at one visitor she looked curi-
ously, for 'he came in alone. A tall man — as tall as
Herbert, she thought — with a dark beard and keen,
kindly eyes. She saw them, for he turned to her with the
air of one who has a right to speak, and she stood up
involuntarily.

" His name was up for the Victoria Cross, madam,"
said a clear, resonant voice, " as you may know; but that
is nothing. He was a fine soldier — a soldier such as I—
I am John Nicholson, madam — can ill spare. For the
rest — he leaves a good name to his son."

The sunlight streamed in for an instant on to the
little bed and its burden as he passed out, and glittered
on the sword and tassels. Kate knelt down beside it and
kissed the dead hand.

" That was what you meant, wasn't it, Herbert? " she
whispered. " I wish you had told it me yourself, dear."

She wished it often. Thinking over it all in the long
days that followed, it came to be almost her only regret.
If he had told her, if he had heard her say how glad she
was, she felt that she would have asked no more. And

AT LAST. 427

so, as she went down every evening to lay the white rose-
buds the gardener brought her on his grave she used to
repeat, as if he could hear them, his own words: " It is
the finish that is the win or the lose of a race."

That was what many a man was saying to himself upon
the Ridge in the first week of September. For the siege
train had come at last. The winning post lay close
ahead, they must ride all they knew. But those in com-
mand said it anxiously; for day by day the hospitals be-
came more crowded, and cholera, reappearing, helped
to swell the rear-guard of graves, when the time had
come for vanguards only.

But some men — among them Baird Smith and John
Nicholson — took no heed of sickness or death. And
these two, especially, looked into each other's eyes and
said, " When you are ready I'm ready." Their seniors
might say that an assault would be thrown on the hazard
of a die. What of that; if men are prepared to throw
sixes, as these two were? They had to be thrown, if
India was to be kept, if this bubble of sovereignty was to
be pricked, the gas let out.

In the city and the Palace also, men, feeling the strug-
gle close, put hand and foot to whip and spur. But there
was no one within the walls who had the seeing single
eye, quick to seize the salient point of a position. Baird
Smith saw it fast enough. Saw the thickets and walls of
the Koodsia Gardens in front of him, the river guarding
his left, a sinuous ravine — cleaving the hillside into cover
creeping down from the Ridge on his right to within two
hundred yards of the city wall. And that bit of the wall,
between the Moree gate and the Water Bastion, was its
weakest portion. The curtain walls long, mere parapets,
only wide enough for defense by muskets. So said the
spies, though it seemed almost incredible to English
engineers that the defense had not been strengthened by
pulling down the adjacent houses and building a ram-
part for guns.

In truth there was no one to suggest it, and if it had
been suggested there was no one to carry it out, for even
now, at the last, the Palace seethed with dissension and
intrigue. Yet still the sham went on inconceivably.

428 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

Jim Douglas, indeed, walking through the bazaars in his
Afghan dress, very nearly met his fate through it. For
he was seized incontinently and made to figure as one of
the retinue of the Amir of Cabul's ambassador, who,
about the beginning of September, was introduced to the
private Hall of Audience as a sedative to doubtful dream-
ers, and a tonic to brocaded bags. Luckily for him, how-
ever, the men called upon to play the other part in the
farce — chiefly cloth-merchants from Peshawur and else-
where, whom Jim Douglas had dodged successfully so
far — had been in such abject fear of being discovered
themselves that they had no thought of discovering
others. For Bahadur Shah had the dust and ashes of
a Moghul in him still. Jim Douglas recognized the fact
in the very obstinacy of delusion in the wax-like, haggard
old face looking with glazed, tremulous-lidded eyes at the
mock mission; and in the faded voice, accepting his
vassal of Cabul's promise of help. It was an almost in-
credible scene, Jim Douglas thought. Given it, there
was no limit to possibilities in this phantasmagoria of
kingship. The white shadows of the marble arches with
their tale of boundless power and wealth in the past, the
wide plains beyond, the embroidered curtain of the sun-
lit garden, the curves of courtiers, most of them in the
secret, no doubt; and below the throne these tag-rag and
bob-tail of the bazaars, one of them at least a hell-doomed
infidel, figuring away in borrowed finery! All this was
as unreal as a magic lantern picture, and like it was
followed hap-hazard, without rhyme or reason, by the
next on the slide; for, as he passed out of the Presence he
heard the question of appointing a Governor to Bombay
brought up and discussed gravely; that province being
reported to have sent in its allegiance en bloc to the Great
Moghul. The slides, however, were not always so digni-
fied, so decorous. One came, a day or two afterward,
showing a miserable old pantaloon driven to despair
because six hundred hungry sepoys would not behave
according to strict etiquette, but, invading his privacy
with threats, reduced him to taking his beautiful new
cushion from the Peacock Throne and casting it among
them.

AT LAST. 429

" Take it," he cried passionately, " it is all I have left.
Take it, and let me go in peace! "

But the lesson was not learned by him as yet; so he
had to remain; for once more the sepoys sent out word
that there was to be no skulking. To do the Royal
family justice, however, they seem by this time to have
given up the idea of flight. To be sure they had no
place to which they could fly, since theCdream>equired
that background of rose-red wall and marble arches. So
even Abool-Bukr, forsaking drunkenness as well as that
kind, detaining hand, clung to his kinsfolk bravely, be-
having in all ways as a newly married young prince
should who looked toward filling the throne itself at some
future time.*

The sepoys themselves had given up blustering, and
many, like Soma, had taken to bhang instead; drugging
themselves deliberately into indifference. The latter had
recovered from the blow on the back of his head, which,
however, as is so often the case, had for the time at any
rate deprived him of all recollection of the events im-
mediately preceding it. So, as Tara had restored his
uniform before he was able to miss it, he treated her as
if nothing had occurred; greatly to her relief. The fact
had its disadvantages, however, by depriving her of all
corroborative evidence of the mem having really left the
city. Thus Jim Douglas, warned by past experience,
and made doubtful by Tara's strange reticences, refused
to believe it. Her whole story, indeed, marred, as it
was, by the endless reserves and exaggerations, seemed
incredible; the more so because Tiddu — who lied wildly
as to his constant sojourn in Delhi — professed utter dis-
belief in it. So, after a few days' unavailing attempt to
get at the truth, Jim Douglas sent the old man off with a
letter of inquiry to the Ridge, and waited for the answer.

Waited, like all Delhi, under the shadow of the lifted
sword which hung above the city. A sword, held behind
a simulacrum of many, by one arm, sent for that purpose;
for John Lawrence, being wise, knew that the shadow
of that arm meant more even than the sword it held to

* His widow died last year, having spent thirty-eight years of her
fifty-four in cherishing the memory of a saint upon earth.

43° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

the wildest half of the province under his control, a prov-
ince trembling in the balance between allegiance and re-
volt; a province ready to catch fire if the extinguisher
were not put upon the beacon light. And all India
waited too. Waited to see that, sword fall.

But a hatchet fell first. Fell in the lemon thickets and
pomegranates of the walled old gardens, so that men who
worked at the batteries still remember the sweet smell
that went up from the crushed leaves. A welcome
change; for the Ridge, crowded now with eleven thou-
sand troops, was not a pleasant abode. It was on Sun-
day, the 6th of September, that the final reinforcements
came in, and on the 7th the men, reading General Wil-
son's order for the appointing of prize agents in each
corps, and his assurance that all plunder would be
divided fairly, felt as if they were already within the walls.
The hospitals, too, were giving up their sick; those who
could not be of use going to the rear, Meerut-ward, those
fit for work to the front. And that night the first siege
battery was traced and almost finished below the Sammy-
House, while, under cover of this distraction on the
right, the Koodsia Gardens and Ludlow Castle on the
left were occupied by strong pickets.

But that first battery — only seven hundred yards from
the Moree Bastion — had a struggle for dear life. The
dawn showed but one gun in position against 'all the con-
centrated fire of the bastion which, during the night, had
been lured into a useless duel with the old defense batter-
ies above. Only one gun at dawn ; but by noon — despite
assault and battery — there were five, answering roar for
roar. Then for the first time began that welcome echo:
the sound of crumbling walls, the grumbling roll of fall-
ing stones and mortar. By sunset the gradually dimin-
ishing fire from the bastion had ceased, and the bastion
itself was a heap of ruins. By this time the four guns
in the left section of the battery were keeping down the
fire from the Cashmere gate, and so protecting the real
advance through the gardens. That was the first day of
the siege, and Kate Erlton, sitting in her little tent, which
had been moved into a quiet spot, as she had begged to
be allowed to stay on the Ridge until some news came

AT LAST. 431

of the man to whom she owed so much, thought with a
shudder she could not help, of what it must mean to
many an innocent soul shut up within those walls. It
was bad enough here, where the very tent seemed to
shake. It must be terrible down there beside the heating
guns, in the roar and the rattle, the grime and the ache
and strain of muscle. But in the city — even in Sri
Anunda's garden !

So, naturally enough, she wondered once more what
could have become of the man who had gone back to
find her nearly ten days before.

" May I come in? John Nicholson."

She would have recognized the voice even without the
name, for it was not one to be forgotten. Nor was the
owner, as he stood before her, a letter in his hand.

" I have heard from Mr. Douglas, Mrs. Erlton," he
said. " It is in the Persian character, so I presume it is
no use showing it to you. But it concerns you chiefly.
He wants to know if you are safe. I have to answer it
immediately. Have you any message you would like to
send?"

" Any message?" she echoed. "Only that he must
come back at once, of course."

John Nicholson looked at her calmly.

" I shall say nothing of the kind," he replied. " It is
best for a man to decide such matters for himself."

She flushed up hotly. " I had not the slightest inten-
tion of dictating to Mr. — Mr. Douglas, General Nichol-
son; but considering how much he has already sacrificed
for my sake "

" You had better let him do as he likes, my dear
madam," interrupted the General, with a sudden kindly
smile, which, however, faded as quickly as it came, leav-
ing his face stern. " He, like many another man, has
sacrificed too much for women, Mrs. Erlton; so if ever
you can make up to him for some of the pain, do so — he
is worth it. Good-by. I'll tell him that you are safe;
but that in spite of that, he has my permission to go
ahead and kill — the more the better."

She had not the faintest idea why he made this last
remark; but it did not puzzle her, for she was occupied

43 2 6M THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

with his previous one. Sacrificed too much! That was
true. He carried the scars of the knife upon him clearly.
And the man who had just left her presence, who, for all
his courtesy, had treated her so cavalierly? She was
rather vexed with herself for feeling it, but a sudden
sense of being a poor creature came over her. It flashed
upon her that she could imagine a world .without women
— she was in one, almost, at that very moment — but not
a world without men. Yet that ceaseless roar filling the
air had more to do with women than men; it went more
as a challenge of revenge than a stern recall to duty.

It was true. The men, working night and day in the
batteries, thought little of men's rights, only of women's
wrongs. Even General Wilson in his order had appealed
to those under him on that ground only, urging them to
spend life and strength freely in vengeance on murderers.

And they did. Down in the scented Koodsia Gardens
the men never seemed to tire, never to shrink, though
the shot from the city — not two hundred and fifty yards
away — flew pinging through the trees above them. But
the high wall gave cover, and so those off duty slept
peacefully in the cool shade, or sat smoking on the river-
terrace.

Thus, while the first battery, pounding away from the
right at the Moree and Cashmere bastions, diverted at-
tention, and the enemy, deceived by the feint, lavished
a dogged courage in trying to keep up some kind of
reply, a second siege battery in two sections was traced
and made in front of Ludlow Castle, five hundred yards
from the Cashmere gate. By dawn on the nth both sec-
tions were at work destroying the defenses of the gate;
and pounding away to breach the curtain wall beside it.
So the roar was doubled, and the vibrations of the air
began to quiver on the wearied ear almost painfully. Yet
they were soon trebled, quadrupled. Trebled by a party
of wide-mouthed mortars in the garden itself. Quad-
rupled by a wicked, dare-devil, impertinent little company
of six eighteen-pounders and twelve small mortars,
which, with Medley of the Engineers as a guide, took ad-
vantage of a half ruined house to creep within a hundred

AT LAST. 433

and sixty yards of the doomed walls despite the shower
of shell and bullets from it. For by this time the mur-
derers in the city had found out that the men were at
work at something in the scented thickets to the left.
Not that the discovery hindered the work. The native
pioneers, who bore the brunt of it, digging and piling for
the wicked little intruder, were working with the master,
working with volunteers — officers and men alike — from
the 9th Lancers and the Carabineers. So, when one of
their number toppled over, they looked to see if he were
dead or alive in order to sort him out properly. And
if he was dead they would weep a few tears as they laid
him in the row beside the others of his kind, before they
went on with their work quietly; for, having to decide
whether a comrade belonged to the dead or the living
thirty-nine times one night, they began to get expert at
it. So by the I2th, fifty guns and mortars flashed and
roared, and the rumble of falling stones became almost
continuous. Sometimes a shell would just crest the
parapet, burst, and bring away yards of it at a time.

