CHUNDER SINGH'S PRECAUTIONS
'Tell me everything,' said the rajah.
'I will try,' replied the poor fellow; 'but my master must not blame me
more than he can help. I acted for the best.'
'Yes, yes; but--oh! Hoosanee, my servant, my friend,' cried Tom,
breaking down now at last, and for a few moments giving way to his
passionate grief. 'It is too terrible,' he went on, when the strangled
sobs and the shivering of his limbs would let him speak. 'God
knows I am glad to have rescued them; but I never thought--I never
imagined--that you, knowing my heart as you do, would bring back the
others and not her. How could it have been?'
Then Hoosanee told rapidly the story that we know.
'It was herself, master,' he cried. 'As your Honour lives, she was
safe. They would not have found her, for the night was as dark as the
jaws of hell, and to save the others I could have made a story, and the
ladies would have helped me. We would have said that she was dead. I
would have taken them on to my father's village and returned, when all
was still, for her and the child. We should all--all have come in; but
she is a daughter of Allah--too fine--too noble even to be paralysed by
fear. When she heard the Soubahdar use threatening words she came out
and they carried her away. I ask my master what could I do?'
'Nothing. You have done your best, my poor Hoosanee. And now it rests
with me.'
'Not so, master. You cannot go out as I have done. You know neither the
people nor their ways. If you can think who has taken her, tell me,
and I will at least find out if she is alive and what treatment she
is receiving. Master'--piteously--'do not deny me! It is not for your
Excellency's sake alone, although to serve you is dear to me. It is for
her. Ah! master, if you had seen her through all those nights. _They_
were impatient; they would blame me sometimes, and say that I had not
done my best; and sometimes, master, knowing a little English as I do,
I could hear that they were angry with one another and the child. But
_she_ was always the same--always a kind look and a gentle word. "My
good Hoosanee, my kind Hoosanee"--master, I hear her voice in my sleep,
and I spring up and say to myself that if I do not go to her, if I do
not try to save her, I am black of heart and degraded. Let me go then,
I beseech you!'
'Hoosanee, it is neither fair nor right. Twice--three times--you have
been in peril for me. You will become known. They will call you a
spy--a spy of the Feringhees--and then what treatment can you hope for?'
'I can die, master,' said Hoosanee, nobly. 'That has been the fate of
better men than I am in these last few days. But I do not think I shall
die. I have that within me which says that I shall live to see these
cruel days at an end. And does my master think that I will show the same
face as I have done to these men? He must know little of the resources
of the Indian. I will change myself so that my own father would not know
me. Did my master know Subdul Khan when he went into the midst of the
enemy's camp?'
'So you have heard of our adventure?' said Tom. Full of anguish as he
was, he smiled faintly at the memory of that strange evening. 'Subdul
was certainly sublime,' he went on. 'But you have only just come in,
and he has left. How did you hear?'
'My master's friends are everywhere,' replied Hoosanee tranquilly. 'In
all this region there is scarcely a village where they are not to be
found. Byrajee Pirtha Raj, our revered ruler, was well known and warmly
loved. Is not my master his true son?'
'If this is so,' said Tom, his voice trembling, 'if I have many friends
amongst this people, is not that the more reason that I should go
forth? I must, Hoosanee, I will. I tell you that if I stay I shall go
mad.'
For a few moments Hoosanee paused. Then he went nearer to his master
and threw himself at his feet. 'Will my lord pardon me?' he said in a
low and humble voice, 'if I speak the thing that is in my heart.'
'Say what you will, Hoosanee. After what you have done for me it would
be strange if I could be angry with you. But get up and speak quickly,'
said Tom. 'Before the night is over I must be gone.'
'Master, that is just it!' cried Hoosanee. 'Should my master go?
Listen! My lord who has gone--the mighty and excellent Byrajee Pirtha
Raj--was once in such a difficulty as this of my lord's. Duty to his
State and the good of his people drew him one way. On the other
side----'
'Hush, Hoosanee! I will not listen to you. I know what you would say.
Chunder Singh has said it before you; but it is useless. Nay, if the
voice----! Ah! Why did you recall it? I will be myself to-night. I
will not be another.' He had been talking in Hindostanee. Suddenly he
paused. The words of the language which in these last few weeks had
become to him almost as familiar as his own fled from his lips. It was
in English--the dear language that had been his from his infancy, the
language in which he had learned, and dreamed, and loved, and suffered,
in which he had fought his childish battles and won the praise of those
who were dearer to him than his life--that the thoughts welling up
hotly from his passionate heart found utterance.
