WHAT ZEYNAB SAW.
“Dick, I want to speak to you. I’m sure there’s something wrong.”
“There’ll be something wrong with you, if you rush up the steps at
that rate, after being out all morning. You haven’t walked back, I
hope?”
“No, of course not. I had a doolie. But it’s really important, Dick.”
“I dare say it is, but I won’t listen to a single word until you lie
down in that chair and let me fan you. Now let us hear about it. You
went to the Refugees’ Camp as usual, and doctored all and sundry?”
It was not in the confined limits of the Memsahibs’ courtyard that
this conversation took place, for since the arrival of the relieving
column the fort had been practically deserted, owing to its insanitary
condition. As the town had also been left by the enemy in an
undesirable state, most of the rightful inhabitants were under canvas
for the present. Quarters had been found, however, in the large Sarai
for a good many of the Europeans, who led a picnic existence in the
bare mud rooms, cheered by such remnants of their household goods as
they had been able to save, until the neighbourhood should quiet down,
so as to allow them to return to their homes. Bahram Khan was holding
out obstinately at Dera Gul, where he appeared to hold in deep
contempt the devastation wrought by the besiegers’ mountain-guns. They
had battered his walls to pieces, but he and his garrison retired to
shelters underground, whence they emerged on more than one occasion to
frustrate, with considerable loss to the attacking party, attempts to
carry the place by assault. Meanwhile, his followers’ wives and
children, who were not admitted into the fortress, had thrown
themselves quite happily on the hands of the besiegers, in the calm
confidence that this course would ensure their being provided with
food, lodging, and medical attendance free of cost. To have despatched
them, in their present unprotected condition, to any distance from the
British lines would merely have led to their being killed or enslaved
by the tribes, and after much discussion they were gathered into a
special camp, under the charge of an officer detailed for the duty,
which he cursed daily. Here they were looked after in company with the
native women and children who had survived the siege, and such of the
townspeople as now began to reappear from mysterious hiding-places or
cities of refuge. The care of their health was entrusted to Georgia,
and every morning she visited the camp and prescribed for any patients
that might be awaiting her. It was from one of these visits that she
had just returned.
“I was making a surprise inspection of the huts, Dick--it’s necessary
every few days, you know--and I came to one where a number of women
who have no children are quartered together. They were not expecting
me, and they were just sitting or standing about. One of them was
Jehanara.”
“My word!” Dick sprang to his feet. “Are you certain, Georgie?”
“Quite. I never forget a face, you know, and hers is a remarkable
one.”
“And what did you do?”
“I pretended not to have recognised her, and our eyes did not meet, so
I don’t think she could have seen that I knew her. I finished the
inspection, and then, when I was reporting to Major Atkinson, I asked
him to arrest her at once, as I was sure she was there as a spy.”
“And had she got away in the meantime?”
“Oh dear, no! When I had made Major Atkinson understand which woman I
meant, he laughed at me, and said that she was certainly a spy--a spy
of our own; and she had a pass signed by the General to allow her to
leave the camp when she liked.”
“Somebody is being made a nice fool of.”
“That’s what I thought. If she has come to the General, and offered to
betray the fortress to him--that door, you know--and it’s all a trap!
He doesn’t know her as we do. I thought of going to him at once, but
then it struck me that he might laugh at me as Major Atkinson did, so
I came back to tell you as fast as I could.”
“You thought he might be like Burgrave, and dislike ladies’
interfering in politics? Well, I suppose I must go myself, and fish
for snubs. What I do admire in all these big chaps is their
deep-rooted distrust of the man on the spot. I wonder they don’t order
us all out of the district before they’ll deign to set foot in it.”
Before very long Dick was received by General Cranstoun in the
seclusion of his tent. To his observant eye, the General’s face wore a
slightly expectant, not to say conscious expression, and he went
straight to the business in hand.
“I should be glad, sir, if you would authorise the arrest of an East
Indian woman who calls herself Joanna Warren or Jehanara. She is a
secret agent of Bahram Khan’s, and my wife found her secreted in the
Refugees’ Camp this morning.”
“There is no such person in the camp,” was the terse reply.
“What! has she got away already?” cried Dick. “Excuse me, but this may
be a serious matter. Did she know that she was recognised?”
“I believe not. I understand that when she heard it was Mrs North’s
habit to visit the camp, she considered it unwise to remain there
longer.”
