Lunch was over; the car stood under the portico breathing gently like a
tamed and willing monster held in a metal leash. Alderbury, ready to
start, was inclined to yield to a new temptation and linger in his
leave-taking. Wenaston politely stayed to see his guest off under the
mistaken impression that it was a necessary courtesy. At the same time
his ear was open for the sound of the school bell.
"I am sorry that you have not succeeded in the object of your visit,"
he remarked, his conscience still troubling him in the matter of the
'vert.
Alderbury and Eola exchanged glances with an amused twinkle of the eye.
If there had been failure on one point, on another the missionary had
achieved a marked success.
"We must leave it alone for the present," he said with a seriousness
that was not assumed. "When you are confronted with caste, you stand
before invincible plates of steel. To beat against them violently does
more harm than good. We must wait for the doors to open of themselves.
There can be no forcing them open."
"I hope the poor fellow is safe."
"And I hope and pray that he is standing firm in the new faith,"
responded Alderbury quickly.
"I used to think that Ananda was weak in character."
"Possibly he was; but after all that he has gone through his character
must have strengthened marvellously. I have known similar cases,
although not among the higher castes. The fervent religious instinct
of the Hindu sustains him in circumstances where a less religious
temperament would give way."
"You believe that he is under his father's roof?"
"From what I gathered yesterday afternoon in my inquiry of the town's
people, I feel sure that he has not been allowed to leave the place."
"Is he safe?"
The question was asked with an anxiety the Principal could not hide.
"Ah! that I cannot undertake to say. All the same I have a strong hope
that beyond petty persecution he is, comparatively speaking, safe. My
hope originates with Bopaul. His manner gave me confidence. I met him
in the town; he spoke openly of his friend's disappearance, and seemed
in no way concerned about it. He laughed at the theory of suicide. If
he had any suspicion of a tragedy he would not show such indifference.
I know for a fact that he is very much attached to Ananda."
"They were together in England and they both felt Coomara's death. I
was with them at the time, if you remember. The accident was a great
shock to us all, and my nerves are not what they used to be. The
person least affected was Bopaul apparently," said Wenaston.
"We don't know how it affected him; he has a peculiar nature, and hides
his real sentiments under a careless flippancy which his actions
frequently belie."
"He certainly is a strange mixture of incorruptible orthodoxy and
modern tolerance," assented Wenaston.
Alderbury commented tersely and incisively on the new Hinduism of the
Presidency towns, and compared it with the old-fashioned bigotry to be
found up-country, where there was less European influence than in the
great educational centres. Native states with their native officials
were even still further behind than British India, opposing religious
reform with strong prejudiced conservatism.
"I suppose you welcome this new tolerance as a step in the right
direction."
"Not at all," exclaimed Alderbury, his fighting instinct roused. "It
is more difficult to attack than the old intolerance; it is elusive,
shifty, the outcome of the Brahmanical facility of adaptation which is
the invariable resource of the Hindu philosopher in every religious
innovation. I would rather come to blows with the fanatical old
Brahman than with one of these modern men whose policy is to agree with
reservation."
"So you turn to the untouchables."
"Who form a sixth of India's population. They offer us a wide field
for our energies," replied Alderbury.
"You are wise to give the caste people the go-by."
The missionary was up in arms at once at the implication that he turned
his back on any one.
"Excuse me! We don't give them the go-by. We are ready watching for
the moment when the thin edge of the wedge may be inserted without
bringing disaster upon them and ourselves. By the by, an odd thing
happened yesterday. Bopaul to my astonishment asked me if I would
befriend his sister, the widow of the man who was killed in the railway
accident."
"Coomara! I had forgotten that he married Bopaul's sister."
"It was no more than a betrothal. Bopaul explained that his sister was
not happy at home; and that it would be a relief to the whole family,
in his opinion, if she were removed. Then he laughed as though the
attitude of his relations amused him. He proposed that she should be
placed in our mission school."
"Does the family consent?" asked Wenaston in some surprise; for no one
understood the prejudices of the high caste families of Chirapore
better than himself.
"Apparently his parents are too indifferent to the widow's fate to care
whether she throws herself down the well or disappears off the scenes
in any other way. I told him to speak to his people about it; and if
they consented I would willingly take her."
The school bell rang and Wenaston rose from his chair.
"I must be off. Good-bye, Alderbury," exclaimed Wenaston. "Come again
as soon as you can; a warm welcome will be ready for you."
The hand-clasp expressed even more than the tongue, as the two friends
parted with the knowledge that before long a closer and more intimate
tie would be forged to bind them together.
Five minutes later Alderbury stood on the steps of the verandah ready
to enter the car. He turned to Eola once more.
"I haven't said good-bye to Mrs. Hulver. Have you told her our news?"
"Not yet; she has been too much occupied with her son to think of
anything else. She was to go off early this morning with young
William; and she asked me not to expect her back till this evening. I
might have let her into the secret last night; but I heard after dinner
that she had gone to bed."
