The most popular Meet was at the Marmelong Bridge, and here on
a certain Thursday morning half Madras society was assembled on
horseback, wheels, or, the lazy folks, in motors, awaiting the arrival
of the hounds.
Colonel Tallboys, admirably turned-out and mounted to correspond, was
engaged in an animated conversation with little Miss Miller--admittedly
the best of horsewomen, and keenest of followers. Unfortunately her
steeds were rarely worthy of their rider; to-day, for instance, she
was reduced to a bony old waler, who looked as if he had been knocking
about the world for many years, and had lately fallen into low estate.
As Mallender joined the party the girl was saying:
"Yes, this _is_ the Nizam. I knew he had been raced; and so you
remember him winning the Gold Cup ten years ago! What a change! I
always feel so sorry for animals when they grow old; Father bought him
at auction at the Stable Company for a mere song, and rides him as a
charger; after father, _I_ must seem a mere feather! The Nizam loves
jumping, and galloping, and finds it much more to his taste than dull
morning parades."
"For all his age he has a wild and eager eye," observed Mallender, "if
you will allow me I will take up his curb, it's pretty loose."
"No, no, thanks very much," said Barbie, "if we have any jumping, I
must give him his head."
"It's a pity you can't give him a new pair of forelegs," remarked
Colonel Tallboys, "he is not a safe mount now, poor old boy. You should
have had Naughty Mary to-day, only the farrier pricked her in shoeing,
and she's a bit lame. I'll send her over to you every morning."
"Thank you a million times! I do love her, naughty as she is, but
chestnuts always have hot tempers."
"They say the same of red-haired people, and it's not true," declared
Colonel Tallboys--whose own youthful locks had been distinctly
carroty--"Ah, here come the hounds, and now we are off. I expect he
will draw towards the Mount," and as he spoke the little man wheeled
about, to jog beside the Master.
A Jack was speedily on foot; a fine, stout-hearted fellow, who
immediately headed for his home in Palaveram Hills, seven miles away.
It was a fast thing, and after a time, between the heat, the pace,
and the rough going, a number of the hunt tailed away. Miss Miller
and the Nizam were, however, still well to the fore; she had an eye
for country, and made for a certain stiff mud wall, which cut off
a considerable amount of paddy fields. Here Mallender was her sole
companion, and as they galloped side by side, he noticed her face,
girlishly alight, her colour brilliant with excitement.
"I'll give you a lead," he shouted, and putting on the pace raced up
to the obstacle, cleared it in beautiful style, and had galloped about
twenty lengths, when it occurred to him to look back; then he pulled up
sharply, and turned his horse.
The Nizam was struggling on the ground, Miss Miller was lying near
him in a heap. She sat up, then scrambled to her feet as Mallender
approached; she looked white, and dazed, as she tottered over to a
tree, and leant heavily against it.
"I'm afraid you are hurt?" he asked as he dismounted.
"No, only a little stupid,"--she gazed at him vaguely, as if she had
never seen him before, and he noticed that her temple was bruised.
Meanwhile the Nizam had found his legs, and instead of waiting on the
good pleasure of his rider, shook himself violently, and wheeling
about, tore away in pursuit of the vanishing hunt. As the young lady
seemed about to faint, Mallender hastily produced and proffered his
flask, which, however, she dismissed with an impatient hand.
"Where am I? and who are you?" she asked in a tone of bewilderment.
"I'm Mallender, Miss Miller--don't you know me?"
"No, where am I, tell me?"
"You've been hunting--and you've just had a pip off the old horse," he
explained, with patient slowness.
"Where?"
"At the wall; where you took it was a foot too high for the Nizam, and
he landed on his head."
"I remember--now."
"I think you are only a bit shaken--he might have broken your neck."
"How I _wish_ he had!" was her disconcerting rejoinder.
"Come, come, Miss Miller, I see you are knocked out of time," said
Mallender cheerfully, "I know what it's like myself."
"No, no, you don't know," she contradicted hysterically, "you--you
don't understand--how _could_ you?" Something in her voice moved him
unspeakably.