“I wish to goodness I knew whether that was all,” muttered Dick. “Is
there any hope of getting hold of her still?”
“I do not know. The matter does not appear to me to lie in your
province, Major North, and I am not prepared to offer you any
assistance.”
“Perhaps you are not aware, sir, that the woman in question is Bahram
Khan’s most trusted counsellor? It is generally understood that all
our recent misfortunes are attributable to her influence, and I know
personally that she has done an immense amount of harm.”
“Perhaps you are not aware that the unfortunate woman of whom you are
speaking has been for years most cruelly ill-used by Bahram Khan, and
has vowed vengeance upon him in consequence? But I am not at liberty
to say more upon the subject.”
“No!” cried Dick, with sudden enlightenment, “because she made you
promise to say nothing to me before she would utter a word. She told
you that I was brutally unsympathetic, and had insulted her in her
misfortunes, and that I forbade my wife to receive her?”
“These are facts of which I should scarcely expect you to be proud,
Major North.” Still, the General looked uncomfortable.
“I am prouder of them than I should be of being taken in by the most
cunning Jezebel in India. The woman hasn’t a grain of truth in her
composition.”
“I have been considered a good judge of character,” said General
Cranstoun severely, “and I would stake my life on Miss Warren’s
truthfulness. She has told me something of her history, and her manner
left on my mind the most extraordinary impression of impotent fury
thirsting for revenge. No acting could have produced the effect.”
“And so you are going to stake your life on her truthfulness? and the
lives of her Majesty’s troops? I see it all!” cried Dick, with growing
excitement. “You are to be at the north-east corner of the Dera Gul
rock with a body of picked men at a certain time, when she will open a
door leading into the subterranean passages. Guided by her, you will
make your way up with your detachment to the gate opening on the
zigzag path, and hold it until the rest of your force comes up. Then
the fortress is in your hands.”
“Why--how in the world did you know this?”
“I am acquainted with the lady, you see.”
“But the door--how did you hear about that?”
“I have seen it. When the place was empty, before it was restored to
Bahram Khan, I explored it thoroughly.”
“And you never told me of the existence of the door? I should have
imagined that the interests of the public service would have prevailed
over any slight personal jealousy----”
“I didn’t mention it,” said Dick, “because the door is a portion of
the solid rock, and can only be opened from within. It is lifted by a
complicated arrangement of weights and pulleys, and a dozen women
couldn’t make it stir. I should say it needed ten men at least.”
The General’s brow gathered blackness. “Your information would have
been more valuable had it come earlier,” he said. “In the
circumstances, I do not feel justified in abandoning an excellent
opportunity of ending this revolt, merely in view of your suspicions.”
“They are certainties. Say that you and your picked men are trapped in
the cave--the door works from above. The only way out is up a narrow
staircase, which only one man can climb at a time, but there are holes
high up through which you could be shot down in dozens. Once inside,
Bahram Khan has you safe--to use as a hostage, if he likes.”
“I should not feel justified in abandoning the attempt,” repeated the
General, “but,” he added, with a degree less of severity, “if you can
suggest any precautions that might render success more certain, I
shall be glad to consider them.”
“There are to be no lights, I suppose? Then I would let every man
except those in the front rank carry a block of stone. We can get them
out of the ruins not far off, and if they are piled up at the sides of
the doorway--I’ll show the men how to do it--the door can’t come right
down, at any rate. Then, Jehanara has arranged with you that the rest
of the force shall advance up the zigzag path at a signal from the
gate? The enemy’s fire commands every foot of the way, and we can’t
shell them to any purpose at night. But if, instead of climbing up on
that side, our main body was making a determined assault with
scaling-ladders upon the opposite side of the fortress, where the
walls come down to the level, that would distract the attention of the
garrison if you found it necessary to retire from the cave. My idea is
that as soon as you are well inside, the door will go down, and you
will be summoned to surrender. But the door will stick, and you will
be able to retire in good order, and form outside. Then, even if the
attack did not come off quite at the same moment, you would be
prepared to resist the garrison if they charged, and be sheltered
against their fire from above. And the best part of the plan,” added
Dick cunningly, “is that there is no need to break faith with
Jehanara. If she means well by you, everything will go off just as you
arranged, and her feelings will not be hurt by the knowledge of my
base suspicions.”
“Major North,” said the General, holding out his hand, “I have done
you an injustice. The arrangements you suggest seem to obviate all
risk, and I shall be glad if you will accompany me, in order to direct
the men who will carry the stones. The details of the main attack I
will arrange immediately.”