Up on the Ridge behind the siege batteries, when the
cool of the evening came on, every post was filled with
sightseers watching the salvos, watching the game. And
one, at least, going back to get ready for mess, wrote and
told his wife at Meerut, that if she were at the top of Flag-
staff Tower, she would remain there till the siege was
over — it was so fascinating. But they were merry on the
Ridge in these days, and the messes were so full that
guests had to be limited at one, till they got a new leaf
in the table! Yet on the other slope of the Ridge, men
were tumbling over like the stones in the walls. Tumb-
ling over one after another in the batteries, all through
the night of the I2th, and the day of the I3th.

Then at ten o'clock in the evening, men, sitting in the
mess-tents, looked at each other joyfully, yet with a thrill
in their vfins, as the firing ceased suddenly. For they
knew what that meant; they knew that down under the
very walls of the city, friends and comrades were creep-
ing, sword in one hand, their lives in the other, through
the starlight, to see if the breaches were practicable.

434 OAT THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

But the city knew them to be so; and already the last
order sent by the Palace to Delhi was being proclaimed
by beat of drum through the streets.

So, monotonously, the cry rang from alley to alley.

" Intelligence having just been brought that the infi-
dels intend an assault to-night, it is incumbent on all,
Hindoo and Mohammedan, from due regard to their
faith, to assemble directly by the Cashmere gate, bring-
ing iron picks and shovels with them. This order is
imperative."

Newasi Begum, among others, heard it as she sat read-
ing. She stood up suddenly, overturning the book-
rest and the Holy Word in her haste ; for she felt that the
crisis was at hand. She had never seen Abool-Bukr
since the night, now a whole month past, when he had
taunted her with being one more woman ready for kisses.
Her pride had kept her from seeking him, and he had not
returned. But now her resentment gave way before
her fears. She must see him — since God only knew what
might be going to happen !

True in a way. But up on the Ridge one man felt
certain of one thing. John Nicholson, with the order
for an assault at dawn safe in his hand, knew that he
would be in Delhi on the I4th of September — a day
earlier than he had expected.

CHAPTER V.

THROUGH THE WALLS.

IT was a full hour past dawn on the i4tb_ojLSeptember
ere that sudden silence fell once more upon the echoing
rocks of the Ridge and the scented gardens. So, for a
second, the twittering birds in the thickets behind them
might have been heard by the men who, with fixed bayo-
nets, were jostling the roses and the jasmines. But they
were holding their breath — waiting, listening, for some-
thing very different; while in the ears of many, exclud-
ing all other sounds, lingered the cadence of the text

THE WALLS. 435

read by the chaplain before dawn in the church lesson
for the day.

" Woe to the bloody city — the sword shall cut
thee off."

For to many the coming struggle meant neither
justice nor revenge, but religion. It was Christ against
Anti-Christ. So, whether for revenge or faith they
waited. A thousand down by the river opposite the
Water Bastion. A thousand in the Koodsia facing the
main breach, with John Nicholson, first as ever, to lead
it. A thousand more on the broad white road fronting
the Cashmere Bastion, with an explosion party ahead to
blow in the gate, and a reserve of fifteen hundred to the
rear waiting for success. Briefly, four thousand five
hundred men — more than half natives — for the assault,
facing that half mile or so of northern wall; thus within
touch of each other. Beyond, on the western trend, two
thousand more — mostly untried troops from Jumoo and
a general muster of casuals — to sweep through the sub-
urbs and be ready to enter by the Cabul gate when it was
opened to them.

Above, on the Ridge, six hundred sabers awaiting
orders. Behind it three thousand sick in hospital, a weak
defense, and that rear-guard of graves.

And in front of all stood that tall figifre with the keen
eyes. " Are you ready, Jones? " asked Nicholson, lay-
ing his hand on the last leader's shoulder. His voice
and face were calm, almost cold.

"Ready, sir!"

Then, startling that momentary silence, came the
bugle.

" Advance! "

With a cheer the rifles skirmished ahead joyfully. The
engineers posted in the furthest cover long before dawn
—who had waited for hours, knowing that each minute
made their task 'harder — rose, waving their swords to
guide the stormers toward the breach! Then, calmly,
as if it had been dark, not daylight, crested the glacis at
a swift walk, followed by the laddermen in line. Behind,
with a steady tramp, the two columns bound for the
breaches. But the third, upon the road? had to wait a

43^ ON THE PACE OF THE

while, as, like greyhounds from a leash, a little company
slipped forward at the double.

Home of the Engineers first with two sergeants, a
native havildar, and ten Punjab sappers, running lightly,
despite the twenty-five pound powder bags they car-
ried. Behind them, led by Salkeld, the firing party and
a bugler. Running under the hail of bullets, faster as
they fell faster, as men run to escape a storm; but these
courted it, though the task had been set for night, and it
was now broad daylight.

What then? They could see better. See the outer
gateway open, the footway of the drawbridge destroyed,
the inner door closed save for the wicket.

" Come on," shouted Home, and was across the bare
beams like a boy, followed by the others.

Incredible daring! What did it mean? The doubt
made the scared enemy close the wicket hastily. So
against it, at the rebels' very feet, the powder bags were
laid. True, one sergeant fell dead with his; but as it fell
against the gates his task was done.

" Ready, Salkeld ! — your turn," sang out young Home
from the ditch, into which, the bags laid, the fuse set, he
dropped unhurt. So across the scant foothold came
the firing party, jts leader holding the portfire. But the
paralysis of amazement had passed; the enemy, realizing
what the audacity meant, had set the wicket wide. It
bristled now with muskets; so did the parapet.

"Burgess! — your turn," called Salkeld as he fell, and
passed the portfire to the corporal behind him. Burgess,
alias Grierson, — someone perchance retrieving a past
under a new name, — took it, stooped, then with a half
articulate cry either that it was " right " or " out," fell
back into the ditch dead. Smith, of the powder party,
lingering to see the deed done, thought the latter, and,
matchbox in hand, sprang forward, cuddling the gate
for safety as he struck a light. But it was not needed.
As he stooped to use it, the port-fire of the fuse exploded
in his face, and, half blinded, he turned to plunge head-
long for escape into the ditch. A second after the gate
was in fragments.

"Your turn, Hawthorne!" came that voice from the

THROUGH THE WALLS. 437

ditch. So the bugler, who had braved death to sound it,
gave the advance. Once, twice, thrice, carefully lest the
din from the breaches should drown it. Vain precaution,
not needed either; for the sound of the explosion was
enough. That thousand on the road was hungering to
be no whit behind the others, and with a wild cheer the
stormers made for the gate.

But Nicholson was already in Delhi, though ten min-
utes had gone in a fierce struggle to place a single ladder
against an avalanche of shot and stone. But that one
had been the signal for him to slip into the ditch, and,
calling on the ist Bengal Fusiliers to follow, escalade
the bastion, first as ever.

Even so, others were before him. Down at the Water
Bastion, though three-quarters of the laddermen had
fallen and but a third of the storming party remained,
those twenty-five men of the 8th had gained the breach,
and, followed by the whole column, were clearing the
ramparts toward the Cashmere- gate. Hence, again,
without a check, joined by the left half of Nicholson's
column, they swept the enemy before them like fright-
ened sheep to the Moree gate; though in the bastion it-
self the gunners stood to their guns and were bayoneted
beside them. There, with a whoop, some of the wilder
ones leaped to the parapet to wave their" caps in exulta-
tion to the cavalry below, which, in obedience to orders,
was now drawn up, ready to receive, guarding the flank
of the assault, despite the murderous fire from the Cabul
gate, and the Burn Bastion beyond it. Sitting in their
saddles, motionless, doing nothing, a mark for the enemy,
yet still a wall of defense. So, leaving them to that hard-
est task of all — the courage of inaction — the victorious
rush swept on to take the Cabul gate, to sweep past it
up to the Burn Bastion itself — the last bastion which
commanded the position.

And then? Then the order came to retire and await
orders at the Cabul gate. The fourth column, after clear-
ing the suburbs, was to have been there ready for admit-
tance, ready to support. It was not. And Nicholson was
not there also, to dare and do all. He had had to pause
at the Cashmere gate to arrange that the column which

43 8 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

had entered through it should push on into the city, leav-
ing the reserve to hold the points already won. And
now, with the ist Fusiliers behind him, he was fighting
his way through the streets to the Cabul gate. So, fear-
ing to lose touch with those behind, over-rating the dan-
ger, under-estimating the incalculable gain of unchecked
advance with an eastern foe, the leader of that victorious
sweeping of the ramparts was content to set the Eng-
lish flag flying on the Cabul gate and await orders. But
|>X"the men had to do something. So they filled up the
time plundering. And there were liquor shops about.
Europe shops, full of wine and brandy.

The flag had been flying over an hour when Nicholson
came up. But by that time the enemy — who had been
flying too — flying as far as the boat bridge in sheer con-
viction that the day was lost — had recovered some cour-
age and were back, crowding the bastion and some tall
houses beside it. And in the lane, three hundred yards
long, not ten feet wide, leading to it, two brass guns had
been posted before bullet proof screens ready to mow
down the intruders.

Yet once more John Nicholson saw but one thing —
the Burn Bastion. Built by Englishmen, it was one of
the strongest — the only remaining one, in fact, likely to
give trouble. With it untaken a thorough hold on the
city was impossible. Besides, with his vast knowledge of
native character, he knew that the enemy had expected
us to take it, and would construe caution into cowardice.
Then he had the ist Bengal Fusiliers behind him. He
had led them in Delhi, they had fallen in his track in tens
and fifties, and still they had come on — they would do
this thing for him now.

" We will do what we can, sir," said their commandant,
Major Jacob — but his face was grave.

" We will do what men can do, sir," said the com-
mandant of that left half of the column; "but honestly,
I don't think it can be done. We have tried it once."
His face was graver still.

" Nor I," said Nicholson's Brigade-major.

Nicholson, as he stood by the houses around the Cabul
gate, which had been occupied and plundered by the

THROUGH THE WALLS. 439

troops, looked down the straight lane again. It hugged
the city wall on its right, its scanty width narrowed here
and there by buttresses to some three feet. About a
third of the way down was the first gun, placed beside a
feathery kikar tree which sent a lace-like tracery of
shadow upon the screen. As far behind was the second.
Beyond, again, was the bastion jutting out, and so forc-
ing the lane to bend between it and some tall houses.
Both were crowded with the enemy — the screens held
bayonets and marksmen. There was a gun close to the
bastion in the wall, but to the left, cityward, in the low,
flat-roofed mud houses there seemed no trace of flank-
ing foes.

" I think it can be done," he said. He knew it must
be done ere the Palace could be taken. So he gave the
orders. Fusiliers forward; officers to the front!

And to the front they went, with a cheer and a rush,
overwhelming the first gun, within ten yards of the other.
And one man was closer still, for Lieutenant Butler,
pinned against that second bullet-proof screen by two
bayonets thrust through the loopholes at him, had to
fire his revolver through them also, ere he could escape
this two-pronged fork.

But the fire of every musket on the bastion and the
tall houses was centered on that second gun. Grape,
canister, raked the narrow lane — made narrower by fal-
len Fusiliers — and forced those who remained to fall back
upon the first gun — beyond that even. Yet only for a
moment. Reformed afresh, they carried it a second time,
spiked it and pressed on. Officers still to the front!

Just beyond the gun the commandant fell wounded to
death. " Go on, men, go on! " he shouted to those who
would have paused to help him. " Forward, Fusiliers ! "

And they went forward; though at dawn two hundred
and fifty men had dashed for the breach, and now there
were not a hundred and fifty left to obey orders. Less !
For fifty men and seven officers lay in that lane itself.
Surely it was time now for others to step in — and there
were others!

Nicholson saw the waver, knew what it meant, and
sprang forward sword in hand, calling on those others to

44° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

follow. But he asked too much. Where the 1st Fusi-
liers had failed, none cared to try. That is the simple
truth. The limit had been reached.