As Mallender looked at his companion, the expression of her quivering
white face was pitiful beyond words. And he _did_ know, he did
understand. The momentary shock had evidently brought the girl's
real feelings to the surface; he had caught a glimpse of the inmost
heart, and secret misery, of little fair-haired, hard-riding, Barbie.
Undoubtedly he had no right to this involuntary confidence. He, a mere
passer-by, who had chanced on a glimpse of an impending tragedy. Could
he not avert it? Barbie, so pale, pretty, and helpless, would be driven
by the whip of tongues, by the cruelty of moral force, to throw away
her priceless youth, her whole future--and no one could save her but
herself! All these strange and disturbing thoughts flashed through the
young man's mind, as he stood holding his impatient horse, and the girl
leaned against a tree with strained gaze fixed upon the flat horizon.
She seemed to be lost in a sort of day-dream, and to have completely
forgotten his very existence; it was almost as if he and she had a
whole empty world to themselves.
The hunt had disappeared, there was not a soul to be seen, and scarcely
a sound to be heard, save the faint creaking of a water-wheel, and
the scream of a kite, from the hard blue sky above them. As Mallender
contemplated his silent companion, wondering how long the situation
would last? and what he was to do? she suddenly recovered herself.
"I feel better," said she in her natural voice, "I'm all right now, I
see that rude old horse has deserted me, how _am_ I to get home?"
"You shall ride Rocket," replied Mallender, "he will carry you all
right--I'll walk beside you, and lead him."
"No, indeed," she protested, "you have lost the run of the season, I'm
_so_ sorry, but I think, if you rode towards the Mount, you might still
see something of them, and if you come across it--send a _gharry_ for
me,--I'll get to the road somehow!"
"We will _both_ get to the road somehow," he answered; "let me put you
up."
"I've twisted my foot," she explained with a wry smile, "please don't
touch it."
"Then in that case I must lift you," and he raised her bodily in his
arms, and placed her on the saddle.
Leading the horse carefully along the narrow bunds dividing paddy
fields, or over bare and rocky tracts, among bushes of castor-oil
plants, across sandy, dry water-courses, the pair at last reached the
road. Their progress towards the outskirts of the city and the lines
of the native regiment commanded by Colonel Miller was necessarily
slow, and more than an hour elapsed before the pair arrived at their
destination. A surprising amount of talk can be accomplished in an
hour, and the young people thus thrown so unexpectedly together
found plenty to say to one another. Mallender spoke of his home, his
regiment, and his dogs, and Barbie realised that her "syce" (as he
called himself) was a man who owned hunters and a "place." Yet he was
as simple and unassuming and exhibited no more "side" than if he were
a clerk like Reggie Scott, who had nothing beyond a miserable hundred
and fifty rupees a month. That Reggie adored her Barbie was well aware;
he was a nice boy, but she did not care for him--except as a partner
at tennis. One day in a towering rage he had taunted her with having
no more heart, or romance, than a cold potato! Was this true? she
wondered; had she really no heart? Was she incapable of deep love for
any living mortal?
Wearing a pair of brand-new riding-boots, leading a disappointed and
unwilling horse over rough broken ground, through grey-green cactus
and castor-oil plants--finally along dusty by-roads, would have seemed
a hateful task to most men; but Mallender was unconscious of any
disagreeables, he neither felt the sun beating on his back, the dust,
or the distance; he was only sensible of the unexpected charm of his
present companion.
As for Barbie, miles on a slippery saddle,--the uncomfortable attitude,
and aching foot,--were agreeably discounted by a subtle sympathy which
had arisen between her escort and herself.
As the same escort tramped through the soft red dust, he found himself
unexpectedly confiding various matters to his charge. He gave _her_
no evasive answers when she asked what had brought him to India; but
frankly informed her that his visit was connected with a curious family
business he was obliged to see through. "It has," he added, "to do with
something that happened thirty years ago."
"It sounds romantic!"
"I suppose some would call it so," he answered, lamely.
"What does Colonel Freddy call it?"