“Then when was the attempt to be made, sir?”
“To-night, of course. _Is_ to be made, if you please.”
“That was a pretty close shave!” muttered Dick to himself, when he was
safely outside.
And thus it came to pass that there was yet another night in which
Georgia and Flora, unable to sleep, sat together in one of the bleak
rooms of the Sarai, and held each other’s hands in an agony of fear
and anxiety, while Mabel stole in at intervals from her watch beside
Fitz to ask whether there was any news yet. Over and over again the
anxious watchers persuaded themselves that they could hear the sound
of firing echoed across the miles of desert which separated them from
Dera Gul, and on each occasion they assured one another that the idea
was absurd. Mrs Hardy came in several times to scold them for sitting
up, twice spoiling the effect of her rebukes by administering hot
coffee as a corrective, but she knew as well as they did that they
could not bring themselves to face the solitude of their own rooms. At
last, just as day was breaking, a messenger came from the signal
officer at the camp to say that flash-signals of some sort were
visible to the eastward, but the mists of the morning made it
impossible to read them properly. There was still an hour or so more
of weary waiting, and then Dick and Haycraft rode in together, the
latter with his arm in a sling. He had been knocked from one of the
scaling-ladders by a stone hurled at him, and the bone was broken, but
otherwise he was only bruised. And what did even a broken arm signify,
when there was victory at last?
“It was just as we thought,” Dick told Georgia. “As soon as we were
inside the cave, I saw the door begin to come down--shutting out the
stars, don’t you know? and a voice called out to us to surrender. But
just when the door ought to have descended with a crash, it made a
grating noise instead, and stuck fast, for the stones were piled about
four feet high on each side. The enemy saw the dodge in a moment, and
opened fire through the holes up above, but as we were all in the
dark, it was a pretty wild affair. Two or three were wounded, and from
the back of the cave came an awful scream--a woman’s scream. It was
that wretched Jehanara, who had tried to escape up the staircase, and
was shot down by mistake. So now we shall never know--or rather, the
General won’t--whether she was deceived herself, or deceiving us.
Then, as we got out of the place, we heard the sound of the attack on
the other side, and we raced round to take part in it. Our men were
already in at the breach the shells have made, and by the time we got
up they were fighting hand to hand inside. We pressed the garrison
back from point to point, until we came to the zenana. It seems that
Bahram Khan had talked big about killing all his women before the end
came, but his plucky old mother didn’t quite see it. She and the rest
barricaded themselves in, all except Bahram Khan’s wife Zeynab, and
kept him out. The fellow made a great fuss about breaking down the
barricade, and went off to find a hammer or pickaxe or something to do
it with, but we got there first. The men he had left fought to the
last in front of the barricade, and behind it the old Begum held out
stoutly until I came up, when she surrendered at discretion. Then we
found out from one of our wounded that Bahram Khan and his wife had
got away through the cave, with either two or three of his men, so
that he is still at large, though the place is in our hands. Of course
the regiment is scouring the country for him, and the tribes are all
thirsting for the reward that will be offered, but it is a horrid
bother.”
“Zeynab will scarcely be the help to him that Jehanara would have
been,” said Georgia.
“No, but I don’t like his being loose. I shall get them to post a
sentry at the gate here, as well as the Sikh at Burgrave’s door, and
none of you must go outside without an escort. Mab mustn’t try any
more of her adventurous rides.”
“Why, Dick, there’s no one for her to ride with at present.”
“No more there is, happily. Well, I shall be thankful if her devotion
to Anstruther lasts long enough to keep her between walls just now.
Bahram Khan driven desperate would be an ugly customer to meet out in
the open.”
It was a source of considerable relief to Dick to learn that at this
particular time Mabel was less likely than ever to quit her charge.
Two or three days before, she had astonished Dr Tighe by demanding to
be allowed to assist in dressing the patient’s burns. The doctor, who
had contrived, with what he regarded as almost superhuman cunning,
always to accomplish this process at a time when she was not on duty,
was much perplexed by the request.
“Trust me,” he urged; “I’ll let you help as soon as it’s desirable.”
Mabel shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I want to
know the worst while he is still unconscious. I think I can trust
myself not to make any sign, but I am not sure, and if it is very
dreadful--oh, it would break my heart if he thought I shrank from him
because of his scars!”
