Mrs. Hulver was busy cleaning and folding an old uniform. The door of
her room was closed and locked whilst she was thus occupied. With many
sighs she passed the brush over the well-worn cloth and smoothed out
the creases.
"An iron would do it good; but it must go for the present as it is. It
won't do for the uniform to be seen just now. To think what the master
would say if he knew that the poor young man was in the house all the
time! He would give me a month's notice as sure as my name is Maria
Hulver! But there, as William used to say"--the William in her mind
was the wearer of the uniform in the old days--"'What the eye doesn't
see, the heart doesn't grieve for.' God forgive me for loading up
young William's shoulders with that canteen racket, and him as innocent
as a new-born babe! But as William--that was my third--used to say:
'If the dhoby donkey were shown half the load that was meant for its
back, it would die of terror.' Young William shall never know if I can
help it that he was the hero of a canteen fight."
She wrapped the uniform in an old linen towel, tucking in bits of
camphor on every side, and laid the relic of by-gone days in the bottom
drawer of her wardrobe. A knock at the door startled her. She closed
the drawer hastily, put away the brush and went to see who called her.
"Miss Eola! Come in, miss. Were you wanting to speak to me?"
It was the day after Alderbury's departure. The car had come back
bringing a letter for Eola, the first she had received since his love
had been declared. She read it in the privacy of her room, lingering
over the closely-written sheets as Mrs. Hulver had lingered over the
folding and putting away of the uniform that had belonged to the father
of her boy.
The housekeeper was still in ignorance of what had passed between Eola
and the guest. Her mind had been too full of anxiety over Ananda's
welfare to admit of any curiosity concerning the behaviour of other
people. She knew that she ran a risk in extending the helping hand to
the persecuted 'vert; but she had carried it through without faltering.
Without any explanations she had ordered his luggage to be placed in
the missionary's cart and told the driver that he was to start that
evening, a command that was gladly obeyed.
While the dinner was still proceeding Mrs. Hulver and her
scarlet-coated companion left the house presumably for a walk. A jutka
was picked up outside, and directed to take the same road as that
followed by the cart. The pony went much faster than the slowly moving
cattle, and soon overtook and passed them.
Half an hour later the missionary's servant was roused, and to his
intense astonishment confronted by the Principal's housekeeper. By her
side stood a native gentleman dressed in European clothes and wearing a
neat turban. As Alderbury's servant had never seen Ananda he did not
recognise Mrs. Hulver's companion.
"You will carry on this friend of mine to the mission station," she
said, "and you will tell the master when you see him that I gave you
the order."
The servants all understood the varied modulations of her voice. In
this case it was comprehended, though not expressed, that a breach of
her confidence would be resented, and bring the individual into her
black books. At the same time there was a chink of silver that
purchased silence and secured obedience. Ananda took Alderbury's place
on the mattress. The servant seated himself near the driver and the
cart started on its homeward journey. By daylight it should have
crossed the border and be safe in British territory; and by nine
o'clock it should be home. As no warning had been given to Ananda's
family it was not likely that he would be pursued or discovered; and
Mrs. Hulver saw the car swallowed up in the darkness of the night with
a sigh of relief.
She walked back to the place where she had directed the jutka to wait
for her, carrying the uniform, which had been exchanged under cover of
the darkness for the tweed suit, hidden under her cloak. She was back
at the college house before eleven.
The following day, on which she was supposed to be seeing young William
off by the morning mail was spent at the house of a Eurasian friend in
the town. Eola, suspecting nothing and occupied with her own affairs,
asked no questions; and it was not till the morning after Alderbury's
departure that she and Mrs. Hulver met.
The housekeeper accompanied by Ramachetty and the cook presented
herself for the usual ritual of ordering dinner. During the
housekeeping business Mrs. Hulver confined herself rigidly to the
subject of the menu. She dared not trust herself to speak of anything
else lest her tongue should slip and betray her. The secret must be
kept at all costs from Dr. Wenaston and from the people in the town.
The sweeper might be trusted. He had been a faithful friend all along,
and one day his fidelity would be rewarded by Ananda. Of that she was
sure, although the man did not look for any recompense. All that he
had done had been the result of his love for the young master he had
known and served in time past. The change of faith on the part of
Ananda did not affect him. He knew nothing of the intricate
ceremonialism of the caste Hindus. His religion was simple animism,
the propitiation of the power of evil. If he had had any opinion to
offer, it would have been that his master had come under the influence
of an evil spirit, and would do well to make an offering of blood.
Mrs. Hulver considered that the rest of the servants might also be
trusted. The real identity of young William had never been known to
them, and he remained Mrs. Hulver's sick son to the end.
Eola intended making her confession after the servants were dismissed;
but Mrs. Hulver departed quickly in their wake and defeated her
purpose. She determined not to put it off and went to the
housekeeper's room to inform her of the engagement without further
delay.
With the packing away of the uniform Mrs. Hulver drew a breath of
relief. Anxiety was at an end, a load off her mind.
"Take a chair, miss. The room is still untidy from having young
William here; but the sweeper and I will soon get it straight when she
comes back from her dinner."
"It looks quite neat," said Eola inconsequently; she was wondering how
she was to open the subject uppermost in her mind. "Your son got away
all safe yesterday morning, I suppose."
"Yes, miss!" Mrs. Hulver would not trust herself to more than the
simple affirmative.
"I am afraid you are rather tired after all the nursing you have had."