"I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I am sure that
she will forbid the banns," he replied in comical concern that did not
deceive Eola.
"She will quote the wisdom of the three departed Williams in support of
her action," she added, and her laugh had a new ring of happiness in it.
The car slid noiselessly down the drive and turned into the great
southern road. Alderbury leaned back on its cushions luxuriously, his
thoughts busy with the woman he had just left. He had been lifted
along on the wings of destiny. He had come to Chirapore to hold out a
helping hand to a fellow creature in distress, and had found his own
happiness as a reward.
Having taken the step he was of too strong a character to entertain any
doubt as to its wisdom. However short she might fall of the ideal
missionary's wife, she was his desire and he was hers. This new
knowledge and certainty lifted him into a sphere of joy he had never
before touched.
After a few minutes indulgence in purely selfish dreams, Eola with all
she meant for him was put resolutely aside. He took out the bundle of
letters that awaited him at the college house and proceeded to read
them afresh, making notes of the replies on the envelopes.
The car moved along the smooth road at a moderate pace. Now and then
the eyes of the occupant ranged over the undulating landscape, resting
with appreciation on the patches of green forest covering the crests of
the hills, and the stretches of rice fields interspersed with
plantations of areca-nut palms in the valleys.
Few travellers were on the road. A string of country carts crept
slowly towards the town, bearing the produce of the rich smiling land
to market. The car shot by with a deep hum that set the wild-eyed
bullocks snorting and backing under their yokes; and transformed the
drivers into kicking fiends. In vain they sought to inspire the
terrified cattle with courage and confidence by a liberal application
of the toe. It was not until the car disappeared in the distance, and
its weird hum was lost to the ear that the bullocks were recalled to
order and a sense of duty, and the drivers were able to drop back into
idle clucking at their beasts.
Six miles of quiet travelling came to an abrupt end. The native
chauffeur pulled up at a signal from a traveller on the road, walking
in the same direction as the car was moving. Alderbury, who was
absorbed in the composition of a letter to the head office of his
society, looked up, and to his amazement recognised Bopaul.
"I am going to ask you a great favour, sir," said the latter after the
exchange of greetings. "I have my sister here. Will you be so good as
to give her a seat in the car; and to take her to your mission-station?"
Alderbury glanced beyond the speaker and caught sight of the shrinking
figure of the widow. Her saree was drawn over her bald head to hide
the mark of shame and disgrace. Her eyes were cast down, and the hand
that grasped the coarse cloth to keep it in position trembled.
"Of course you take the responsibility upon yourself, Bopaul," said
Alderbury looking at the girl with pity born of an intimate knowledge
of what widowhood meant for one so young.
"Certainly, sir," responded Bopaul quickly.
"She will be at perfect liberty to return if the family desire it. It
does our work no good to have even the semblance of abduction."
"You need have no fear of trouble, sir. My people will make no
objection whatever. If her husband were alive it would be quite
another matter; but with a widow!" he smiled with gentle cynicism,
"whoever heard of any regret being felt at the absence or even the
death of a Hindu widow?"
"Very well; I will take your word for it that all is well, and that I
am only carrying out the general wish of the family. Let her get in
the car at once, as I must be going on my way, or I shall be benighted."
"She will sit by the chauffeur."
"There is plenty of room inside," said Alderbury, pushing cushions and
rug into some order.
Bopaul went to the side of the road where his sister stood and said a
few words in a low tone. She did not reply, but made a movement of the
head showing that she understood his directions. Then he took her by
the hand and led her to the car.
"Get in, little sister. You will be quite safe with the missionary;
and if you are not happy with him, ask him to write and tell me so. I
will come myself and fetch you back, but I know you will not want to
come back; you will find your happiness there; not here."
"It is understood by your family that she will probably become a
Christian if she remains with us," said Alderbury who was a little
puzzled by Bopaul's manner.
"She is at liberty to do as she pleases. Of one thing I can assure
you; I can answer for her willingness to work at anything that will
help to earn her keep."
"And her name?"
"I call her Mayita; but she will probably prefer to be called by some
other name when she enters the mission," replied Bopaul with another
smile.
"She has no luggage of any kind, no bundle of clothes?"
"Widows own nothing. They are deprived of every possession in the
world. Even their hair is taken from them," her brother answered.
During this conversation Mayita sat silent with her head bent and the
saree veiling her face. Suddenly the cloth was pushed backwards and
she leaned towards Bopaul both hands extended.
"Brother, may the gods reward you for your goodness to the poor widow!"
"Good-bye little sister. Take heart and be brave. Now go, sir, and
believe me that all will be well."
The car glided forward and left Bopaul standing there. He watched it
until nothing was visible but the cloud of soft dust that hung like
smoke in the warm air of the afternoon.
Then he turned round and set off at a steady pace homewards. Again the
characteristic smile appeared and he murmured to himself:
"In the name of friendship; not in the name of religion!"