“But, my dear young lady, that’s all the more reason for waiting. The
wounds will be far less painful to look at when they are a little more
healed.”
“That’s just it. If I see them now, at their worst, I can’t be
horrified afterwards. I want to be able to judge of the improvement,
so that I may cheer him if he thinks he is not getting on.”
Dr Tighe muttered fiercely to himself, but yielded at last, and
allowed Mabel to act as his assistant at the next dressing. She
thought she had schooled herself to bear the worst, but in spite of
all her resolutions she shrank and shivered involuntarily when she
realised the frightful change in the dark handsome face she had always
secretly admired. Dr Tighe, going about his work with swift, practised
fingers, said nothing, and pretended not to notice the drops of water
which splashed upon him from the basin she held.
“Will he--can he ever look at all as he did?” she asked in a whisper
at last.
“If things turn out as I hope, he will look no worse than a man who is
badly marked with smallpox. There will be two or three ugly
seams--here, and here”--he indicated the precise spots lightly with a
finger-tip--“but the hair will help to cover them when it grows again,
and if the mouth is much disfigured--why, you must lay your commands
upon the patient to grow a beard.”
Mabel was crying. “Oh, it is too dreadful, too dreadful!” she sobbed.
“Then you had better leave the sick-room to me before he recovers
consciousness. There’s no need to make things worse for him by raising
false hopes. Either stick to him, disfigurements and all, or don’t let
him know that he ever had the chance of marrying you.”
“It’s not for myself; it’s for him!” flashed forth Mabel. “Stick to
him? of course I shall. He himself is not changed. But I can’t be too
thankful that I have seen him like this. At least I know the worst.”
Again the doctor was puzzled. Was she forcing herself to keep faith,
for shame or pity’s sake, or was she really in love still? He did not
attempt to argue the matter with her, and nothing more was said on the
subject for a day or two. Then the doctor stopped Mabel one morning at
the door of the sick-room.
“One moment, Miss North. Has the patient ever exhibited any signs of
consciousness in your presence--tried to speak, or anything of the
sort?”
“Never,” said Mabel, in surprise. “I should have told you if he had.”
“I didn’t know whether you might be luxuriating in the sentimental
satisfaction of feeling that you were the only person he recognised.
You needn’t be angry; from your point of view it would be very
natural. Well, I can’t make it out, then.”
“But has he spoken again--are there any signs----?”
“Not a word. But I can’t help thinking that there may be a kind of
semi-consciousness about him--ability to distinguish light from
darkness, or a loud noise from silence, perhaps--and I am almost
certain that he knows when you are there. There are minute variations
of temperature and pulse which correspond day after day, marking the
difference between your presence and absence. It’s a queer thing.”
“And you think he will soon be quite conscious? Oh, doctor!” and this
hope it was that kept Mabel so closely within the walls of the Sarai
as to satisfy even Dick. But no further change in the patient’s
condition seemed to reward her eager watchfulness. Dr Tighe said
nothing more, and Mabel was afraid to ask questions. Any good news he
would surely tell her, and she did not want to hear any that was bad.
After another three days, however, he stopped her again outside the
sick-room.
“Miss North, I’m going to give that poor fellow away. I won’t presume
to inquire into your feelings towards him, but unless you can take
him, scarred as he will be, without a qualm, you had better keep away
from him in future. He is conscious, but he guesses how it is with
him, and he means to tire you out. He has settled in his own mind that
if he shows no gratitude for your nursing, and no interest in your
presence, you will leave him alone, so that he won’t be tempted to
take advantage of your pity for him. So he lies there like a log, and
the self-repression is bad for him. I would be glad to see you end it
one way or another.”
“Do you mean that he can speak, and see, and hear, but pretends he
can’t?” demanded Mabel.
“No, no. He can’t see--because of the bandage over his eyes, if for no
other reason--and he can’t speak intelligibly. But he can hear, and he
can answer questions by moving his right hand for yes, and his left
for no. That’s how I found it all out.”
“And he has pretended not to be able to hear a sound! Why, I might
have said anything to him--anything! Happily I haven’t,” catching the
doctor’s eye, “for Colonel Slaney told me so particularly not to
excite him. But what do you want me to do?”
“To please yourself. Either make him understand that you mean to stick
to him, or simply stay away. It’ll be better for him.”
“Which have you told him you expect I shall do?” asked Mabel, turning
upon him. The doctor looked guilty.