So for a minute or two he stood, a figure instinct with
passion, energy, vitality, before men who, God knows
with reason, had lost all three for the moment. A
*/ colossal figure beyond them, ahead of them, asking more
than mere ordinary men could do. So a pitiful figure — a
failure at the last!

" Come on, men! Come on, you fools — come on, you
—you "

What the word was, which that bullet full in the chest
arrested between heart and lips, those who knew John
Nicholson's wild temper, his indomitable will, his fierce
resentment at everything which fell short of his ideals,
can easily guess.

" Lay me under that tree," he gasped, as they raised
him. " I will not leave till the lane is carried. My God !
Don't mind me! Forward, men, forward! It can be
done."

An hour or two afterward a subaltern coming out of
the Cashmere gate saw a dhooli, deserted by its bearers.
In it lay John Nicholson in dire agony; but he asked
nothing of his fellows then save to be taken to hospital.
He had learned his lesson. He had done what others
had set him to do. He had entered Delhi.- He had
pricked the bubble, and the gas was leaking out. But
he had failed in the task he had set himself. The Burn
Bastion was still unwon, and the English force in Delhi,
instead of holding its northern half up to the very walls
of the Palace, secure from flanking foes, had to retire on
the strip of open ground behind the assaulted wall — if,
indeed, it had not to retire further still. Had one man
had his way it would have retired to the Ridge. Late in
the afternoon, when fighting was over for the day, Gen-
eral Wilson rode round the new-won position, and, map
in hand, looked despairingly toward the network of nar-
row lanes< and alleys beyond. And he looked at some-
thing close at hand with even greater forebodings; for
he stood in the European quarter of the town among
shops still holding vast stores of wine and spirits which

THROUGH THE WALLS. 441

had been left untouched by that other army of
occupation.

But what of this one? This product of civilization,
and culture, and Christianity; these men who could give
points to those others in so many ways, but might barter
their very birthright for a bottle of rum. Yet even so,
the position must be held. So said Baird Smith at the
chief's elbow, so wrote Neville Chamberlain, unable to
leave his post on the Ridge. And another man in hos-
pital, thinking of the Burn Bastion, thinking with a
strange wonder of men who could refuse to follow,
muttered under his breath, "Thank God! I have still
strength left to shoot a coward."

And yet General Wilson in a way was right. Five
days afterward Major Hodson wrote in his diary: "The
troops are utterly demoralized by hard work and hard
drink. For the first time in my life I have had to see
English soldiers refuse repeatedly to follow their officers.
Jacob, Nicholson, Greville, Speke were all sacrificed to
this."

A terrible indictment indeed, against brave men.

Yet not worse than that underlying the chiefs order
of the 1 5th, directing the Provost-marshal to search
for and smash every bottle and barrel to be found, and let
the beer and wine, so urgently needed by the sick, run
into the gutters; or his admission three days later that
another attempt to take the Lahore gate had failed from
" the refusal of the European soldiers to follow their offi-
cers. One rush and it could have been done easily —
we are still, therefore, in the same position to-day as we
were yesterday."

So much for drink.

But the enemy luckily was demoralized also. It was
still full of defense; empty of attack.

For one thing, attack would have admitted a reverse;
and over on that eastern wall of the Palace, in the fretted
marble balcony overlooking the river, there was no men-
tion, even now, of such a word. Reverse! Had not
the fourth column been killed to a man? Had not Nik-
alseyn himself fallen a victim to valor? But Soma,
and many a man of his sort, gave up the pretense with

442 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

bitter curses at themselves. They had seen from their
own posts that victorious escalade, that swift, unchecked
herding of the frightened sheep. And they — intolerable
thought! — were sheep also. They saw men with dark
faces, no whit better than they — better! — the Rajpoot
had at least a longer record than the Sikh! — led to vic-
tory while they were not led at all. So brought face to
face once more with the old familiar glory and honor,
the old familiar sight of the master first — uncompromis-
ingly, indubitably first to snatch success from the grasp
of Fate, and hand it back to them — they thought of the
past three months with loathing.

And as for Nikalseyn's rebuff. Soma, hearing of it
from a comrade, hot at heart as he, went to the place,
and looked down the lane as John Nicholson had done.
By all the Pandavas! a place for heroes indeed! Ah! if
he had been there, he would have stayed there somehow.
He walked up and down it moodily, picturing the
struggle to himself; thinking with a curious anger of
those men on the housetops, in the bastion, taking pot-
shots at the unsheltered men below. That was all there
would be now. They might drive the masters back for
a time, they might inveigle them into lanes and reduce
their numbers by tens and fifties, they, men of his sort,
might make a brave defense.

Defense! Soma wanted to attack. Attracted by the
faint shade of the kikar tree he sat down beneath it, rest-
ing against the trunk, looking along the lane once more,
just as, a day or two before, John Nicholson had rested
for a space. And the iron of failure entered into this
man's heart also, because there was none to lead. And
with the master there had been none to follow7.

Suddenly he rose, his mind made up. If that was so,
let him go back to the plow. That also was a hereditary
trade.

That night, without a word to anyone, leaving his
uniform behind him, he started along the Rohtuck road
for his ancestral village. But he had to make a detour
round the suburbs, for, despite that annihilation spoken
of in the Palace, they were now occupied by the English.

Yet but little headway had been made in securing a
firmer hold within the city itself.

THROUGH THE WALLS. 443

" You can't, till the Burn Bastion is taken and the
Lahore gate secured," said Nicholson from his dying
bed, whence, growing perceptibly weaker day by day,
yet with mind clear and unclouded, he watched and
warned. The single eye was not closed yet, was not
even made dim by death. It saw still, what it had seen
on the day of the assault; what it had coveted then and
failed to reach.

But it was not for five days after this failure that even
Baird Smith recognized the absolute accuracy of this
judgment, and, against the Chief's will, obtained permis-
sion to sap through the shelter of the intervening houses
till they could tackle the bastion at close and command-
ing quarters without asking the troops to face another
lane. So on the morning of the I9th, after a night of
storm and rain cooling the air incredibly, the pick-ax
began what rifles and swords had failed to do. By night-
fall a tall house was reached, whence the bastion could
be raked fore and aft. Its occupants, recognizing this,
took advantage of the growing darkness to evacuate it.
Half an hour afterward the master-key of the position
was in English hands.

Rather unsteady ones, for here again the troops —
once more the 8th, the 75th, the Sikh Infantry, and that
balance of the Fusiliers — had found more brandy.

" Poisoned, sir? " said one thirsty trooper, flourishing
a bottle of Exshaw's Number One before the eyes of his
Captain, who, as a last inducement to sobriety, was sug-
gesting danger. " Not a bit of it. Capsules all right."

But this time England could afford a few drunk men.
The bastion was gone, and by the Turkoman and Delhi
gates half the town was going. And not only the town.
Down in the Palace men and women, with fumbling
hands and dazed eyes, like those new roused from dreams,
were snatching at something to carry with them in their
flight. Bukht Khan stood facing the Queen in her
favorite summer-house, alone, save for Hafzan, the
scribe, who lingered, watching them with a certain malice
in her eyes. She had been right. Vengeance had been
coming. Now it had come.

" All is not lost, my Queen," said Bukht Khan, with

444 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

hand on sword. " The open country lies before us,
Lucknow is ours — come ! "

" And the King, and my son," she faltered. The dull
glitter of her tarnished jewelry seemed in keeping with
the look on her face. There was something sordid in it-
Sordid, indeed, for behind that mask of wifely solicitude
and maternal care lay the thought of her hidden treasure.

" Let them come too. Naught hinders it."

True. But the gold, the gold!

After he had left her, impatient of her hesitation, a
sudden terror seized her, lest he might have sought the
King, lest he might persuade him.

"My bearers — woman! Quick!" she called to Haf-
zan. " Quick, fool! my dhooli! "

But even dhooli bearers have to fly when vengeance
shadows the horizon; and in that secluded corner none
remained. Everyone was busy elsewhere; or from
sheer terror clustered together where soldiers were to
be found.

" The Ornament-of-Palaces can walk," said Hafzan,
still with that faint malice in her face. " There is none
to see, and it is not far."

So, for the last time, Zeenut Maihl left the summer-
house whence she had watched the Meerut road. Left
it on foot, as many a better woman as unused to walking
as she was leaving Delhi with babies on their breasts and
little children toddling beside them. Past the faint out-
line of the Pearl Mosque, through the cool damp of the
watered garden with the moon shining overhead, she
stumbled laboriously. Up the steps of the Audience
Hall toward a faint light by the Throne. The King sat
on it, almost in the dark; for the oil cressets on a trefoil
stand only seemed to make the shadows blacker. They
lay thick upon the roof, blotting out that circling boast.
Before him stood Bukht Khan, his hand still on his
sword, broad, contemptuously bold. But on either side
of the shrunken figure, half lost in the shadows also,
were other counselors. Ahsan-Oolah, wily as ever,
Elahi Buksh, the time-server, who saw the only hope of
safety in prompt surrender.

" Let the Pillar-of- Faith claim time for thought," the

THROUGH THE WALLS. 445

latter was saying. " There is no hurry. If the souba-
dar-sahib is in one, let him go "

Bukht Khan broke in with an ugly laugh, " Yea,
Mirza-sahib, I can go, but if I go the army goes with me.
Remember that. The King can keep the rabble. I
have the soldiers."

Bahadur Shah looked from one to the other help-
lessly. Whether to go, risk all, endure a life of unknown
discomfort at his age, or remain, alone, unprotected, he
knew not.

" Yea! that is true. Still there is no need for hurry,"
put in the physician, with a glance at Elahi Buksh.
" Let my master bid the soubadar and the army meet
him at the Tomb of Humayon to-morrow morning.
'Twill be more seemly time to leave than now, like a
thief in the night."

Bukht Khan gave a sharp look at the speaker, then
laughed again. He saw the game. He scarcely cared
to check it.

" So be it. But let it be before noon. I will wait no
longer."

As he passed out hastily he almost ran into a half-
veiled figure, which, with another behind it, was hugging
one of the pillars, peering forward, listening. He
guessed it for" the Queen, and paused instantly.

' 'Tis thy last chance, Zeenut Maihl," he whispered in
her ear. " Come if thou art wise."

The last. No! not that. The last for sovereignty
perhaps, but not for hidden treasure. Half an hour
afterward, a little procession of Royal dhoolies passed
out of the Palace on their way to Elahi Buksh's house
beside the Delhi gate, and Ahsan-Oolah walked beside
the Queen's. He had gold also to save, and he was wise;
so she listened, and as she listened she told herself that
it would be best to stay. Her life was safe, and her son
was too young for the punishment of death. As for the
King, he was too old for the future to hold anything
else.

Hafzan watched her go, still with that half-jeering
smile, then turned back into the empty Palace. Even in
the outer court it was empty, indeed, save for a few

44^ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

fanatics muttering texts; and within the precincts, de-
serted utterly, silent as the grave. Until, suddenly, from
the Pearl Mosque a voice came, giving the call to prayer;
for it was not far from dawn.

She paused, recognizing it, and leaving the marble
terrace where she had been standing, looking riverward,
walked over to the bronze-studded door, and peered in
among the white arches of the mosque for what she
sought.

And there it was, a tall white figure looking westward,
its back toward her, its arms spread skyward. A fanatic
of fanatics.

" Thou art not wise to linger here, Moulvie sahib," she
called. " Hast not heard? The Burn Bastion is taken.
The King and Queen have fled. The English will be
here in an hour or so, and then '

" And then there comes judgment," answered Mo-
hammed Ismail, turning to look at her sternly. " Doth
not it lie within these walls? I stay here, woman, as I
have stayed."

" Nay, not here," she argued in conciliatory tones.
"It lies yonder, in the outer court, by the trees shadow-
ing the little tank. Thou canst see it from the window
of my uncle's room. And he hath gone — like the others.
'Twere better to await it there."

She spoke as she would have spoken to a madman.
And, indeed, she held him to be little else. Here was a
man who had saved forty infidels, whose reward was
sure. And who must needs imperil it by lingering
where death was certain ; must needs think of his battered
soul instead of his body. Mohammed Ismail came and
stood beside her, with a curious acquiesence in regard to
details which is so often seen in men mastered by one
idea.

" It may be better so, sister," he said dreamily. " Tis
as well to be prepared."

Hafzan's hard eyes melted a little, for she had a real
pity for this man who had haunted the Palace per-
sistently, and lost his reason over his conscience.