"I took a good rest yesterday. After young William left I went to see
my first husband's cousin, Mrs. de Silva. She was in a fine way about
her girl who has refused to marry the man chosen for her. The silly
child--she's only sixteen--has set her heart on a young Englishman who
is out of employment. I did my best to cheer her up and to argue with
the girl."
"You are always doing something for others. You must think of yourself
now and rest."
"I'm happier when I am doing for somebody else, miss. As William--that
was my second--used to say: 'You'll find happiness for yourself when
you're hunting it for others.'"
"That's quite true."
There was a pause. Mrs. Hulver received a sudden shock. Her eyes had
fallen on her husband's helmet which was lying on the camp cot. She
had forgotten to put it away. Eola saw it and observed:
"Your son has forgotten his helmet, surely."
"That isn't my son's, miss! It belonged to his father. I got it out
to show him the difference the authorities have made in the pattern.
They are always changing, and it must cost the government something
first and last. I have kept that old helmet as a momentum of my boy's
father."
"I suppose out of all the three you liked him best."
"Well, miss, he was my choice. My first was my mother's choice, and my
third chose me. You see, William, my second, left me with something
else besides his helmet and that was young William."
Eola's attention was wandering and Mrs. Hulver was pleased to see that
the helmet had not excited her curiosity.
"I want to tell you something; it is about Mr. Ananda," said Eola.
Mrs. Hulver started, but was not to be caught off her guard.
"To tell you the truth, miss; I am getting rather tired of Mr. Ananda's
name. I dare say he has got safely away from Chirapore by this time if
he isn't down the well. As William--that was my third--said when the
barrack sweeper led him home from the canteen: 'Misfortune will find
you queer friends in queer places.' If Mr. Ananda is still alive he
has probably found some friend, queer or otherwise, to help him."
"You are right. When Mr. Alderbury reached home Mr. Ananda met him at
the door."
"Lor, miss! you take my breath away!" exclaimed Mrs. Hulver expressing
discreet astonishment.
"Like your husband in his difficulty, it was the sweeper who proved his
friend. He took him to some hiding place, and threw his cap down the
well to deceive his people and put them off the scent. When the
excitement of his mysterious disappearance was over, the man contrived
to smuggle him out of the State of Chirakul into British territory,
where he is quite safe. At the mission house another surprise awaited
Mr. Ananda. His wife managed to escape and find her way to Mr.
Alderbury's station. I thought you would be pleased to hear the news,"
concluded Eola with reproach in her voice.
"So I am, miss," was the warm response. "I am very glad to know that
he is safe. He wasn't safe from the spite of wicked men as long as he
remained in Chirapore. His only hiding place was the sweeper's house
where no man of caste would venture. As William--that was my
first--used to say: 'A rat that has but one hole is soon caught.' Mr.
Ananda will need no hiding place as long as he stays with Mr.
Alderbury."
"I have some more news for you, Mrs. Hulver. Mr. Alderbury was so much
impressed by what you said about a house being no home without a woman
in it, that he has asked me to make a home for him of his house--and I
have consented."
"There, now, if I haven't gone and made a mess of it after all!"
exclaimed Mrs. Hulver, more than a little disturbed. "As William--that
was my second--used to say: 'An ounce of sense is worth a pound of wit;
better slip with the foot than the tongue.' To think that my foolish
tongue which must need sharpen itself at his expense should have put it
into his head to ask you to do that! I should never be reconciled to
your marrying a missionary, miss; not if I lived to be a hundred!"
"Don't worry about it; it's all right; I am not going to marry a
missionary," said Eola.
"Not marry him! miss! whatever do you mean?" cried Mrs. Hulver in
horror. "You can't keep house for a man except as his housekeeper or
his wife--that is to say, if you have right-minded principles. As
William--that was my second--used to say: 'Bad as the best may be; it
is better to be poisoned in your blood than in your principles.'"
Eola reassured her. "It is quite all right, I am going to marry him,
and you are going to take care of the doctor for me."
"Then I don't understand what you mean, miss, about not marrying a
missionary," said Mrs. Hulver, completely puzzled.
"Mr. Alderbury is giving up missionary work. He has been offered a
bishopric."
"And him with those legs!"
"The legs don't matter if they belong to the right sort of man, as is
the case here," said Eola, prepared to do battle for her lover.
"Mr. Alderbury, my Lord Bishop! I can't get over it; it is so
surprising!"
"You haven't congratulated me and wished me good luck," Eola remarked
in an aggrieved voice, which she knew would win over her faithful
housekeeper.
"I'm sure I beg your pardon. I congratulate you with all my heart.
Fancy you marrying a bishop! Who would have thought it! It's no more
than you deserve all the same. Dear me! How strangely things turn
out! you taking a missionary and finding yourself marrying a bishop!
and Mr. Ananda coming to life again and finding his wife a widow! and
she escaping all through losing her husband and being widowed! As
William--that was my third--said when he fell into a prickly pear bush
and just escaped being seen the worse for liquor by the colonel:
'Maria, me dear,'--he was such a gentleman in his speech, he
was!--'Maria, me dear! You never know your luck.'"
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
HISTORY OF FORT ST. GEORGE, MADRAS
ON THE COROMANDEL COAST
THE NAUTCH GIRL
THE FOREST OFFICER
A MIXED MARRIAGE
THE SANYASI
DILYS
CASTE AND CREED
THE TEA-PLANTER
THE INEVITABLE LAW
DARK CORNERS
THE UNLUCKY MARK
SACRIFICE
THE RAJAH
THE MALABAR MAGICIAN