“I’d have had the greatest pleasure in preparing the poor fellow’s
mind, if I’d known,” he confessed; “but for the life of me I couldn’t
decide which you’d be likely to do.”
“Thanks for your high opinion of me,” said Mabel, entering the room
with a short laugh. “Perhaps you will kindly notice that I am putting
an end to your doubts at this moment.”
Such was the confused condition of Dr Tighe’s mind that he did not at
first realise the bearing of this sentence. Indeed, it was not until
he was busy in his improvised surgery half-an-hour later that he
perceived its full import, and made the bottles ring again with the
shout of joy which greeted his discovery. As for Mabel, she sat down
in her usual place beside the bed, and bent over the patient.
“Fitz,” she said very distinctly, “I want to speak to you. You needn’t
pretend you can’t hear, for I know Dr Tighe has been talking to you.
Raise your right hand when you mean yes, and your left when you mean
no.”
No movement of any kind followed, but Mabel was not to be daunted.
“I understand,” she went on, “that you don’t like me to be here, and
would rather I left off helping to nurse you?”
This time the right hand was unmistakably raised an inch or so.
“I have no right to offer any objection,” resumed Mabel, “but I don’t
think you need have left Dr Tighe to tell me about it. I suppose I
ought to have known that I had treated you too badly for you ever to
care for me again.”
The left hand was shaken two or three times with pathetic vehemence.
“Then some one has told you,” indignantly, “how old and wretched I am
beginning to look. Even Flora confesses it--I made her tell me--but
she said she loved me just the same. I said I shouldn’t mind it, if it
didn’t prevent my friends caring for me--and there were one or two to
whom I felt sure it would make no difference. I never thought that
you---- No, you are not to touch that bandage,” intercepting a feeble
movement of one hand towards the eyes. “Do you want to be blind? But
it’s better as it is,” with a heavy sigh--“better that we should part
now. I mean, I couldn’t bear you to think me ugly.”
Again the left hand was shaken vehemently.
“Do you mean that it isn’t that? Then there’s only one other thing it
can possibly be. You don’t believe I can be faithful, though you can;
and you haven’t realised that it’s just this accident of yours which
removes my objection to you. You know I said you would look so
dreadfully young compared with me. Well, no one can say that now. You
will look like a battered veteran, and though I have gone off so
dreadfully, I shall look quite youthful beside you. Do you
understand?”
The right hand was lifted somewhat doubtfully.
“I’m glad of that. Because, you see, I have told people that we are
engaged, and it would be such a very uncomfortable thing if I had to
contradict it. Now listen. Flora and I have agreed that I am not Queen
Mab any longer, but if you agree it will be very rude.” Up came the
left hand with alacrity. “That’s right; then I am still Queen Mab to
you, and I lay my commands on you that this sort of thing is not to
happen again. I mean to help nurse you, whether you like it or not,
and you will get well much sooner if you make up your mind to like it.
But even if you don’t, I won’t give you up.”
Both hands were raised, with an imploring gesture, and Mabel took them
in her own, and hid her face in them.
“Because I love you, Fitz. You couldn’t have the heart to send me away
after that, could you? Don’t try to talk; I understand.”
Returning to her watch that evening, Mabel met the Commissioner, who
stopped to inquire after Fitz.
“He is conscious; he knows me,” she answered joyfully, adding, after a
moment’s hesitation, “I think perhaps you will like to know that it is
all right between us now.”
“I am very glad to hear it. I hope from my heart that you may be
absolutely happy. As for Anstruther,” added Mr Burgrave, in his old
courtly way, “there can be no question as to his happiness.”
“We shall always feel that we owe it very much to you,” faltered
Mabel.
“It is extremely kind of you to say so. I am leaving early to-morrow,
and that is a pleasant assurance to carry with me. I hoped I should
meet you this evening, as I am dining at your brother’s, but I see you
have other duties.”
“I am so sorry--I didn’t understand--how stupid of me!” cried Mabel.
“Are you leaving the frontier altogether?”
“I am returning in the first instance to Bab-us-Sahel, to take up my
regular duties again. My visit to the frontier has extended over a
preposterous length of time, owing first to my accident and then to
the rising, and I fear it has thrown the machinery of government a
good deal out of gear. Personally, however, I cannot bring myself to
regret it. I have enjoyed many important experiences, for which I did
not bargain when I set out.”
Mabel’s eyes fell before the kindly look in his. “Can you ever forgive
me?” she murmured.