If she could once get him into her uncle's room, she
would find some method of locking him in, of keeping

THROUGH THE WALLS. 447

him out of mischief. For herself, being a woman, the
Huzoors were not to be feared.

" Yea! 'tis as well to be near," she said as she led the
way.

And the time drew near also ; for the dawn of the 2oth
of September had broken ere, with the key of the outer
door in her bosom, she retired into an inner room, leav-
ing the Moulvie saying his prayers in the other. Already
the troops, recovered from their unsteadiness, had carried
the Lahore gate and were bearing down on the mosque.
They found it almost undefended. The circling flight of
purple pigeons, which at the first volley flew westward,
the sun glistening on their iridescent plumage, was
scarcely more swift than the flight of those who at-
tempted a feeble resistance. And now the Palace lay
close by. With it captured, Delhi was taken. Its walls,
it is true, rose unharmed, secure as ever, hemming in
those few acres of God's earth from the march of time;
but they were strangely silent. Only now and again a
puff of white smoke and an unavailing roar told that
someone, who cared not even for success, remained
within.

So powder bags were brought. Home of the Engi-
neers sent for, that he might light the fuse which gave
entry to the last stronghold; for there was no hurry
now. No racing now under hailstorms, and over tight-
ropes. Calmly, quietly, the fuse was lit, the gate shiv-
ered to atoms, and the long red tunnel with the gleam of
sunlight at its end lay before the men, who entered it
with a cheer. Then, here and there rose guttural Arabic
texts, ending in a groan. Here and there the clash of
arms. But not enough to rouse Hafzan, who, long ere
this, had fallen asleep after her wakeful night. It needed
a touch on her shoulder for that, and the Moulvie's
eager voice in her ear.

;' The key, woman! The key — give it! I need the
key."

Half-dazed by sleep, deceived by the silence, she put
her hand mechanically to her bosom. His followed hers;
he had what he sought, and was off. She sprang to her
feet, recognizing some danger, and followed him.

44^ ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

" He is mad! He is mad! " she cried, as her halting
steps lingered behind the tall white figure which made
straight for a crowd of soldiers gathered round the little
tank. There were other soldiers here, there, everywhere
in the rose-red arcades around the sun-lit court. Sol-
diers with dark faces and white ones seeking victims,
seeking plunder. But these in the center were all white
men, and they were standing, as men stand to look at a
holy shrine, upon the place where, as the spies had told
them, English women and children had been murdered.

So toward them, while curses were in all hearts and on
some lips, came the tall white figure with its arms out-
spread, its wild eyes aflame.

"O God of Might and Right! Give judgment now,
give judgment now."

The cry rolled and echoed through the arcades to alien
ears even as other cries.

" He is mad — he saved them — he is mad! " gasped the
maimed woman behind; but her cry seemed no different
to those unheeding ears.

The tall white figure lay on its face, half a dozen
bayonets in its back, and half a dozen more were after
Hafzan.

"Stick him! Stick him! A man in disguise. Re-
member the women and children. Stick the coward! "

She fled shrieking — shrill, feminine shrieks; but the
men's blood was up. They could not hear, they would
not hear; and yet the awkwardness of that flying figure
made them laugh horribly.

" Don't 'ustle 'im! Give 'im time! There's plenty o'
run in 'im yet, mates. Lord! 'e'd get first prize at Lillie
Bridge 'e would."

Someone else, however, had got it at Harrow not a
year before, and was after the reckless crew. Almost
too late — not quite. Hafzan, run to earth against a red
wall, felt something on her back, and gave a wild yell.
But it was only a boy's hand.

" My God! sir, I've stuck you! " faltered a voice be-
hind, as a man stood rigid, arrested in mid-thrust.

" You d d fool!" said the boy. " Couldn't you

hear it was a woman? I'll — I'll have you shot. Oh,

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 449

hang it all! Drag the creature away, someone. Get
out, do! "

For Hafzan, as he stood stanching the blood from
the slight wound, had fallen at his feet and was kissing
them frantically.

But even that indignity was forgotten as the stained
handkerchief answered the flutter of something which at
that moment caught the breeze above him.

It was the English flag.

The men, forgetting everything else, cheered them-
selves hoarse — cheered again when an orderly rode past
waving a slip of paper sent back to the General with the
laconic report:

k< Blown open the gates ! Got the Palace ! "

But Hafzan, her veil up to prevent mistakes, limped
over to where the Moulvie lay, turned him gently on his
back, straightened his limbs and closed his eyes. She
would have liked to tell the truth to someone, but there
was no one to listen. So she left him there before the
tribunal to which he had appealed.

CHAPTER VI.

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS.

So the strain of months was over on the Ridge. Delhi
was taken; the Queen's health was being drunk night
after night in the Palace of the Moghuls. But there was
one person to whom the passing days brought a growing
anxiety. This was Kate Erlton; for there were no tid-
ings of Jim Douglas. None.

At first she had comforted herself with the idea that he
was still, for some reason or another, keeping to the yet
unconquered part of the city; that he was obliged to do
so being impossible, the long files of women and children
seeking safety and passing through the Ridge fearlessly
precluding that consolation. Still it was conceivable
he might be busy, though it seemed strange he should
have sent no word. So, like many another in India at

45° ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

that time, she waited, hoping against hope, possessing
her soul in patience. She had no lack of occupation to
distract her. How could there be for a woman, when
close on twelve hundred men had come back from the
city dead or wounded?

But now the 2ist of September was upon them. The
city was occupied, the work was over. Yet Captain
Morecombe, coming back from it, shook his head. He
had spent time and trouble in the search, but had failed —
failed even, from Kate's limited ideas of their locality,
to find either Tara's lodging or the roof in the Mufti's
quarter. She could have found them herself, she said
almost pathetically; but of course that was impossible
now, and would be so for some time to come.

" I'm afraid it is no use, Mrs. Erlton," said the Cap-
tain kindly. " There is not a trace to be found, even by
Hodson's spies. Unless he is shut up somewhere, he —
he must be dead. It is so likely that he should be; you
must see that. Possibly before the siege began. Let us
hope so."

" Why? " she asked quickly. !< You mean that there
have been horrible things done of late? — things like that
poor soldier who was found chained outside the Cash-
mere gate as a target for his fellows? Have there? I
would so much rather know the worst, — I used always to
tell Mr. Douglas so, — it prevents one dreaming'at night."
She shivered as she spoke, and the man watching her
felt his heart go out toward her with a throb of pity.
How long, he wondered irrelevantly, would it take her
to forget the miserable tragedy, to be ready for con-
solation?

" Yes, there have been terrible things on both sides.
There always are. You can't help it when you sack
cities," he replied, interrupting himself hastily with a
sort of shame. " The Ghoorkhas had the devil in them
when I was down in the Mufti's quarter. They shot
dozens of helpless learned people in the Chelon-ke-
kucha — one who coached me up for my exams. And
about twelve women in the house of a ' Professor of
Arabic ' — so he styled himself — jumped down the wall
to escape — their own fears chiefly. For the men wanted

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 45 1

loot, nothing else. That is the worst of it. The whole
story from beginning to end seems so needless. It is as
if Fate "

She interrupted him quietly, " It has been Fate. Fate
from beginning to end."

He sat for an instant with a grave face, then looked up
with a smile. " Perhaps. It's rather apropos des bottes,
Mrs. Erlton, but I wanted to ask you a question. Hadn't
you a white cockatoo, once? When you first came here.
I seem to recollect the bird making a row in the
veranda when I used to drive up."

Her face grew suddenly pale, she sat staring at him
with dread in her eyes. "Yes!" she replied with a
manifest effort, " I gave it to Sonny Seymour because —

because it loved him " She broke off, then added

swiftly, eagerly, " What then? "

" Only that I found one in the Palace to-day. There
is a jolly marble latticed balcony overlooking the river.
The King used to write his poetry there, they say.
Well! I saw a brass cage hanging high up on a hook —
there has been no loot in the precincts, you know, for
the Staff has annexed them; I thought the cage was
empty till I took it down from sheer curiosity, and there
was a dead cockatoo."

"Dead!" echoed Kate, with a quick smile of relief.
" Oh! how glad I am it was dead."

Captain Morecombe stared at her. "Poor brute!"
he said under his breath. " It was skin and bone.
Starved to death. I expect they forgot all about it when
they got really frightened. They are cruel devils, Mrs.
Erlton."

The Major had used the self-same words to Alice
Gissing eighteen months before, and in the same connec-
tion. But, perhaps fortunately for Kate in her present
state of nervous strain, that knowledge was denied to
her. Even so the coincidence of the bird itself absorbed
her.

" It had a yellow crest," she began.

" Oh ! then it couldn't have been yours," interrupted
Captain Morecombe, rather relieved, for he saw that he
had somehow touched on a hidden wound. " This one

45 2 ON THE PACE Of THE WATERS.

was green; yellowish green. I dare say the King kept
pets like the Oude man —

" It is dead anyhow," said Kate hurriedly.

And the knowledge gave her an unreasoning com-
fort. To begin with, it seemed to her as if those fateful
white wings, which had begun to overshadow her world
on that sunny evening down by the Goomtee river, had
ceased to hover over it. And then this rounding of the
tale — for that the bird was little Sonny's favorite she did
not doubt — made her feel that Fate would not leave that
other portion of it unfinished. The inevitable sequence
would be worked out somehow. She would hear some-
thing. So once more she waited like many another;
waiting with eyes strained past the last known deed of
gallantry for the end which surely must have been nobler
still. When that knowledge came, she told herself, she
would be content.

Yet there was another thing which held her to hope
even more than this; it was the remembrance of John
Nicholson's words, " If ever you have a chance of mak-
ing up." They seemed prophetic; for he who spoke
them was so often right. Men talking of him as he lin-
gered, watching, advising, warning, despite dire agony
of pain and drowsiness of morphia, said there was none
like him for clear insight into the very heart of things.

Yet he, as he lay without a complaint, was telling him-
self he had been blind. He had sought more from his
world than there was in it. And so, though the news of
the capture of the Burn Bastion brought a brief rally, he
sank steadily.

But Hodson, coming into his tent to tell him of the
safe capture of the King and Queen upon the 2ist at
Humayon's Tomb, found him eager to hear all particu-
lars. So eager, that when the Sirdars of the Mooltanee
Horse (a regiment he had practically raised), who sat out-
side in dozens waiting for every breath of news about
their fetish, would not keep quiet, he emphasized his third
order by a revolver bullet through the wall of the tent.
Greatly to their delight since, as they retired further off,
they agreed that Nikalseyn was Nikalseyn still; and
surely death dare not claim one so full of life?

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 453

Even Hodson smiled in the swift silence in which the
laboring breath of the dying man could be heard.

" Well, sir," he went on, " as I was saying, I got per-
mission, thanks to you, to utilize my information -

" You mean Rujjub Ali's and that sneak Elahi
Buksh's, I suppose," put in Nicholson. " It was sharp
work. The King only went to Humayon's Tomb yester-
day. They must have had it all cut and dried before,
surely?"

"The Queen has been trying to surrender on terms
some time back, sir," replied Hodson hastily. " She has
a lot of treasure — eight lakhs, the spies tell me — and is
anxious to keep it. However, to go on. After stop-
ping with Elahi Buksh that night — no doubt, as you say,
pressure was put on them then — they went off, as agreed,
to meet Bukht Khan, but refused to go with him. Of
course the promise of their lives - "

" Then you were negotiating already? " *

" Not exactly — but — but I couldn't have done with-
out the promise unless Wilson had agreed to send out
troops, and he wouldn't. So I had to give in, though
personally I would a deal rather have brought the old
man in dead, than alive. Well, I set off this morning
with fifty of my horse and sent in the two messengers
while I waited outside. It was nearly two hours before
they came back, for the old man was hard to move.
Zeenut Maihl was the screw, and when Bahadur Shah
talked of his ancestors and wept, told him he should have
thought of that before he let Bukht Khan and the army

go. In fact she did the business for me; but she stipu- j"
lated for a promise of life from my own lips. So I rode d^ fl-
out alone to the causeway by the big gate — it is a splen-
did place, sir; more like a mosque than a tomb, and
drew up to attention. Zeenut Maihl came out first,
swinging along in her curtained dhooli, and Rujjub, who
was beside me, called out her name and titles decorously.
I couldn't help feeling it was a bit of a scene, you know ;

* (Hodson in his diary says that the promise was virtually given two
days before the capture. This was the 2ist. It must therefore have
been given on the igth. Most likely in Elahi Buksh's house. If so, on
Hodson's own authority. Query. Was he there in person ?)

