"Tom and I are going to take you round the place this afternoon,"
announced Tara. "We want to show you the old remains; afterwards we
will go through the native city, and bazaar, and wind up with tennis.
How will that be?"
"Quite a gay programme, I do declare!" replied Mallender.
"Yes, and to-morrow you shall see the country. Can you ride?"
"Rather!" was his prompt answer.
"Oh, I'm glad you say 'rather' in that tone,--for Sepoy, the new brown,
is a hard puller."
"I prefer a hard puller. Gives you something to hold on to," rejoined
the new-comer with a laugh.
As soon as the sun began to slant a little towards the west, Mallender
set out on a tour of inspection, escorted by his two companions. First,
they came to the officers' bungalows; of these, many of the roofs had
fallen in, the gardens were a high jungle of tall grasses, custard
apples, and guava trees; the only signs of a human abode were the
tottering gate piers,--still sentries to a dead home--and the outline
of a long-choked well. Before the most obliterated, Tom halted and said:
"The Governor has often been to parties and tiffins here. He says the
prettiest woman in the regiment lived in this bungalow, with the whole
station at her feet."
Some of the quarters were still standing, in spite of great chasms in
their tiled roofs. Into one of these, Tara led the way, explaining:
"We call this 'Lucia's Bungalow,' for here on this window-frame is
carved--'Lucia' and a heart. See?"
Yes, there it was, still distinctly legible, inscribed by a firm male
hand.
"Her grave is in the cemetery," added the girl. "She was only twenty, I
put flowers on it every Sunday, and many on others too--but they seem
_all_ asking me to care for them--poor forgotten people!"
"Now let us go on to the barracks," urged Tom, the ever-restless,
leading the way from Lucia's Bungalow. "The General joined the regiment
there seventy-seven years ago. They say that Government was going to
pull the place down, only it would cost too much money, and they have
no use for the stone,--there being no railway."
"Can you believe that this was once full of soldiers?" enquired Tara,
as they entered and gazed upon a vast open square. The building was
more of a fortress than barracks, having been erected in the days
when the country was overrun by Mysorians and Mahrattas. The outer
walls were pierced for guns, the windows and verandahs faced inwards
to the parade-ground--now overgrown with jungle, and coarse yellow
grass, where grazed a couple of lethargic buffaloes. Part of the
men's quarters were hopelessly dilapidated, but other portions still
exhibited time-defying teak stairs, heavy teakwood doors, and solid
chunam pillars.
"It's pretty safe, shall we go up?" suggested Tom, and he led the
way along its echoing upper verandahs--from whence they peered into
forlorn, bat-haunted barrack-rooms--still exhibiting the marks of where
punkahs had once hung. Down below in the square, there was now no sound
of voices, tramping feet, or bugle calls, nothing but a steady "crop,
crop" of the buffaloes, and from the distant city the faint complacent
throbbing of a tom-tom.
Tom and Tara were engaged in a prolonged altercation on the subject
of "manners," the two were frequently at loggerheads,--though they
never actually quarrelled--she accused him of rudely pushing up the
stairs before her, whilst he apostrophised her as "a silly ass."
Meanwhile, Mallender stood somewhat apart, gazing through a broken
aperture, over the sun-steeped outlook, with its rose-tinted plains,
and shadowy blue horizon. As he gazed, he began faintly to realise the
fascination of this old mysterious land, with its subtle appeal, that
baffles all attempts at description. His thoughts instinctively turned
to the General's tales of camps, and combats, marches and victories;
to "old-forgotten, far-off things, and battles long ago"; through the
evening's golden haze his mind's eye seemed to behold the approach
of an imposing train of war elephants, careering horsemen, streaming
standards, and ponderous guns. The vision was abruptly dispelled by a
vigorous thump on the back.
"I say! You seem to be moonstruck or something," exclaimed Tom. "If we
are to play tennis, we must look sharp. It's past four o'clock, and the
Beaufort girls will be coming to fetch us with ropes and lanterns."