"Madness!" was the curt reply.
"Madness!" echoed the girl, and she looked down at her companion with
startled eyes.
"Yes," he replied doggedly. "If I were to tell you about it, you'd
probably say the same! I confess that it sounds extraordinarily silly,
yet I mean to stick to it."
"Then I wish you well through your task, and every success," she said
gravely.
For a moment Mallender was conscious of an acute temptation to tell
this little girl all about his quest--he assured himself that in _her_
he would surely find a sympathetic confidante,--but on second thoughts
he changed his mind, and merely said:
"It's a stiffer job than I expected, and out here it's so confoundedly
hard to get things moving."
Confidences are contagious, and the two young people exchanged many
ideas and opinions as they drew nearer, and yet nearer, to the
suburbs of Madras. They did not touch on any deep or vital subjects,
but agreed in their love of dogs, and of most animals; in a liking
for country life,--raspberry and currant tart, Lehar's waltzes, and
Rudyard Kipling. Barbie talked frankly, yet shyly, of the farm,--her
school-fellows, and school-days, but on the subject of her career as a
grown-up young lady she was dumb.
"You will be returning to England this spring, won't you?" asked her
companion. The question was in the nature of a discreet feeler.
"My father's time is up," she replied, "and he and my mother go home in
April--as for me----" she came to an abrupt stop.
"As for you?" he repeated, looking up at her shadowed blue eyes, and
noticing the wistful misery of her face.
"Nothing is decided," she answered with a gulp; and a spasm, half of
laughing, half sobbing, caught her breath.
Mallender was suddenly seized by an irresistible desire to speak. His
mother's warm impulsive blood was beating in his veins. Why should he
not urge upon this girl, that she had her own life to live; that she
must not sacrifice her youth, and future, to the selfish demands of
three elderly people, who had enjoyed _their_ day?
As he struggled between a temptation to deliver his soul, and a
conviction that he would be guilty of "beastly cheek," his thoughts
were put to flight by Miss Miller, who exclaimed:
"Here we are in Vepery, close to our lines, and your dreadful dusty
walk is nearly ended!"
In another moment, they had come within sight of a bungalow, and on
its gate was a board, bearing the name, "Colonel Miller, 20th Carnatic
Rifles."
"I assure you I've enjoyed what you call my 'dreadful dusty walk,' Miss
Miller," said Mallender, "and as far as I'm concerned, I'm sorry it's
over; but you must be dead beat, and glad to be home."
And what a squalid home! (An exception, not the rule among military
households in India, which as a rule are remarkably neat and trim; even
where rupees are scanty, there is taste and refinement; but the Millers
had always been an indolent, improvident, and self-indulgent couple,
who found their pleasures abroad, whose abode was makeshift, and their
motto "A short life, and a merry one." Now, after thirty-two years'
service, Colonel Miller was about to retire on his pension--leaving
behind him few well-wishers, and many debts.)
The mud garden, which intervened between gate and bungalow, held some
sickly crotons, bushes of the shoe plant, and a variety of ragged
kitchen rubbers, also not a few energetic hens--who were dusting
themselves with commendable energy. The verandah was lined with pots
of withered geraniums, and irritable-looking cacti; a green parrot in
a bazaar cage hung between two pillars, talking scandal to his own
grey claw. Here also were exposed piles of battered packing cases, old
bullock trunks, wine cases, saddlery, and sprawling in a long chair, in
his sleeping suit, reclined Colonel Miller, who was smoking a "Trichy"
with an air of sluggish satisfaction.
"Hullo!" he shouted to someone within, "Barbie has come to grief!"
The announcement brought Mrs. Miller from the dark interior;--Mrs.
Miller, in a soiled pink dressing-gown, bare feet in slippers, and
hair in curling-pins. She stopped short, as if shot,--here indeed
was Barbie, riding a strange animal, and accompanied by a man--young
Mallender, of all people. He had seen her! Well, she must just brave it
out!
Several lurking slovenly servants who had also witnessed the arrival,
came slinking round a corner of the bungalow, in order to stare at the
smart gentleman, and his fine horse.