454 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

my being there, alone, and all that. Then the King
came in his palkee; so I rode up, and demanded his
sword. He asked if I were Hodson-sahib bahadur and
if I would ratify the promise? So I had to choke over
it, for there were two or three thousand of a crowd by
this time. Then we came away. It was a long five
miles at a footpace, with that crowd following us until
we neared the city. Then they funked. Besides I had
said openly I'd shoot the King like a dog despite the
promise at the first sign of rescue. And that's all, except
that you should have seen the officer's face at the Lahore
gate when he asked me what I'd got in tow, and I said
calmly, ' Only the King of Delhi.' So that is done."

" And well done," said Nicholson briefly, reaching
out a parched right hand. " Well done, from the begin-
ning to the end."

Hodson flushed up like a girl. " I'm glad to hear you
say so, sir," he replied as nonchalantly as he could, " but
personally, of course, I would rather have brought him
in dead."

Even that slight action, however, had left Nicholson
breathless, and the only comment for a time came from
his eyes; bright, questioning eyes, seeking now with a
sort of pathetic patience to grasp the world they were
leaving, and make allowances for all shortcomings.

" And now for the Princes," said Hodson. -" Did you
write to Wilson, sir? "

Nicholson nodded, " I think he'll consent. Only-
only don't make any more promises, Hodson. Some of
them must be hung; they deserve death."

His hearer gave rather an uneasy look at the clear
eyes, and remarked sharply : " You thought they de-
served more than hanging once, sir."

The old imperious frown of quick displeasure at all
challenge came to John Nicholson's face, then faded into
a half-smile. " I was not so near death myself. It
makes a difference. So good-by, Hodson. I mayn't
see you again." He paused, and his smile grew clearer,
and strangely soft. " No news, I suppose, of that poor
fellow Douglas, who didn't agree with us? "

" None, sir; I warned him it was useless and foolhardy
to go back when my information

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 455

" No doubt," interrupted the dying man gently.
" Still, I'd have gone in his place." He lay still for a
moment, then murmured to himself. " So he is on the
way before me. Well ! I don't think we can be unhappy
after death. And, as for that poor lady — when you see
her, Hodson, tell her I am sorry — sorry she hadn't her
chance." The last words were once more murmured to
himself and ended in silence.

Kate Erlton, however, did not get the message which
would, perhaps, have ended her lingering hope. Major
Hodson was too busy to deliver it. Permission to cap-
ture the Princes was given him that very night, and
early the next morning he set off to Humayon's Tomb
once more, with his two spies, his second in command,
and about a hundred troopers. A small party indeed, to
face the four or five thousand Palace refugees who were
known to be in hiding about the tomb, waiting to see if
the Princes could make terms like the King had done.
But Hodson's orders were strict. He was to bring in
Mirza Moghul and Khair Sultan, ex-Commanders-in-
Chief, and Abool-Bukr, heir presumptive, uncondition-
ally, or not at all.

The morning was deliciously cool and crisp, full
of that promise of winter, which in its perfection of
climate consoles the Punjabee for six months of purga-
tory. The sun sent a yellow flood of light over the
endless ruins of ancient Delhi, which here extend for
miles on miles. A nasty country for skulking enemies;
but Hodson's pluck and dash were equal to anything,
and he rode along with a heart joyous at his chance; full
of determination to avail himself of it and gain renown.

Someone else, however, was early astir on this the 22d
of September, so as to reach Humayon's Tomb in time
to press on to the Kutb, if needs, be. This was the
Princess Farkhoonda Zamani. Ever since that day,
now more than a week past, when the last message to
the city had warned her that the supreme moment for
the House of Timoor was at hand, and she had started
from her study of Holy Writ, telling herself piteously
that she must find Prince Abool-Bukr — must, at all sac-
rifice to pride, seek him, since he would not seek her —

45 6 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS,

must warn him and keep his hand in hers again — she
had been distracted by the impossibility of carrying out
her decision. For, expecting an immediate sack of the
town, the Mufti's people had barricaded the only exit
bazaar-ward, and when, after a day or two, she did suc-
ceed in creeping out, it was to find the streets unsafe, the
Palace itself closed against all. But now, at least, there
was a chance. Like all the royal family, she knew of
these two spies, Rujjub-Ali and Mirza Elahi Buksh, who
was saving his skin by turning Queen's evidence. She
knew of Hodson sahib's promise to the King and Queen.
She knew that Abool-Bukr was still in hiding with the
arch-offenders, Mirza Moghul and Khair Sultan, at
Humayon's Tomb. Such an association was fatal; but
if she could persuade him to throw over his uncles, and
go with her, and if, afterward, she could open negotia-
tions with the Englishmen, and prove that Abool-Bukr
had been dismissed from office on the very day of the
death challenge, had been in disgrace ever since — had
even been condemned to death by the King; surely she
might yet drag her dearest from the net into which
Zeenut Maihl had lured him — with what bait she scarcely
trusted herself to think! The first thing to be done,
therefore, was to persuade Abool to come with her to
some safer hiding. She would risk all; her pride, her
reputation, his very opinion of her, for this. And surely
a man of his nature was to be tempted. So she put on
her finest clothes, her discarded jewels, and set off about
noon in a ruth — a sort of curtain-dhoolie on wheels
drawn by oxen, gay with trappings, and set with jingling
bells. They let her pass at the Delhi gate, after a brief
look through the curtains, during which she cowered
into a corner without covering her face, lest they might
think her a man, and stop her.

"By George! that was a pretty woman," said the
English subaltern who passed her, as he came back to the
guard-room. " Never saw such eyes in my life. They
were as soft, as soft as — well! I don't know what. And
they looked, somehow, as if they have been crying for
years, and — and as if they saw — saw something, you
know."

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 457

" They saw you — you sentimental idiot — that's enough
to make any woman cry," retorted his companion. And
then the two, mere boys, wild with success and high
spirits, fell to horse-play over the insult.

Yet the first boy was right. Newasi's eyes had seen
something day and night, night and day, ever since they
had strained into the darkness after Prince Abool-Bukr
when he broke from the kind detaining hand and disap-
peared from the Mufti's quarter. And that something
was a flood of sunlight holding a figure, as she had seen
it more than once, in a wild unreasoning paroxysm of
sheer terror. It seemed to her as if she could hear those
white lips gasping once more over the cry which brought
the vision. " Why didst not let me live mine own life,
die mine own death? but to die — to die needlessly — to
die in the sunlight perhaps."

There was a flood of it now outside the ruth as it lum-
bered along by the jail, not a quarter of a mile yet from
the city gate. Half-shivering she peeped through the
gay patchwork curtains to assure herself it held no
horror.

God and his Holy Prophet ! What was that crowd on
the road ahead? No, not ahead, she was in it, now, so
that the oxen paused, unable to go on. A crowd, a clus-
ter of spear-points, and then, against the jail wall, an
open space round another ruth, an Englishman on foot,
three figures stripped. No ; not three ! only two, for one
had fallen as the crack of a carbine rang through the y
startled air. Two? But one, now, and that, oh! saints
have mercy! the vision! the vision! It was Abool,
dodging like a hare, begging for bare life ; seeking it, at
last, out of the sunshine, under the shadow of the ruth
wheels.

" Abool ! Abool ! " she screamed. " I am here.
Come! I am here."

Did he hear the kind voice? He may have, for it
echoed clear before the third and final crack of the car-
bine. So clear that the driver, terrified lest it should
bring like punishment on him, drove his goad into the
oxen; and the next instant they were careering madly
down a side road, bumping over watercourses and

458 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

ditches. But Newasi felt no more bufferings. She lay
huddled up inside, as unconscious as that other figure
which, by Major Hodson's orders, was being dragged
out from under the wheels and placed upon it beside the
two other corpses for conveyance to the city. And none
of all the crowd, ready — so the tale runs — to rescue the
Princes lest death should be their portion in the future,
raised voice or hand to avenge them now that it had
come so ruthlessly, so wantonly. Perhaps the English
guard at the Delhi gate cowed them, as it had cowed
those who the day before had followed the King so far,
then slunk away.

So the little cortege moved on peacefully; far more
peacefully than the other ruth, which, with its uncon-
scious burden, was racing Kutb-ward as if it was
afraid of the very sunshine. But the Princess Far-
khoonda, huddled up in all her jewels and fineries, had
forgotten even that ; forgotten even that vision seen in it.

But Hodson as he rode at ease behind the dead
Princes seemed to court the light. He gloried in the
deed, telling himself that " in less than twenty-four hours
he had disposed of the principal members of the House
of Timoor"; so fulfilling his own words written weeks
before, " If I get into the Palace, the House of Timoor
will not be worth five minutes' purchase, I ween." Tell-
ing himself also, that in shooting down with his own
hand men who had surrendered without stipulations to
his 'generosity and clemency, surrendered to a hundred
troopers when they had five thousand men behind them,
he " had rid the earth of ruffians." Telling himself that
he was " glad to have had the opportunity, and was
game to face the moral risk of praise or blame."

He got the former unstintingly from most of his fel-
lows as, in triumphant procession, the bodies were taken
to the chief police station, there to be exposed, so say
eye-witnesses, " In the very spot where, four months
before, Englishwomen had been outraged and murdered,
in the very place where their helpless victims had lain."

A strange perversion of the truth, responsible, per-
haps, not only for the praise, but for the very deed itself;
so Mohammed Ismail's barter of his truth and soul for

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS.

459

the lives of the forty prisoners at the Kolwab counted
for nothing in the judgment of this world.

But Hodson lacked either praise or blame from one
man. John Nicholson lay too near the judgment of
another world to be disturbed by vexed questions in this ;
and when the next morning came, men, meeting each
other, said sadly, " He is dead."

The news, brought to Kate Erlton by Captain More-
combe when he came over to report another failure, took
the heart out of even her hope.

" There is no use in my staying longer, I'm afraid,"
she said quietly. " I'm only in the way. I will go back
to Meerut; and then home — to the boy."

" I think it would be best," he replied kindly. " I can
arrange for you to start to-morrow morning. You will
be the better for a change; it will help you to forget."

She smiled a little bitterly; but when he had gone she
set to work, packing up such of her husband's things as
she wished the boy to have with calm deliberation; and
early in the afternoon went over to the garden of her
old house to get some fresh flowers for what would be
her last visit to that rear-guard of graves. To take, also,
her last look at the city, and watch it grow mysterious in
the glamour of sunset. Seen from afar it seemed un-
changed. A mass of rosy light and lilac shadow, with
the great white dome of the mosque hanging airily above
the smoke wreaths.

Yet the end had come to its four months' drearp as it
had come to hers. Rebellion would linger long, but its
stronghold, its very raison d'etre, was gone. And
Memory would last longer still; yet surely it would not
be all bitter. Hers was not. Then with a rush of real
regret she thought of the peaceful roof, of old Tiddu, of
the Princess Farkhoonda — Tara — Soma— of Sri Anunda
in his garden. Was she to go home to safe, snug Eng-
land, live in a suburb, and forget? Forget all but the
tragedy! Yet even that held beautiful memories. Alice
Gissing under young Mainwaring's scarf, while he lay at
her feet. Her husband leaving a good name to his son.
Did not these things help to make the story perfect? No!
not perfect. And with the remembrance her eyes filled

460 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

with sudden tears. There would always be a blank for
her in the record. The Spirit which had moved on the
Face of the Waters, bringing their chance of Healing and
Atonement to so many, had left hers in the shadow. She
had learned her lesson. Ah! yes; she had learned it.
But the chance of using it?

As she sat on the plinth of the ruined veranda, watch-
ing the city growing dim through the mist of her tears,
John Nicholson's words came back to her once more,
u If ever you have the chance "; but it would never come
now — never !

She started up wildly at the clutch of a brown hand
on her wrist — a brown hand with a circlet of dead gold
above it.

" Come! " said a voice behind her; " come quick! he
needs you."

" Tara! " she gasped—" Tara! Is— is he alive then? "

" He would not need the mem if he were dead," came
the swift reply. Then with her wild eyes fixed on
another gold circlet upon the wrist she held, Tara laughed
shrilly. " So the mem wears it still. She has not for-
gotten. Women do not forget, white or black " — with
a strange stamp of her foot she interrupted herself
fiercely — "come, I say, come!"