"Oh, all right," agreed Mallender, "but, mind you, I'm an awful duffer
at tennis," and he followed Tara and her brother down the steep
resounding stairs.
Tennis was played on two large kunker courts, not far from Beaufort's
quarters, and close by on an ancient bandstand were disposed chairs and
a table, with tea, lemonade and pegs, presided over by the General's
bearded butler. As anticipated, the explorers proved to be the last
arrivals, and found awaiting them two anxious Miss Beauforts, racquets
in hand; looking wonderfully sleek and smiling in spotless white frocks.
Captain Beaufort was arrayed in a gaudy flannel suit, and a sailor hat
at least three sizes too small. Miss Lily presented with _empressement_
a thin, dark youth wearing a red satin tie, and many gilt rings, as
Alonzo Perez; also a bluff police officer, whose name Mallender did not
catch, and as Miss Lily called him "Chorlie" every two minutes, he was
compelled to do the same!
Tennis proved strenuous indeed. The new-comer was out of practice, and
he and Tara were easily disposed of by Blanche and "Chorlie." Humble
and defeated, Mallender withdrew to a seat on the bandstand, and
proceeded to watch a hard-fought contest between Tom and Lily, Perez
and Jessie. Jessie's service was as that of a strong and determined
man--her volleys were deadly, her activity tireless--apparently she was
made of wire and india-rubber,--a matchless lady champion!
Presently Blanche approached, then she sat down, sidled nearer to the
onlooker, and began to question him, with her soft, see-saw voice,
and liquid, enraptured eyes. Almost before he was aware, Mallender
found himself promising to write in her album, to take her photograph,
and give one of his own in exchange. Alas, poor Blanche! being dark
herself, this reserved young man--who served so stupidly into the
net--only admires blue eyes and fair hair, so your innocent coquetry is
entirely wasted.
When the dusk fell with its Eastern suddenness, the party went off to
play badminton by lamp-light in the old racket court, but Mallender,
with the excuse that he had letters to write, returned to the Dâk
Bungalow. Here he was received by the Maty with a soup-plate in his
hand, on which lay two letters. One was in a strange handwriting, the
other from Nancy Brander. He opened the latter first, and calling for a
candle, sat down to read it.
"DEAR GEOFFREY," it began,
"I do wonder where you are, and what you are doing? The other day I
met a Major and Mrs. Rochfort, and their lovely little girl; they
are all three devoted to you, and told me that you had stayed with
them recently,--of course in England. It seems rather late for them
to bring a child out here, and--though it was not my business, with
my usual audacity I offered Mrs. Rochfort my opinion gratis. Uncle
and Aunt are going strong; she often talks of you, and asks me for
your news. He never--this is so unlike the little man, who is not
naturally dour, or unforgiving; but, my dear twenty-first cousin,
I now understand that it is not so much 'the cutting of your own
throat,' as he calls it, that he objects to,--he has a far more
serious charge against you, which Fanny breathed to me only
yesterday. Our kindly Mrs. Fiske has informed him, that the passage
money for Ada Sim was paid by _you_, and as I write with one hand I
cover my blushes with the other, since I must add, that Mrs. F.
solemnly assured Uncle Fred, that you had your own very good
reasons for getting Miss Sim out of the country! Mrs. Fiske, ever
ready to impute base motives, had the story absolutely pat; she was
told it by Mrs. Wylie, whose husband came upon you in the shrubbery.
He said Miss Sim was crying like blazes, and had her arms wound
about your neck! He also overheard you arrange for another merry
meeting, and added, that he was in Cook's office when you paid for
the lady's passage. _That_ was like your generosity, and I believe
in it, and nothing else,--neither does Fan, but Fred is peculiarly
sensitive about a man's good name--especially when his name is
Mallender--and he always thought you a sort of Galahad, and in fact
most frightfully respectable. Now he has changed his mind. Hence
his silence. This really is a hateful story, and the telling of it
has afforded Mrs. Fiske some very delicious minutes. However, I had
the satisfaction of assuring her, that bar the generosity to an
unfortunate, homeless girl, the rest was lies,--and so she cuts me,
and has returned me a whole sheaf of my own visiting-cards!