'Is it not enough?' he cried--not to his servant, for he had forgotten
his presence--'is it not enough? Am I to be tortured for ever? I have
tried this double life, and I cannot live it; I must choose to be one,
and I choose to be myself. I am Tom Gregory. I am Grace's lover.'
There was a pause, during which he seemed to be listening to voices in
the air. Hoosanee threw himself on his face and lay like one dead.
Darkness gathered about them, and the silence in the great room was
as the silence of the grave. And then the rajah's voice, deep and
passionate, broke forth again.
'What are all these to me, cruel voice? Stay! Stay! For God's sake do
not answer me yet, for I must fight this thing out with myself! She is
one--an English girl, forsaken and distressed, and in danger of her
life, a life that has little value for anyone but me. And they are
many--thousands upon thousands. And, through them, I may influence
countless myriads more. Do I not know it well? On the one side all
these holding out their hands to me. On the other the little soft
trembling hand of my love.' His voice broke. There followed another few
moments of silence, and then he cried out again: 'Great heavens! why do
I stop? Grace in danger! Is this paralysis that is stealing over me? I
will shake it off. I will show them all, visible and invisible, that I
have a will, that I can choose and act. Hoosanee!'
The piercing voice acted like an electric shock. Hoosanee sprang to his
feet.
'I thought you were asleep,' said Tom in Hindostanee; 'as you are awake
I want you to answer me two or three questions. Answer directly, for
my stock of patience is nearly at an end.'
'Let my master speak,' said Hoosanee.
'If I confide in you,' said Tom, 'will you obey me blindly? Come, yes
or no? I have had enough of arguments.'
'I am, as I have always been, his Honour's servant,' said Hoosanee with
dignity.
'I suppose I must be contented with that,' said Tom, smiling grimly.
'Will you be silent?'
'As silent as the grave, my master.'
'Come, that at least has the merit of directness. You know Ganesh? Do
you consider that you know him well?'
'I have known him for many years, Excellency.'
'You have reason to believe that he is a faithful servant?'
'Why does my lord----?'
'We may come to that presently. Answer my question before you put
questions of your own.'
'Master, I have no wish and no reason to blacken the face of my
fellow-servant before your Highness, but if my lord looks for a
companion in this adventure it is not Ganesh that he should choose.'
'Why, Hoosanee?'
'He is a proud man, and a man of high caste. He could not change his
countenance or serve my lord with subtlety, as Hoosanee or Subdul Khan
could do.'
'Is this your only reason for thinking that he is not the man to go
with me?'
'What other reason----?'
'For Heaven's sake answer me directly. Have I not told you that my
stock of patience is nearly at an end?'
'I have no other reason,' said Hoosanee with dignity.
'Then go, my good Hoosanee, go at once, without asking me a single
question, and tell Ganesh that I want him.'
Casting a look of wonder, not unmixed with reproach, on his master,
Hoosanee obeyed. He was away some two or three minutes, for Ganesh, who
had been sleeping in one of the corridors, would not appear before his
master without carefully adjusting his turban and girdle. These minutes
were spent by Tom in pacing his room rapidly, trying by the strong
physical exercise to stifle thoughts.
'What a time you have been!' he said, when Ganesh, who looked as
dignified, watchful, and correct, as if sleep were an impossible
weakness, stood before him.
'And yet I have made haste,' he said humbly. 'His Excellency is surely
more impatient than usual?'
'You are right, Ganesh, I am impatient. But what is that to you? I sent
for you because I wish you to guide me at once to Dost Ali Khan's camp.'
'Dost Ali Khan, your Highness!' Ganesh's eyes were fixed on Hoosanee.
'Are you afraid that Hoosanee should hear the name of your friend?'
said Tom.
'Why should I fear?' answered Ganesh boldly. 'My heart is white. Does
his Highness wish that Hoosanee shall accompany us?'
'If it is his desire.'
'My lord knows,' said Hoosanee, 'what my desire is.'
'You would go without me, but that is impossible. And now, without any
more loss of time, to our arrangements. Ganesh, how far is the camp
from this?'