"What has happened?" screamed Mrs. Miller, seizing a _solar topee_, and
thrusting it on her head.
"Miss Miller has had a fall," replied her escort, putting two fingers
to his helmet, "but it is nothing serious."
"And where's the horse?" she screamed.
"Oh, he got away,--I expect he is all right!" was the soothing response.
"Please lift me down," murmured Barbie, "and don't _wait_."
"I thought you could ride anything, my girl," said her father, as she
limped up to him.
"The old Nizam was blown, and came down at a wall."
"I hope he hasn't barked his knees, eh, Mallender? Very kind of you
to bring my little girl home. You'll excuse this kit--it's a Europe
morning, you know, and at this hour you must take us as you find us."
"Of course, sir, of course," assented the visitor, "it's barely nine
o'clock."
"Have a peg, and a cheroot?"
"No,--thank you,--it's a bit early!"
"Ah, you young fellows are different to what _we_ were! you're all for
tea, and Pérrier water! Hullo, here comes Harris in his war-paint," as
Colonel Harris, bestriding a fat charger, and attended by a syce, rode
proudly into the compound. He saluted his friend, and contemporary,
then stared aggressively at Mallender, who supported his gaze with
imperturbable sang-froid.
"Barbie took a toss," explained her parent, "and Captain Mallender has
just brought her home."
"Oh, has he, eh! Good morning, Mallender--any the worse, Barbie?" he
enquired, descending heavily as he spoke.
"No, only my ankle, nothing much."
"Ah, I see we must put a stopper on to this hunting of yours," declared
Colonel Harris as he climbed the steps murmuring condolences, and with
clanking sword, waddled over to where his lady-love sat, in a lop-sided
cane chair.
"I will say good morning," called out Mallender, now mounting his
horse. The sight of Barbie, and the mawkish solicitude of her admirer,
was altogether too much for his equanimity. Towards unconscious Colonel
Harris there arose in his mind a sudden fierce dislike and enmity, and
with a comprehensive farewell he trotted out of the gate. All eyes
followed him, including those of Mrs. Miller--who was peeping through
the _chick_. She had hastily retired to take out the curling-pins, and
put on her stockings.
A smart, soldier-like figure in his neat riding-kit, on his fine
well-groomed New Zealander, a contrast, thought Barbie, to her elderly
red-faced lover, who was still panting from the exertion of ascending
the verandah.
At this juncture, the appearance of the Nizam created a diversion; the
side-saddle was intact, also his knees; he was covered with sweat and
foam, but appeared to be in buoyant spirits, as if he had thoroughly
enjoyed himself!
Meanwhile Mrs. Miller followed her daughter into her bedroom--a low,
bare apartment, overlooking the servants' go-downs, and sparsely
furnished with a cot, a press, and a rickety dressing-table.
"Show me your foot?" she commanded. "Well, yes, it's swelled. You must
bathe it, and send for arnica, it will be all right in a few days. Now
listen to me, Barbie," she went on impressively, "you are not to bring
young men here,--James doesn't _like_ it."
"But I did not bring Captain Mallender, mother--he brought _me_."
"Nonsense, you ought to have got a _gharry_!"
"Not one to be had, in the paddy fields beyond Sydapet."
"Now, no impertinence! Understand, once for all, I won't have Mallender
hanging about, so don't you go making up to him."
Barbie became scarlet, and flung her boot across the room with
unnecessary violence.
"Keep your temper, Barbara! I won't allow you to speak to him, or
encourage him."--In Mrs. Miller's bosom, there rankled a sharp and
spiteful memory of the young man's indifference, and neglect.--"He
fancies himself no end, and looks down on all Madras spins, and I hear
from _good_ authority he is a regular bad lot; so see that you give him
a wide berth, or I'll know the reason why. As long as you are under my
roof, you must obey my wishes. When you have a house of your own, you
can please yourself. You'd better get the ayah to bandage your foot,
and put on one of your father's slippers. You must be quick and change
and come out to breakfast, as James is here."