"Our latest fashionable intelligence is--let me prepare you for a
shock--the engagement of Lena Villars to Sir Billy. He is the envy
of all men in our upper world; she, of the women. He has given her
such diamonds! I fancy, all the same, that the Sea Lion will keep
the Syren in subjection, and chain her to a rock; at any rate,
round dances and men's Christian names are now barred.
"No news of your Uncle, I presume? How I should like to put the
thumb-screw on Brown and Brown! Is it not maddening to feel that
they _know_! Tom sends his salaams. He believes your Uncle is
'purdah' somewhere, and asks me to tell you that he is looking
forward to your paying us a long visit before you go home. You have
only to send a wire, and your room will be ready. We go down the
15th, leaving Babs with Auntie,--for the present she will be her
only girl! I hope she won't betroth her to some eligible little
boy. By the way, I hear that _you_ are bespoke by Mota Rochfort!
Be sure and write to me soon, and tell me of _all_ your adventures.
"Yours sincerely,
"NANCY BRANDER."
Mallender turned over the letter, and looked at the date, it was a
month old. He read it through once more, with compressed lips, a
knitted brow, and somewhat embittered memories.
What a meddling fool he was! always doing the wrong thing. He had
carried out his father's wishes, and come to most unholy grief. He had
tried to help a wretched girl, and had the worst construction put upon
his action.
And Fred believed these lies! As for that cad Wylie, he would like to
wring his neck. After quite a long interval, he picked up and opened
letter Number 2, which was written in a weak uncertain hand, and
glanced at the signature, "Ever most gratefully yours, Ada Sim."
By Jove, here was a coincidence! What had _she_ got to say for herself?
A slip of paper fell out,--a cheque, a cheque for one hundred pounds,
"payable to Captain Geoffrey Mallender"; a sum as unexpected as it was
welcome. This would take him nicely down country, and pay _his_ passage
to England!
"CRAIG BIRNIE,
"INVERNESS-SHIRE, N.B.
"DEAR CAPTAIN MALLENDER,
"I have been very ill--or would have written to you long before. As
it is, this is my first attempt at writing letters for two months.
I have great pleasure in enclosing a cheque for £100, the money you
so generously lent me.
"You may wonder how I came by it? I do think my ill-luck has turned
at last. I travelled home with a man who knew my bachelor Uncle--Mr.
Andrew Campbell--my mother's brother,--he and my father had a
quarrel, and never forgave one another--he was very rich, father
very poor and proud, and so it was never made up! My kind
fellow-passenger put in a good word for _me_, with the result that
I had an interview with Uncle Andrew in London, and after spending
two days together, he offered to adopt me as his daughter, and give
me a home. Immediately after this unexpected good fortune, and just
as I had arrived here, I had typhoid fever badly, and have been at
death's door, but am now out of danger, and sitting up.
"My Uncle asks me to send you his most heartfelt thanks, and to say
that when next you cross the Border, he hopes to see you at Craig
Birnie, and can promise you the best of shooting. As for me, I
_never_ can thank you. That afternoon, when you found me in the
shrubbery, I had come to the end of _everything_. If you see Mrs.
Tallboys, and Mrs. Brander, please give them my love. They shall
hear from me shortly. I hope you will be able to read this pencil
scrawl. It has taken me two days to write.
"Ever most gratefully yours,
ADA SIM."
This letter, evidently written with effort, and by a feeble hand, was
as balm to Mallender's wounded feelings. So there _was_ some good in
the world after all! Acting on the impulse of the moment, he enclosed
the epistle in a sheet of paper marked "Private," thrust it into an
envelope which he addressed to Mrs. Brander. At any rate, he would
clear himself in her eyes--yes, and in Fanny's; and having handed his
exculpation over to Anthony, and told him to post it without fail, he
scribbled a note of apology to Mrs. Beamish, and dined at home, on
curried vegetables, and the contents of his dâk.