“I have nothing to forgive. The fault was mine.” He bowed over the
hand she held out to him. “The Queen can do no wrong.”
They parted, and Mr Burgrave went on to the Norths’ quarters, two
small square rooms without a door, and possessing only one small
window apiece, high up in the back wall. One side was open to the
courtyard of the Sarai, and at night was somewhat inadequately closed
by means of curtains and Venetian blinds. The dinner-table had been
laid with the help of contributions from the Grahams and the Hardys,
and the Commissioner pretended politely not to recognise his own
reading-lamp, the only large lamp belonging to the community that had
escaped the chances of war and earthquake. Flora, whose father was
dining with the General, occupied Mabel’s vacant place, and did her
part in helping to arrange the impromptu drawing-room at the back of
the room. There were screens and a brazier, to mitigate the coldness
of the evening air, and for furniture the camp-chairs which had played
so many parts in the economy of the siege. Dick had received strict
injunctions to offer his guest a cigar, and Georgia and Flora were
prepared to efface themselves so far as to retire into the bedroom
should Mr Burgrave’s principles forbid him to smoke in the presence of
ladies, but their self-sacrifice was not needed. No sooner were the
chairs arranged than the Commissioner, who had been helping to carry
them behind the screen, prepared to take his leave.
“I will ask you to excuse me early,” he said to Georgia, “for I have a
good deal of writing to do, and Mr Beltring has been good enough to
offer to take poor Beardmore’s place for this evening.”
He hesitated for a moment, turned to go, and then came back again.
“I think perhaps I had better explain something that might perplex you
in the future,” he said, speaking to Dick, but including Georgia. “It
has to do with the frontier question.”
“I thought we had come to an agreement on that subject,” said Dick,
with some apprehension.
“Pardon me, I agreed to withdraw my report in deference to your
representations, but I still think your principles unsound--radically
unsound.”
The rest gazed at him in alarm, and he went on. “Your custom of
intervening in trans-frontier disputes, and practically exercising
authority outside our own borders, is diametrically opposed to the
traditional policy of the Government. I am bound to admit that it
seems to succeed in your case, but it needs exceptional men to carry
it out. You, Major, especially with Mrs North to assist you”--he bowed
to Georgia--“are unquestionably a power to be reckoned with all along
this frontier, but what would befall the ordinary civil servant who
might be sent to succeed you?”
“That’s just it,” said Dick. “You mustn’t send us the common or garden
office-wallah up here. Let me pick the right man--whether he’s a wild
rattlepate like Anstruther, or a steady plodding chap like
Beltring--and give him the right rough-and-tumble sort of training,
till he knows the tribes like a brother, and there’s your exceptional
man ready when you want him. Only he must be the right sort to begin
with, and he must be caught young.”
“A possible clue to my own lack of success up here!” mused the
Commissioner. “Still, I fear you will scarcely find that any
Government will look with favour upon a system that would practically
make the frontier a close preserve for you and your pupils. But this
is what I wished to say. I can’t conscientiously work with you on your
lines, though I have promised not to oppose you, and therefore I am
recommending the severance of the frontier districts from those of
Khemistan proper, and their erection into a separate agency under an
officer answerable directly to the Viceroy. Don’t think I have tried
to shift the responsibility from my own shoulders. It seemed that
while we could not well work together, we might work side by side. I
have done the best I can.”
He went out precipitately, one of the servants hastening to light him
to his own quarters, thus restoring the lamp. Those left behind looked
at each other.
“Poor old chap!” said Dick. “It’s about the worst thing he could have
done for himself, and it’s not very much good to us. The Great Great
One can scarcely be expected to welcome such a slap in the face as
that. His own nominee, sent to carry out his very own policy,
recommending its reversal, not because his views have changed, but
simply because facts are against him!”
They sat talking round the brazier in the dusk for some time, until
there was a footstep outside, and Beltring pushed aside the screen and
entered. He had a paper in his hand.
“Why, you are all in the dark, Mrs North!” he said. “Never mind, I can
tell you the great news. The Commissioner has just had a telegram that
the rumour of the Viceroy’s resignation is true. Lord Torvalvin is
coming out instead.”
“Torvalvin!” cried Dick. “Then the frontier’s safe.”
“And you will be Warden of the Marches still,” said Flora.
“That seems to make me out a sort of Vicar of Bray,” grumbled Dick.