'It is not to a camp; it is to a fort that I am desired to take your
Highness.'
'Where is it situated?'
'My lord will forgive me. I am forbidden to say. This I may tell him,
that it is only one day's journey from the boundaries of Gumilcund.'
'So near? If we press our pace we may go and return before they miss
us here,' said Tom. 'But why not tell me where the fort is? If I go
with you I must certainly find out.'
'Will my lord pardon me? I am taking my instructions from others, and
it is only in this way that I can help him. When he leaves Gumilcund he
must go in a closed litter as a high-caste woman. If Hoosanee will go
with us, his eyes must be covered till he reaches the boundaries of the
forest.'
'But it is impossible! You are dreaming, Ganesh!'
'I wish I were dreaming, my lord. I wish I could take you to the
dwelling of Dost Ali Khan by a bolder and surer way. But I have sworn
by my God to show to no one the road thither. If my lord cannot give
himself blindly into my hands he must think of it no more.'
For a second or two Tom paused. His eyes, piercing as stars, were fixed
upon the face of Ganesh, who stood before him erect and proud, not so
much as an eyelid trembling. At last he held out his hand.
'I believe you,' he said; 'make your own arrangements. If you are false
to me----'
'If I am false, my lord, let death come upon me swiftly, and let my
soul go down into hell,' said Ganesh fervently. 'Will my lord pardon
me if I leave him for an hour? When I return I shall hope to tell him
that everything is ready for a start.'
There was a knock at the door of the room.
'One moment,' whispered Ganesh, as Hoosanee went towards it, 'I must
not be seen here.'
'True; Chunder Singh wants to stop me from leaving,' said Tom. 'Hide!'
Ganesh withdrew into the shadows--seemed literally to vanish into them,
for Tom, who thought that he had his eyes upon him, could not tell the
exact moment or the manner of his disappearing. There had been three in
the room. There were now only two. The knocking was repeated. 'Go and
see who it is,' said Tom to Hoosanee; 'whoever it may be, I must not
allow him to stay with me long.'
Hoosanee drew aside the purdah before the doors and threw them open,
and in the next moment Chunder Singh, followed by the English Resident,
entered the room.
The minister cast a rapid and searching glance round the apartment,
saw no one but Hoosanee and the young rajah, and, having made his
salutation, drew back.
The Resident came forward with outstretched hand. 'You will forgive
my intrusion, I am sure,' he said; 'but, when I heard that the poor
ladies from Nowgong had arrived safely, I felt that I must thank and
congratulate you.'
'Their safety is as dear to me as it is to you, sir,' answered Tom with
some reserve. He was meditating how, without giving offence, he could
get rid of his visitor.
The visitor, meanwhile, did not seem to be in any hurry. He was an
expansive person, and he had a fine flow of language at his command,
and having come across an Indian rajah who seemed to be as familiar
with English as he was himself, he rather enjoyed the prospect of
letting out some of his imprisoned ideas, the more so that Chunder
Singh, prime minister to this mysterious young prince, and evidently a
person of some insight, had begged him to impress certain views upon
him.
'It is very kind of you to feel so,' he said, in answer to Tom's last
remark. We should observe, in passing, that he had, as yet, only seen
the rajah in such a subdued light as the present, and that he knew
nothing of him, excepting that he was the adopted son of Byrajee Pirtha
Raj, and that Lord Dalhousie, in consideration of the long and close
alliance between the rulers of Gumilcund and the English, had pledged
himself to sanction his succession.
'May I stay with you for a short time?' he went on; 'you smoke, I
smoke too. If that would help talk----'
'I have made a vow not to smoke until an object very near my heart is
fulfilled,' said Tom gravely. 'But that need not debar you from smoking
if you will.'
He had neither sat down himself nor asked his visitor to take a seat.
This was so unusual a circumstance that Chunder Singh, who, in the
belief that his young master would speak more confidentially to his
countryman if he were absent, was retreating towards the door, could
not help pausing for a moment, and looking at him inquiringly.
'Join us if you will, Chunder Singh,' said Tom. 'I have nothing secret
to say to Mr. Montgomery. In fact,' passing his hand over his eyes,
'I am afraid I should not be able either to talk or to listen very
well to-night. It has been an exciting season, sir,' to the Resident,
'anxiety, labour, early and late hours, and I, you see, am new to this
sort of thing.'