If there had been doubts as to the Rajpootni's
sanity at times in past days, there was none, now. A
glance at her face was sufficient. It was utterly dis-
traught, the clutch on Kate's arm utterly uncontrolled;
so that, involuntarily, the latter shrank back.

" The mem is afraid," cried Tara exultantly. " So be
it! I will go back and tell the master. Tell him I was
right and he wrong, for all the English he chattered. I
will tell him the mem is not suttee — how could she

The old taunt roused many memories, and made Kate
ready to risk anything. " I am coming, Tara — but
where?" She stood facing the tall figure in crimson,
a tall figure also, in white, her hands full of the roses
she had gathered.

Tara looked at her with that old mingling of regret and

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 461

approbation, jealousy and pride. :< Then she must come
at once. He is dying — may be dead ere we get back."

"Dead!" echoed Kate faintly. "Is he wounded
then?"

A sort of somber sullenness dulled the excitement of
Tara's face. " He is ill," she replied laconically. Sud-
denly, however, she burst out again: " The mem need not
look so! I have done all — all she could have done. It
is his fault. He will not take things. The mem can
do no more; but I have come to her, so that none shall
say, ' Tara killed the master.' So come. Come quick! "

Five minutes after Kate was swinging cityward in a
curtained dhooli which Tara had left waiting on the road
below, and trying to piece out a consecutive story from
the odd jumble of facts and fancies and explanations
which Tara poured into her ear between her swift abuse
of the bearers for not going faster, and her assertion that
there was no need to hurry. The mem need not hope
to save the Huzoor, since everything had been done. It
seemed, however, that Tiddu had taken back the letter
telling of Kate's safety, and that in consequence of this
the master had arranged to leave the city in a day or two,
and Tiddu — born liar and gold grubber, so the Rajpootni
styled him — had gone off at once to make more money.
But on the very eve of his going back to the Ridge, Jim
Douglas had been struck down with the Great Sickness,
and after two or three days, instead of getting better,
had fallen — as Tara put it — into the old way. So far
Kate made out clearly; but from this point it became
difficult to understand the reproaches, excuses, pathetic
assertions of helplessness, and fierce declarations that no
one could have done more. But what was the use of the
Huzoor's talking English all night? she said; even a sut-
tee could not go out when everyone was being shot in the
streets. Besides, it was all obstinacy. The master could
have got well if he had tried. And who was to know
where to find the mem? Indeed, if it had not been for Sri
Anunda's gardener, who knew all the gardener folk, of
course, she would not have found the mem even now;
for she would never have known which house to inquire

462 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

at. Not that it would have mattered, since the mem
could do nothing — nothing — nothing

Kate, looking down on the bunch of white flowers
which she had literally been too hurried to think of lay-
ing aside, felt her heart shrink. They were rather a fate-
ful gift to be in her hands now. . Had they come there of
set purpose, and would the man who had done so much
for her be beyond all care save those pitiful offices of the
dead? Still, even that was better than that he should lie
alone, untended. So, urged by Tara's vehement upbraid-
ings, the dhooli-bearers lurched along, to stop at last. It
seemed to Kate as if her heart stopped also. She could
not think of what might lie before her as she followed
Tara up the dark, strangely familiar stair. Surely, she
thought, she would have known it among a thousand.
And there was the step on which she had once crouched
terror-stricken, because she was shut out from shel-
ter within. But now Tara's ringers were at the padlock,
Tara's hand set the door wide.

Kate paused on the threshold, feeling, in truth, dazed
once more at the strange familiarity of all things. It
seemed to her as if she had but just left that strip of roof
aglow with the setting sun, the bubble dome of the
mosque beginning to flush like a cloud upon the sky.
But Tara, watching her with resentful eyes, put a differ-
ent interpretation on the pause, and said quickly:

" He is within. The mem was away, and it was
quieter. But the rest is all the same — there is nothing
forgotten — nothing."

Kate, however, heard only the first words, and was
already across the outer roof to gain the inner one. Tara,
still beyond the threshold, watched her disappear, then
stood listening for a minute, with a face tragic in its in-
tensity. Suddenly a faint voice broke the silence, and her
hands, which had been tightly clenched, relaxed. She
closed the door silently, and went downstairs.

Meanwhile Kate, on the inner roof, had paused beside
the low string bed set in its middle, scarcely daring to
look at its burden, and so put hope and fear to the touch-
stone of truth. But as she stood hesitating1, a voice,
querulous in its extreme weakness, said in Hindustani:

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 463

" It is too soon, Tara; I don't want anything; and —
and you needn't wait — thank you."

He lay with his face turned from her, so she could
stand, wondering how best to break her presence to him,
noting with a failing heart the curious slackness, the lack
of contour even on that hard string bed. He seemed
lost, sunk in it ; and she had seen that sign so often of late
that she knew what it meant. One thing was certain,
he must have food — stimulants if possible — before she
startled him. So she stole back to the outer roof, ex-
pecting to find Tara there, and Tara's help. But the roof
lay empty, and a sudden fear lest, after all, she had only
come to see him die, while she was powerless to fight that
death from sheer exhaustion, which seemed so perilously
near, made her put down the bunch of flowers she held
with an impatient gesture. What a fool she had been
not to think of other things!

But as she glanced round, her eye fell on a familiar
earthenware basin kept warm in a pan of water over the
ashes. It was full of chikken-brdt, and excellent of its
kind, too. Then in a niche stood milk and eggs — a bot-
tle of brandy, arrow-root — everything a nurse could
wish for. And in another, evidently in case the brew
should be condemned, was a fresh chicken ready for use.
Strange sights these to bring tears of pity to a woman's
eyes ; but they. did. For Kate, reading between the lines
of poor Tara's confusion, began to understand the
tragedy underlying those words she had just heard:

" I don't want anything, Tara. And you needn't wait,
thank you." She seemed to see, with a flash, the long,
long days which had passed, with that patient, polite
negative coming to chill the half distraught devotion.

He must take something now, for all that. So, armed
with a cup and spoon, she went back, going round the
bed so that he could see her.

" It is time for your food, Mr. Greyman," she said
quietly; " when you have taken some, I'll tell you every-
thing. Only you must take this first." As she slipped
her hand under him, pillow and all, to raise his head
slightly, she could see the pained, puzzled expression

464 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

narrow his eyes as he swallowed a spoonful. Then with
a frown he turned his head from her impatiently.

" You must take three," she insisted; "you must,
indeed, Mr. Greyman. Then I will tell you — every-
thing."

His face came back to hers with the faintest shadow
of his old mutinous sarcasm upon it, and he lay looking
at her deliberately for a second or two. " I thought you
were a ghost," he said feebly at last; " only they don't
bully. Well! let's get it over."

The memory of many such a bantering reply to her
insistence in the past sent a lump to her throat and kept
her silent. The little low stool on which she had been
wont to sit beside him was in its old place, and half-
mechanically she drew it closer, and, resting her elbow
on the bed as she used to do, looked round her, feeling
as if the last six weeks were a dream. Tara had told
truth. Everything was in its place. There were flowers
in a glass, a spotless fringed cloth on the brass platter.
The pity held in these trivial signs brought a fresh pang
to her heart for that other woman.

But Jim Douglas, lying almost in the arms of death,
was not thinking of such things.

" Then Delhi must have fallen," he said suddenly in
a stronger voice. " Did Nicholson take it? "

" Yes," she replied quietly, thinking it best to be con-
cise and give him, as it were, a fresh grip on facts. " It
has fallen. The King is a prisoner, the Princes have
been shot, and most of the troops move on to-morrow
toward Agra."

It epitomized the situation beyond the possibility of
doubt, and he gave a faint sigh. " Then it is all over.
I'm glad to hear it. Tara never knew anything; and it
seemed so long."

Had she known and refused to tell, Kate wondered?
or in her insane absorption had she really thought of
nothing but the chance Fate had thrown in her way
of saving this man's life? Yes! it must have been very
long. Kate realized this as she watched the spent and
weary face before her, its bright, hollow eyes fixed on
the glow which was now fast fading from the dome.

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS.

465

"All over!" he murmured to himself. "Well! I sup-
pose it couldn't be helped."

She followed his thought unerringly; and a great pity
for this man who had done nothing, where others had
done so much, surged up in her and made her seek to
show his fate no worse than others. Besides, this dis-
couragement was fatal, for it pointed to a lack of that
desire for life which is the best weapon against death.
She might fail to rouse him, as those had failed who, but
a day or two before, had sent a bit of red ribbon repre-
senting the Victoria Cross to the dying Salkeld— the
hero of the Cashmere gate — and only gained in reply a
faint smile and the words, " They will like it at home."
Still she would try.

" Yes, it is over!" she echoed, "and it has cost so
many lives uselessly. General Nicholson lost his trying
to do the impossible — so people say."

Jim Douglas still lay staring at the fading glow.
" Dead! " he murmured. " That is a pity. But he took
Delhi first. He said he would."

" And my husband " she began.

He turned then, with curiously patient courtesy. " I
know. Nicholson wrote that in his letter. And I have
been glad — glad he had his chance, and — and — made so
much of it."

Once more she followed his thought; knew that,
though he was too proud to confess it, he was saying to
himself that he had had his chance too and had done
nothing. So she answered it as if he had spoken.

" And you had your chance of saving a woman," she
said, with a break in her voice, " and you saved her. It
isn't much, I suppose. It counts as nothing to you.

Why should it? But to me " She broke off, losing

her purpose for him in her own bitter regret and vague
resentment. " Why didn't you let them kill me, and
then go away? " she went on almost passionately. " It
would have been better than saving me to remember
always that I stood in your way — better than giving me
no chance of repaying you for all — ah ! think how much !
Better than leaving me alone to a new life — like — like all
the others have done."

466 ON TtiE FACE OF THE WATERS.

She buried her face on her arm as it rested on the
pillow with a sob. This, then, was the end, she thought,
this bitter unavailing regret for both.

So for a space there was silence while she sat with her
face hidden, and he lay staring at that darkening dome.
But suddenly she felt his hot hand find hers; so thin, so
soft, so curiously strong still in its grip.

" Give me some more wine or something," came his
voice consolingly. " I'll try and stop — if I can."

She made an effort to smile back at him, but it was not
very successful. His, as she fed him, was better; but it
did not help Kate Erlton to cheerfulness, for it was
accompanied by a murmur that the chikkcn-brat was very
different from Tara's stuff. So she seemed to see a poor
ghost glowering at them from the shadows, asking her
how she dared take all the thanks. And the ghost re-
mained long after Jim Douglas had dozed off; remained
to ask, so it seemed to Kate Erlton, every question that
could be asked about the mystery of womanhood and
manhood.

But Tara herself asked none when in the first gray
glimmer of dawn she crept up the stairs again and stood
beside the sleepers. For Kate, wearied out, had fallen
asleep crouched up on the stool, her head resting on the
pillow, her arm flung over the bed to keep that touch on
his hand which seemed to bring him rest. Tara, once
more in her widow's dress, looked down on them silently,
then threw her bare arms upward. So for a second she
stood, a white-shrouded appealing figure against that
dark shadow of the dome which blocked the paling
eastern sky. Then stooping, her long, lissome fingers
busied themselves stealthily with the thin gold chain
about the sick man's neck; for there was something in
the locket attached to it which was hers by right now.
Hers, if she could have nothing else; for she was suttee —
suttee!

The unuttered cry was surging through her heart
and brain, rousing a mad exultation in her, when half
an hour afterward she re-entered the narrow lane lead-
ing to the arcaded courtyard with the black old shrine

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 4<$7

hiding under the tall peepul tree. And what was that
hanging over the congeries of roofs and stairs, the
rabbit warren of rooms and passages where her pigeon-
nest was perched? A canopy of smoke, and below it
leaping flames. There were many wanton fires in Delhi
during those first few days of license, and this was one of
them; but already, in the dawn, English officers were at
work giving orders, limiting the danger as much as pos-
sible.

" We can't save that top bit," said one at last, then
turned to one of his fatigue party. " Have you cleared
everybody out, sergeant, as I told you?"

" Yes, sir! it's quite empty."

It had been so five minutes before. It was not now;
for that canopy of smoke, those licking tongues of flame,
had given the last touch to Tara's unstable mind. She
had crept up and up, blindly, and was now on her knees
in that bare room set round with her one scrap of culture,
ransacking an old basket for something which had not
seen the light for years, her scarlet tinsel-set wedding
dress. Her hands were trembling, her wild eyes blazed
like fires themselves.