“It’s only Flora’s poetical way of speaking,” said Georgia. “I’m sure
it sounds much better to talk of keeping the marches than of running
the frontier.”
“Yes,” said Flora. “I was thinking of the inscription in Sir Walter
Scott’s hall at Abbotsford, about the ‘men wha keepit the marchys in
the old tyme for the Kynge. Trewe men war they in their tyme, and in
their defence God them defendyt.’”
“I like that,” said Georgia softly.
“Well,” said Dick, “it’s all very well for me, but Torvalvin’s coming
out will be a fearful blow for Burgrave. I suppose he will feel bound
to resign, for I certainly don’t see how they can work together. Did
he seem much cut up, Beltring?”
“He didn’t show it, sir. Only said he thought you would like to see
the telegram. Why, his lamp has gone out!” Beltring had reached the
threshold on his way back. “Good heavens! what’s that?”
A wild uproar was arising from the camp, which stretched into the
desert beyond the Sarai, and alternate cries of “Dīn! Dīn!” and
“Ghazis!” were discernible.
“A Ghazi raid!” cried Dick, springing for his sword. “Georgie, take
the boy and Rahah, and barricade yourself in with Mab and Miss Graham.
You have two revolvers, and I’ll send help as soon as possible. Take
the chairs. They’ll help you to build up a corner.”
Rahah ran out with the baby, and Dick and Beltring saw the ladies
safely to the door of the sick-room, then rushed to the gateway, where
they stumbled over the dead body of the sentry. The tumult in the camp
still continued, shouts and yells coming from several directions
mingled with the sound of shots, but in each case all was quiet again
before they arrived at the point of interest. Such of the troops as
were new to the frontier looked somewhat ashamed when they realised
that the attack which had thrown the camp into confusion was the work
of only four men, but the more experienced knew that four desperate
fanatics, armed to the teeth, and determined to kill until they
themselves were killed, were by no means foes to be despised. The one
who had fought most obstinately wore a green turban, and Dick nodded
grimly as he caught sight of his face.
“Bahram Khan! I thought so,” he said. “But I’m afraid there’s been the
devil’s own work done in the Sarai. Bring torches.”
A number of officers ran back with him to the gateway, where the
sentry was found to have been dexterously strangled from behind.
Entering the courtyard, they turned towards the Commissioner’s
quarters, which were still in darkness. Suddenly Dick’s foot slipped.
“Another body here!” he said, and some one brought forward a torch. To
their astonishment, it was a woman who lay before them, dressed in
rich native garments, which, with the coarse _chadar_ covering her
face, were soaked with blood. She had been stabbed in the breast, but
was still breathing heavily. Sending a messenger for Dr Tighe, they
went on, in growing dread as to what they might find. Their fears were
justified. On the verandah lay the Sikh sentry, stabbed in the back,
and on the floor of his office was the body of the Commissioner,
hacked and disfigured almost beyond recognition with a hundred wounds.
It did not need the verdict of Dr Tighe to assure the men who stood
round that life was extinct.
“What can have been the reason? Why the Commissioner and not North?”
were the questions that passed from mouth to mouth, as Dick tore down
a curtain and laid it reverently over the body, with the help of Dr
Tighe.
“Perhaps the woman can tell us something. She seems conscious now,”
said some one, but when the doctor knelt down beside her she pulled
her veil feebly over her face, moaning out a name the while.
“She won’t let me touch her. She’s a _pardah nishin_,” he said,
rising. “It’s the doctor lady she’s asking for, Major.”
Dick went himself to fetch his wife, and the men stood aside a little
as Georgia tried to stanch the gaping wound, which was draining the
poor creature’s life away. The woman herself laughed weakly.
“It matters not, O doctor lady. I shall follow my lord.”
“You are little Zeynab?” asked Georgia gently, looking into the drawn
face.
“I am that luckless one, O doctor lady, and I die thus for the sake of
the kindness thou didst show me many years ago.”
“Don’t talk now,” said Georgia. “Tell me afterwards.”
