“The abbot saw her and he loved her. He was young still, you remember.
She was a woman of the Hindu faith and hated Buddhism. It swept him down
into the lower worlds of storm and desire. He fled with Lilavanti and
never returned here. So in his rebirth he fell-”
She stopped dead; her face pale as death.
“How do you know? Where have you read it? If I could only find what you
find and know what you know! The East is like an open book to you. Tell
me the rest.”
“How should I know any more?” she said hurriedly. “We must be going
back. You should study the plans of this place at Peshawar. They were
very learned monks who lived here. It is famous for learning.”
The life had gone out of her words-out of the ruins. There was no more
to be said.
We clambered down the hill in the hot sunshine, speaking only of the
view, the strange shrubs and flowers, and, once, the swift gliding of a
snake, and found Mrs. Delany blissfully asleep in the most padded corner
of the car. The spirit of the East vanished in her comfortable presence,
and luncheon seemed the only matter of moment.
“I wonder, my dears,” she said, “if you would be very disappointed and
think me very dense if I proposed our giving up the Malakhand Fort? The
driver has been giving me in very poor English such an account of the
dangers of that awful road up the hill that I feel no Fort would repay
me for its terrors. Do say what you feel, Miss Loring. Mr. Clifden can
lunch with the officers at Nowshera and come any time. I know I am an
atrocity.”
There could be only one answer, though Vanna and I knew perfectly well
the crafty design of the driver to spare himself work. Mrs. Delany
remained brightly awake for the run home, and favored us with many
remarkable views on India and its shortcomings, Vanna, who had a sincere
liking for her, laughing with delight at her description of a visit of
condolence with Lady Meryon to the five widows of one of the hill Rajas.
But I own I was pre-occupied. I knew those moments at the monastery had
given me a glimpse into the wonderland of her soul that made me long
for more. It was rapidly becoming clear to me that unless my intentions
developed on very different lines I must flee Peshawar. For love is born
of sympathy, and sympathy was strengthening daily, but for love I had no
courage yet.
I feared it as men fear the unknown. I despised myself--but I feared.
I will confess my egregious folly and vanity--I had no doubt as to her
reception of my offer if I should make it, but possessed by a colossal
selfishness, I thought only of myself, and from that point of view could
not decide how I stood to lose or gain. In my wildest accesses of vanity
I did not suppose Vanna loved me, but I felt she liked me, and I believe
the advantages I had to offer would be overwhelming to a woman in her
position. So, tossed on the waves of indecision, I inclined to flight.
That night I resolutely began my packing, and wrote a note of farewell
to Lady Meryon. The next morning I furiously undid it, and destroyed the
note. And that afternoon I took the shortest way to the sun-set road to
lounge about and wait for Vanna and Winifred. She never came, and I was
as unreasonably angry as if I had deserved the blessing of her presence.
Next day I could see that she tried gently hut clearly to discourage our
meeting and for three days I never saw her at all. Yet I knew that in
her solitary life our talks counted for a pleasure, and when we met
again I thought I saw a new softness in the lovely hazel deeps of her
eyes.