And below, men waited calmly for the flames to claim
this, their last prize; for the turret stood separated from
the next house.

" My- God! " came an English voice, as something
showed suddenly upon the roof. " I thought you said
it was empty — and that's a woman ! "

It was. A woman in a scarlet, tinsel-set dress, and all
the poor ornaments she possessed upon her widespread
arms. So, outlined against the first sun-ray she stood,
her shrill chanting voice rising above the roar and rush
of the flames.

" Oh ! Guardians eight, of this world and the next.
Sun, Moon, and Air, Earth, Ether, Water, and my own
poor soul bear witness! Oh! Lord of death, bear wit-
ness that I come. Day, Night, and Twilight say I am
suttee."

There was a louder roar, a sudden leaping of the
flames, and the turret sank inwardly. But the chanting

468 ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS.

voice could be heard for a second in the increasing
silence which followed.

" Shive-jee hath saved His own," said the crowd, look-
ing toward the unharmed shrine.

And over on the other side of the city, Kate Erlton,
roused by that same first ray of sunlight, was looking
down with a smile upon Jim Douglas before waking him.
The sky was clear as a topaz, the purple pigeons were
cooing and sidling on the copings. And in the bright,
fresh light she saw the gold locket lying open on the
sleeper's breast. She had often wondered what it held,
and now — thinking he might not care to find it at her
mercy — stooped to close it.

But it was empty.

The snap, slight as it was, roused him. Not, however,
to a knowledge of the cause, for he lay looking up at her
in his turn.

" So it is all over," he said softly, but he said it with a
smile.

Yes! It was all over. Down on the parade ground
behind the Ridge the bugles were sounding, and the men
who had clung to the red rocks for so long were prepar-
ing to leave them for assault elsewhere.

But one man was taking an eternal hold upon them;
for John Nicholson was being laid in his grave. Not in
the rear-guard, however, but in the van, on the outer-
most spur of the Ridge abutting on the city wall, within
touch almost of the Cashmere gate. Being laid in his
grave — by his own request — without escort, without
salute; for he knew that he had failed.

So he lies there facing the city he took. But his real
grave was in that narrow lane within the walls where
those who dream can see him still, alone, ahead, with
yards of sheer sunlight between him and his fellow-men.

Yards of sheer sunlight between that face with its
confident glance forward, that voice with its clear cry,
" Come on, men ! Come on ! " and those — the mass of
men — who with timorous look backward hear in that
call to go forward nothing but the vain regret for things
familiar that must be left behind. " Going! Going!
Gone!"

REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS. 469

So, in a way, John Nicholson stands symbol of the
many lives lost uselessly in the vain attempt to go for-
ward too fast.

Yet his voice echoed still to the dark faces and the
light alike:

" Come on, men! Come on! "

BOOK VI.

APPENDIX A.

From A. DASHE, Collector and Magistrate of Kujabpore, to
R. TAPE, Esq., Commissioner and Superintendent of
Kwdbabad.

Fol. No. O.

Dated nth May, 1858.

SIR : In reply to your No. 103 of the 2oth April requesting me
to report on the course of the Mutiny in my district, the measures
taken to suppress it, and its effects, if any, on the judicial, execu-
tive, and financial work under my charge, I have the honor to
inclose a brief statement, which for convenience' sake I have
drafted under the usual headings of the annual report which I was
unable to send in till last week. I regret the delay, but the pres-
sure of work in the English office due to the revising of forfeiture
and pension lists made it unavoidable.

I have the honor, etc., etc.,

A. DASHE, Coll. and Magte.

Introductory Remarks * — So far as my district is concerned,
the late disturbances have simply been a military mutiny. At no
time could they be truthfully called a rebellion. In the outlying
posts, indeed, the people knew little or nothing of what was going
on around them, and even in the towns resistance was not thought
of until the prospect of any immediate suppression of the mutiny
disappeared.

The small force of soldiers in my district of course followed
the example of their brethren. Nothing else could be expected
from our position midway between two large cantonments;
indeed the continuous stream of mutinous troops which passed
up and down the main road during the summer had a decidedly
bad effect.

I commenced to disperse the disturbers of the public peace on

* Every statement in this supposed report has been gleaned from a
real one, or from official papers published at the time. I am responsible
for nothing but occasionally the wording.

470

APPENDIX A, 471

the 2ist May. These were largely escaped felons from the Meerut
jail ; and the fact that they were quite indiscriminate in their law-
lessness enabled me to rally most of the well-doing people on my
side. I hanged a few of the offenders, and having enlisted a small
corps with the aid of some native gentlemen (whose names I
append for reference), sent it out under charge of my assistant
(I myself being forced throughout the whole business to remain
at headquarters and keep a grip on things) to put down some
Goojurs and other predatory tribes who took occasion to resort to
their ancestral habits of life.

No real opposition, however, was ever met with ; but in June
(after our failure to take Delhi by a coup de main became known)
there was an organized attempt to seize the Treasury. Fortu-
nately I had some twenty or thirty of my new levy in headquarters
at the time, so that the attempt failed, and I was able to bring one
or two of the ringleaders (one, I regret to say, a man of consider-
able importance in my district) to justice.

I subsequently made several applications to the nearest canton-
ment fora few European soldiers to escort my treasure — some two
lakhs — to safer quarters. But this, unfortunately, could not be
granted to me, so I had to keep a strong guard of men over the
money who might have been more useful elsewhere.

Until the fall of Delhi matters remained much the same. Iso-
lated bands of marauders ravaged portions of my district, often, I
regret to say, escaping before punishment could be meted out to
them. The general feeling was one of disquiet and alarm to both
Europeans and natives. My table attendant, for instance, absented
himself from dinner one clay, sending a substitute to do his work,
under the belief that I had given orders for a general slaughter of
Mohammedans that evening. I had done nothing of the kind.

After the fall of Delhi, as you are aware, the mutinous fugitives,
some fifty or sixty thousand strong, marched southward in a com-
pact body and caused much alarm. But after camping on the
outskirts of my district for a few days, they suddenly disappeared.
I am told they dispersed during one night, each to his own home.
Anyhow they literally melted away, and the public mind seemed
to become aware that the contest was over, and that the struggle
to subvert British rule had ignominiously failed. Matters there-
fore assumed a normal aspect, but I believe that there is more
shame, sorrow, and regret in the hearts of many than we shall
probably ever have full cognizance of, and that it will take years
for the one race to regain its confidence, the other its self-respect.

Civil Judicature. — The courts were temporarily suspended for
a week or two ; after that original work went on much as usual, but
the appellate work suffered. There was an indisposition both to
institute and hear appeals, possibly due to the total eclipse of the
higher appellate courts. I myself had little leisure for civil cases.

47 2 APPENDIX A.

Criminal Justice. — There has been far less crime than usual
during the past year. Possibly because much of it had necessarily
to be treated summarily and so did not come on the record. I am
inclined to believe, however, that petty offenses really are fewer
when serious crime is being properly dealt with.

Police. — The less said about the behavior of the police the
better. The force simply melted away ; but as it was always in-
efficient its absence had little effect, save, perhaps, in a failure to
bring up those trivial offenses mentioned in the last para.

Jails. — The jail was happily preserved throughout; for the
addition of four or five hundred felons to the bad characters of my
district might have complicated matters. I was peculiarly fortu-
nate in this, since I learn that only nine out of the forty-three jails
in the Province were so held.

Revenue (Sub-head, Land). — The arrears under this head are
less than usual, and there seems no reason to apprehend serious
loss to Government.

(Opium). — There has, I regret to say, been considerable detri-
ment to our revenue under this head, due to the fact that the
smuggling of the drug is extremely easy, owing to its small bulk,
and that the demand was greater than usual.

(Stamps). — The revenue here shows an increase of Rs. 72,000.
I am unable to account for this, unless the prevailing uncertainty
made the public mind incline toward what security it could com-
pass in the matter of bonds, agreements, etc.

(Salt and Customs). — This department shows a very creditable
record. My subordinates, with the help of a few volunteers, were
able to maintain the Customs line throughout the whole disturb-
ances. Its value as a preventative of roving lawlessness cannot be
over-estimated. Four hundred and eighty-two smugglers were
punished, and the Customs brought in Rs. 33,770 more than in
'56. But the work done by this handful of isolated European
patrols, with only a few natives under them, to the cause of law
and order, cannot be estimated in money.

Education. — The higher education went on as usual. Primary
instruction suffered. Female schools disappeared altogether.

Public Works. — Many things combined to stop anything like a
vigorous prosecution of new public works, and those in hand were
greatly retarded,

APPENDIX A. 473

Post-Office. — The work in this department suffered occasional
lapses owing to the murder of solitary runners by lawless ruffians,
but the service continued fairly efficient. An attempt was made,
by the confiscation of sepoys' letters, to discover if any organized
plan of attack or resistance was in circulation, but nothing incrim-
inatory was found, the correspondence consisting chiefly of love-
letters.

Financial— At one time the necessary cash for the pay of
establishments ran short, but this was met by bills upon native
bankers, who have since been repaid.

Hospitals. — The dispensaries were in full working order through-
out the year, and the number of cases treated — especially for
wounds and hurts, many of them grievous — above the average.

Health and Population. — Both were normal, and the supply of
food grains ample. Markets strong, and well supplied throughout.
Some grain stores were burned, some plundered ; but, as a rule, if
A robbed B, B in his turn robbed C. So the matter adjusted
itself. In many cases also, the booty was restored amicably when
it became evident that Government could hold its own.

Agriculture. — Notwithstanding the violence of contest, the
many instances of plundered and burned villages, the necessary
impressment of labor and cattle, and the license of mutineers con-
sorting with felons, agricultural interests did not suffer. Plowing
and sowing went on steadily, and the land was well covered with
a full winter crop.

General Remarks. — Beyond these plundered and burned villages,
which are still somewhat of an eyesore, though they are recovering
themselves rapidly, the only result of the Mutiny to be observed
in my district is that money seems scarcer, and so the cultivators
have to pay a higher rate of interest on loans.

There are, of course, some empty chairs in the district durbar.
I append a list of their late occupants also, and suggest that the
vacancies might be filled from the other list, as some of those
gentlemen who helped to raise the levy have not yet got chairs.

In regard to future punishments, however, I venture to suggest
that orders should be issued limiting the period during which
mutineers can be brought to justice. If some such check on
malicious accusation be not laid down we shall have a fine crop of
false cases, perjuries, etc., since the late disturbances have, natur-
ally, caused a good many family differences. In view of this also,
I believe it would be safest, in the event of such accusations in the
future, to punish the whole village to which the alleged mutineer
belongs by a heavy fine, rather than to single out individuals as
examples. In a case like the present it is extremely difficult to

474 APPENDIX B.

measure the exact proportion of guilt attachable to each member
of the community, and, even with the very greatest care, I find it
is not always possible to hang the right man. And this is a
difficulty which will increase as time goes on.

APPENDIX B.

DELHI, Christmas Day, 1858.

DEAR MRS. ERLTON : I can scarcely believe that two whole
years have passed since I helped you to decorate a Christmas-tree
in the Government college here. Those long months before the
walls, and those others of wild chase after vanishing mutineers
over half India seem to belong to someone else's existence now
that I — and the world around me — are back in the commonplaces
of life. I was down to-day helping the chaplain's wife with
another tree — she has a very pretty sister, by the way, just out from
England — and I almost fancied as I looked into the dim screened
veranda where we are going to have an entertainment, that I
could see you sitting there with little Sonny Seymour on your lap
as I found you that afternoon half asleep — that interminable play
about the Lord of Life and Death (wasn't it ?) had been too much
for you.

Well, I can only hope that Mr. Douglas' health and the pleas
ures of that Scotch home, of which you wrote me such a delight
ful description, will allow of your returning to India sometime and
giving me a sight of you again.