'Ah! yes, yes. So I believe. The late rajah might have done more
wisely, perhaps, if he had accustomed you a little to the position.
I said so to him more than once. "Your heir," I said, "ought to be
with you. An English education is all very well in its way, and, up
to a certain point, nothing could be more advantageous. But there is
a limit." Well, that is all over. No doubt he expected to live much
longer. Ah! his death was a sad blow to us all. I look upon it now as
the beginning of all this misery. What do you think?'
'I am afraid I am not capable of any serious thoughts to-night,' said
Tom; 'my eyes are nearly closed.'
'Dear, dear! I am very sorry, and I had so much to say to you;
however, it will keep, no doubt. I will come to-morrow, with your kind
permission, and pay my respects to the ladies, who may be glad to see
the face of a fellow countryman, and you will allow me, then, perhaps,
to express my deep sense----'
'Thank you,' interrupted the rajah, 'there is no need. As I have before
had the honour of telling you, I look upon these English ladies as my
sisters and personal friends.'
It was a little, just a little, audacious, the Resident thought.
His sisters, indeed! Englishwomen! But those were not days when one
could afford to slight friends, and he made the ordinary polite
acknowledgments.
'As for to-morrow,' went on the young rajah, 'I am afraid that I shall
be engaged all day. I am under a vow, as I have told you. No business
connected with the State will require my presence, and I very much
doubt whether I shall leave these rooms. In a few days, however, I will
do myself the pleasure of calling upon you.'
It was a dismissal. The Resident bowed and withdrew, wondering over the
dignity and reasonableness of the young rajah. 'Only shows what English
education can do,' he said to himself.
Chunder Singh, in the meantime, lingered for a few moments. 'Your
Excellency will really try to rest?' he said anxiously.
'Of course I will, Chunder. Don't you see that my eyes are half shut
already?' answered Tom. 'Now pray leave me.'
'Will you promise me----'
'How dare you speak to me so?' cried the young fellow, lashing himself
into a rage which he was far from feeling. 'Promise you, indeed! I
will promise you nothing. Do you suppose that because I have accepted
you as my counsellor, and listened to your advice, I intend to give
myself up to you entirely? If you do, let me tell you that you are
extraordinarily mistaken. I will do what I think right.'
'Yes, yes; so long as my lord does not run into danger!' cried Chunder
Singh piteously.
'My dear friend,' said Tom, in his most English fashion, 'let me
entreat you not to be a fool. When I say that I decline to be dictated
to, that does not mean that I intend to assert myself by deliberately
thrusting my head into a lion's mouth, or doing anything else of the
same ridiculous nature. And now, for heaven's sake, go away! I like you
too well, and I respect you too much, to wish to quarrel with you; but
I tell you plainly that I am not quite answerable to myself to-night.
If you continue to stand there looking at me in that absurdly piteous
way I shall say or do something foolish.' Sighing deeply and making
a respectful salutation, Chunder Singh, to whom this new attitude of
his young master was deeply bewildering, not to say alarming, took his
leave.
In the corridor he paused. Hoosanee was still with the rajah. There
was no one else. The rest of the servants were scattered. Several of
them had been told off to attend upon the new inmates of the palace.
The corridor was empty and very silent. Between the entrance to the
rajah's apartment and the staircase lay the mattress which Hoosanee
had been formerly in the habit of using at night, and which on his
return had been spread for him again. Chunder Singh sat down upon it,
determining to remain where he was until the exit of Hoosanee, when
he would confer with him on the new danger that seemed to threaten the
State. He sat where he was for a long time, and at last, vigilant as
he had determined to be, his eyes grew dim. Again and again he tried
to arouse himself, and again and again he dropped off into a doze. He
felt persuaded, however, as he asserted later, that, if the door of
the rajah's apartment had opened once, he must have heard it. So in
ineffectual attempts to keep on the alert the hours of the night passed
by.
Towards morning, being now fully persuaded that, contrary to his usual
custom, the rajah had kept his servant in his room, he fell into a
deep sleep from which he was aroused finally by sounds of movement in
the palace. Then, a little ashamed of his want of dignity, sleeping at
his master's door--he, an old minister of the State, like a personal
servant--he crept off to his own house.