[image: images/img_324.jpg
caption: “STRETCHING OUT HIS HAND FOR THE PISTOL”]
“Nay, I must speak now, for soon it will be too late. Six days we have
been hiding here and there, O doctor lady, my lord and his three
servants and I, and this evening we were in the shadow of the
oleanders beside the gate. Thence we saw the Kumpsioner Sahib return
to his house with a light carried before him, and presently there came
out a young sahib with a _chit_ in his hand, and crossed the
courtyard. Then my lord said, ‘It is time,’ and two of his followers
slew the guard at the gate, while he and the third flung themselves
like tigers upon the accursed Sikh on the verandah, and killed him
without a cry. I, who had crept after them, saw the Kumpsioner Sahib
sitting at a table with the light in front of him, and a pistol at his
right hand--for truly he feared my lord, even in his own house--and I
saw also that my lord had crept in like a cat, and was stretching out
his hand over his shoulder for the pistol. But as he took away the
pistol, the Kumpsioner Sahib saw his hand, and turned round and sprang
up. Then one of the other men blew at the lamp to put it out, and the
light burned low. And my lord laughed and said in the Persian tongue,
‘We meet at last, O Barkaraf Sahib. Thou didst indeed believe that
victory was thine, but if Nāth Sahib’s sister is not for me, neither
is she for thee. Death is thy bride.’ At first it seemed to me that
the Kumpsioner Sahib was about to speak, but he stood up straight with
his arms folded, and said nothing, until my lord added divers other
taunts, when he said, ‘Take not the name of that lady upon thy lips, O
low-born one. Dost thou fear to strike me, who am here unarmed, that
thou speakest evil of a woman who is absent?’ Then my lord struck him
with his dagger, and the lamp went out, and they all fell upon him,
and stabbed him many times. And coming out, my lord found me, and
said, ‘Go through the midst of the Sarai, and cry out aloud for the
doctor lady, that she may come out and we may slay her and her son,
and it may be the accursed Nāth Sahib himself also.’ But I would not,
O doctor lady, and therefore it was that my lord stabbed me, and that
I die now at his hand.” With a sudden convulsive movement, she tore
away Georgia’s hand from the wound, and struggled to her feet, then
staggered and fell. Georgia caught her in her arms, but the dressing
had been dislodged, and the blood streamed forth again as the dark
head dropped heavily on her shoulder.
They buried the Commissioner in the little cemetery at Alibad, and for
days people went about saying that it was the irony of fate that his
grave should be next to that of General Keeling. It was Georgia who
chose the spot, however, and she thought otherwise.
“He would have been a man after my father’s own heart, if he had known
him,” said Georgia, “though I don’t say they wouldn’t have wrangled on
theoretical questions from morning to night. But when I think that
with death staring him in the face, he would not say a word that might
turn their thoughts to Fitz, who was only a few feet away, and
absolutely helpless, I feel that he was one of the bravest men I have
ever known.”
Not all the opinions expressed concerning the dead man were so
favourable, however. On the evening of his funeral two Pathan soldiers
from one of the relieving regiments met Ismail Bakhsh near the
cemetery, and saluted him with marked friendliness.
“O brother,” they said, “we have heard that the famous general,
Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib Bahadar, is wont to ride abroad upon this border
by night. Is this so?”
“It is true,” returned the old trooper, “and I myself have heard him,
not once nor twice. And, moreover, what these eyes of mine have
beheld, it is not wise to relate.”
“Pray, brother, tell us when these things may be seen and heard? We
have a great desire to make proof of them for ourselves.”
“Nay,” said Ismail Bakhsh, with a lofty smile, “for that ye must wait
awhile. It is only when there is trouble on the border that the
General Sahib rides, and”--with a wave of the hand towards the
new-made grave--“the troubler of the border lies there.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.
This book is part of the author’s “Modern East” series. The full
series, in order, being:
The Flag of the Adventurer
Two Strong Men
The Advanced-Guard
His Excellency’s English Governess
Peace With Honour
The Warden of the Marches
Alterations to the text:
A few minor punctuation corrections--mostly involving the pairing of
quotation marks.
Change three instances of “Mrs.” to “Mrs” and one of “Dr.” to “Dr”.
Otherwise, minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies have been
left as is.
[Title Page]
Add illustrator’s credit and brief note indicating this novel’s
position in the series. See above.
[Footnotes]
Place the book’s sole footnote (Chapter XIX) in square brackets inline
with the text.
[Chapter XI]
Change “said Bahram _Kham_ approvingly” to _Khan_.
[Chapter XVII]
“and Ghulam _Rasal_, taking his place” to _Rasul_.
[Chapter XIX]
“broken off your _engagemen_” to _engagement_.
[Chapter XX]
“said the _Comissioner_ with a smile” to _Commissioner_.
[End of Text]