Meanwhile I am reminded that I sent you off a small parcel by
last mail which I trust may arrive before the wedding, as this
should do, and convey to you the kindly remembrances of friends
many thousand miles away. Not that you will need to be reminded.
I fancy that few who went through the Indian Mutiny will ever
need to have the faces and places they saw there Yecalled to their
memory. Terrible as it was at the time, I myself feel that I would
not willingly forget a single detail. So, being certain that it holds
your interest, your imagination also, I am inclosing something
for you to read. Can you not imagine the Silent and Diffident
Dashe writing it? I can, and the careful way in which he would
order the gallows to be removed and lay down his sword in favor
of his pen at the earliest opportunity. You see he favors clemency
Canning. So do most of us out here except those who have not
yet recovered their nerves. I remember hearing Hodson — sad,
wasn't it? his death over a needless piece of dare-devilry — very
angry over something Mr. Douglas said about our all being in a
blind funk. I am afraid it was true of a good many. Not Dashe,
however, he kept his district together by sheer absence of fear,
and so did many another. This report, then, will carry you on in

APPENDIX B. 475

the story, as it were, since you left us. For the rest, there is not
much to tell. You remember our old mess khansaman Numgal
Khan? He turned up, with his bill, and out of pure delight
insisted on feasting us so lavishly that we had to make him moder-
ate his transports. Even with batta and prize money we should
all have been bankrupt, like the royal family. I can't help pitying
it. Of course we have pensioned the lot, but I expect precious
little hard cash gets to some of those wretched women. One of
them, no less a person than the Princess Farkhoonda Zamani,
that beast Abool-bukr's ally, has set up a girls' school in the city.
If she had only befriended you instead of turning you out to find
your own fate, she would have done better for herself. Talking
of friends and foes, it is rather amusing to find the villages full of
men busy at their plows with a suspiciously military set about
the shoulders, who, according to their own showing, never wore
uniform, or doffed it before the Mutiny began. I was much struck
with one of these defaulters the other day ; a big Rajpoot, who,
but for his name, might have stood for the Laodicean sepoy you
told me about. But names can be changed, so can faces ; and
that reminds me that I had a petition from that old scoundrel
Tiddu the other day — you know I have been put on to civil work
lately, and shall end, I suppose, by being a Commissioner as well
as a Colonel. He has had a grant of land given him for life, and
he now wants the tenure extended in favor of one Jhungi, who, he
declares, helped you in your marvelous escape. It seems there
was another brother, one Bhungi, who— but I own to being a little
confused in the matter. Perhaps you can set me straight. Mean-
while, I have pigeon-holed the Jhungi-Bhungi claim until I hear
from you. The old man was well, and asked fervently after
Sonny, who, by the way, goes home from Lucknow in the spring.
I expect the Seymours are about the only family in India which came
out of the business unscathed ; yet they were in the thick of it.
Truly the whole thing was a mystery from beginning to end. I
asked a native yesterday if he could explain it, but he only shook his
head and said the Lord had sent a " breath into the land." But the
most remarkable thing to my mind about the whole affair is the
rapidity with which it proved the stuff a man was made of. You
can see that by looking into the cemeteries. India is a dead level
for the present ; all the heads that towered above their fellows laid
low. Think of them all ! Havelock, Lawrence, Outram. The
names crowd to one's lips ; but they seem to begin and end with
one — Nicholson !

Well, good-by ! I have not wished you luck — that goes with-
out saying ; but tell Douglas I'm glad he had his chance.
Ever yours truly,

CHARLES MORECOMBE.

MISS STUARTS LEGACY

Mrs. F. A. STEEL.

Cloth, 12mo, pp. 46O. $1.5O.

"A strong and vivid book." — The New York Recorder.

"A thoroughly delightful story of life in India. . . The entire
novel is interesting, while many of the incidents are thrilling." — Public
Opinion.

" There is plenty of strong writing and a well-conceived plot carefully
wrought out in this story that are bound to secure the attention of the
reader." — 7" he Christian Intelligencer.

" A story of British life in India which is unusually good. . . The
strength of the story lies in the study of characters, which is fine and
highly sympathetic in its interest, and in the descriptions of Indian life,
which seem more realistic than any we have met with before." — The
Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.

" Those who have read Mrs. F. A. Steel's short stories will be pre-
pared to receive her novel, ' Miss Stuart's Legacy,' as very good, and no
disappointment awaits them. . . There is no novel-writing English-
woman who has better material than Mrs. Steel, and what other makes
better use of such material than she has?" — The Boston Herald.

1 ' Miss Stuart's Legacy ' will be approved by all who read it. . .
The plot is cleverly wrought, the incidents are natural, and the strong
story is well told. Mrs. Steel has given us not only an interesting novel,
but a true picture of Indian life." — The Nezu York World.

" The story is a delightful one, with a good plot, an abundance of
action and incident, well and naturally drawn characters, excellent in
sentiment, and with a good ending. Its interest begins with the open-
ing paragraph and is well sustained to the end. Mrs. Steel touches all
her stories with the hand of a master, and she has yet to write one that
is in any way dull or uninteresting." — The Christian at Work.

" A book of far more than average ability and, in fact, one of the best
stories of life in India among both the English residents and the higher
class of natives that we have ever read. It is not only a deeply interest-
ing story, but it is a most artistic and at times psychological study of
character as original as it is of high literary excellence. . . There are
some situations in the story that show the author's remarkable dramatic
power for delineation, and her character-drawing is of unexcelled excel-
lence."— The Boston Home Journal.

" It is a deserved compliment to Mrs. Steel to say that her novel is an
extremely able one, far above the average of similar work from writers
as little known as she. Unless we are greatly mistaken she will find a
ready public hereafter. ' Miss Stuart's Legacy ' is distinctly an artistic
book. It is not only well constructed and well written, but the charac-
ters are handled with great discrimination and with an equal strength
and reticence which some older writers might imitate to good advantage.
. . Mrs. Steel's facility in drawing a spirited picture with a few strokes
of the pen is quite remarkable, and her style is at once lucid and pic-
turesque. . . We shall look for another work from this author with
interest." — The Boston Courier.

" To lay the scene of a novel in India is to start with a heavy handi-
cap. . . Mrs. Steel is happily as unaffected by Mr. Kipling as if he
had never existed. She has the characteristic gifts which distinguish the
novelist from the writer of short stories — the gifts of devising and sus-
taining a plot and of elaborating character. Her method is deliberate
and thoughtful, without any appearance of striving for smartness or epi-
gram. In incident she moves securely between the improbable and the
commonplace, developing a drama not dependent for effect on detach-
able situations or sudden explosion of passions. . . In drawing the
Orientals, the author seems to step out from her nation and her race, and
to become one of their own people. When to such uncommon ability
for characterization there is added a knowledge in detail of Indian scenes,
customs, and manners, and a pleasant manner in description, it cannot
be denied that Mrs. Steel has, in her first book, we believe, made good
a claim to distinction in her profession." — The Nation.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,

66 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK.

THE FLOWER OF FORGIVENESS
AND OTHER STORIES

Mrs. F. A. STEEL.

Cloth, 12mo, pp. 355. 01. 5O.

" Each story in this volume is a literary gem, and the reader will find
a strange, weird fascination one very page." — Boston Daily Advertiser.

" All Mrs. Steel's stories are wonderfully effective and subtle, and are
written with exceeding elegance. The lady gives us an acquaintance
with the methods of thought of the Hindoos who follow Brahma or the
Prophet scarcely obtainable elsewhere." — N. Y. Times.

" Mrs. Steel has caught a glimpse of the mental operations of the fol-
lowers of Brahma or Mohammed, which Kipling never had, and in the
1 Flower of Forgiveness ' (and a dozen or more other short tales) reveals
to us the poetic side of the Hindoo's nature, as no other writer with
whom we are familiar has revealed it. These stories have the charm
of mystical poetry ; they are studies in character, like nothing else in
contemporary literature." — Chicago Evening Post.

" Mrs. Flora A. Steel's ' Flower of Forgiveness' contains more of the
strong studies of life in India, of the great merit of which we have
already spoken. There is found here as intimate knowledge of the sub-
ject as that of Mr. Kipling, together with a vastly greater sympathy with
native feeling and native suffering. The stories are intense, often tragic
with the tragedy of humble sacrifice and pain, and yet with glimpses of
Anglo-Indian fun here and there." — The Outlook.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK.

RED ROWANS

Mrs* F. A. STEEL.

12mo, Cloth, Gilt Top, pp. 4O6. £1.5O.

" Richness of description and dramatic power are the conspicuous
traits called forth in Mrs. Steel's latest novel." — Albany Times-Union.

"A pure and very charming love story." — Vogue.

" The book has great literary excellence, and it is a pleasure to find
in a modern novel humor without flippancy, and reflection without
epigram." — Philadelphia Public Ledger.

"This is one of Mrs. Steel's best works. The novel is an extremely
able one, well written and intensely interesting." — New Haven Leader.

"It is much for her art that the tragic close seems as purely accidental
as a real occurrence, and that the rest of the book is as wholesome,
and sweet and fresh as the moorland air itself — and those who love
Scotland know what this praise means." — Boston Evening Transcript.

"A love story, simple, sweet, and true, is a joy to all impressible
young readers' hearts. A real fascination possesses every page of this
novel. The story is artistically told, the construction is skillfully ingen-
ious. The author's practiced pen achieves an effective picture with few
and rapid strokes, the narrative is animated and poetic in spirit, and the
style is that of one accustomed to none but the best and purest forms of
expression. The character-sketching is done with a delicacy of strength
and a careless felicity that will delight all readers who partake of this
choice banquet of ideal fiction." — Boston Courier.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,

66 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK.

TALES OF THE PUNJAB,

TOLD BY THE PEOPLE.

Flora Annie Steel,

With Illustrations by J. LOCKWOOD KIPLING, C. I. E., and Notes by
R. C. TEMPLE.

16mo, Cloth, Gilt. 32.OO.

"A book that will be welcomed no less eagerly by the children than
by students of folklore from a scientific standpoint is Mrs. Steel's col-
lection of Indian stories, entitled ' Tales of the Punjab.' They were
taken down by her from the very lips of the natives in some of the most
primitive districts in India. Yet these tales, handed down solely by
word of mouth from one generation to another, could hardly be distin-
guished from those in a Teutonic collection like that of the Brothers
Grimm ; and even closer examination serves only to impress upon us
more strongly than ever before the unity of the great Indo-European
family of nations." — Nashville Banner.

" It is not often that a book will appeal at once to the child and the
scientist. The stories of this collection will not only amuse the juveniles,
but as unwitting revelations of the roots of Hindoo character and cus-
toms, they would secure the attention of a Darwin." — Christian Leader.

"We know of nothing just like these stories in folklore literature,
certainly of nothing more charming. The stories themselves, as they
have been rendered by Mrs. Steel, will delight the children, and the
notes by Mr. Temple will be found of great value by the students of
folklore. Mr. Kipling's illustrations are eminently appropriate and
lifelike." — Boston Daily Advertiser.

" A more captivating fairy-book for children could not be asked for,
of writer, illustrator, or publisher." — Boston Courier.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK.

NEW UNIFORM EDITION OF THE STORIES AND POEMS OF
RUDYARD KIPLING. Seven volumes, 12mo, cloth.

PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS.

New Edition. i2mo, cloth, $1.25.

" Mr. Kipling knows and appreciates the English in India, and is a born story-
teller and a man of humor into the bargain. . . It would be hard to find better read-
ing."— The Saturday Review, London.

THE LIGHT THAT FAILED.

New Edition. I2mo, cloth, $1.25.

" ' The Light that Failed ' is an organic whole — a book with a backbone — and stanc
out boldly among the nerveless, flaccid, invertebrate things that enjoy an expensive
but ephemeral existence in the circulating libraries." — The A thenceu m.

LIFE'S HANDICAP.
Stories of Mine Own People.

New Edition. i2mo, cloth, $1.25.

" No volume of his yet published gives a better illustration of his genius, and of the
weird charm which has given his stories such deserved popularity." — Boston Daily
Traveller.

THE NAULAHKA.
A Story of East and West.

By RUDYARD KIPLING and WOLCOTT BALESTIER.
i2mo, cloth, $1.25.

" What is the most surprising, and at the same time most admirable in this book, is
the manner in which Mr. Kipling seems to grasp the character of the native women ;
we know of nothing in the English language of its kind to compare with chapter xx.
in its delicacy and genuine sympathy."

UNDER THE DEODARS, THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW,
AND WEE WILLIE W1NKIE.

With additional matter, now published for the first time.
I2mo, cloth, $1.25.

SOLDIERS THREE, THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS,
and BLACK AND WHITE.

Also together with additional matter.

12 mo, cloth, $1.25.

BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS.

izmo, cloth, $1.25.

" Mr. Kipling differs from other ballad-writers of the day in that he has that rare
possession, imagination, and he has the temerity to speak out what is in him with no
conventional reservations or deference to the hypocrisies of public opinion." — Boston
Beacon.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "On the face of the waters; a tale of the Mutiny"

See other formats