Hester, having bandaged Rosie's tortured fingers, tried to return to her
letters for the English mail, but she could not put her heart into them,
for she felt dispirited and ill at ease. Evil seemed triumphing, trouble
falling on the innocent and helpless, and the loving God, to Whom she
had tried to point Rosie in their quiet hours, appeared to be taking no
notice. Mrs. Harbottle's bitter taunts still rang in her ears, and these
poor mutilated fingers which she had just been binding up--were they not
sufficient evidence of the malignant fate which had descended on the
child's innocent head?
As she was a prey to these disquieting thoughts she heard footsteps on
the gravel-sweep below. Hoping that it was her husband and friend
returning, she looked out, for she was eager to consult them as to what
should be done to prove Rosie's innocence, of which she was completely
convinced. Great was her surprise when she saw coming up the broad white
steps, not her husband, but the "elusive Mr. Morpeth," as she had dubbed
him to Mrs. Fellowes. She decided that he must have called to see Mark,
but presently the butler came bringing her a card on his tray and
saying: "One old Dorai want to speak to Missus."
So the visit was for her after all! She hurried downstairs to find her
visitor in the verandah with a bright smile on his face. No, he would
not come in, he just wanted to bring her some good news. He went on to
explain that he had heard the lamentation of her little maid behind the
hedge as he passed the compound, and had also overheard Mrs. Harbottle
stormily charging the child with the theft of her ring.
"I passed on," said Mr. Morpeth, "feeling very sorry for the child whose
voice seemed to ring true when she assured me, 'I never done take that
ring.' I got into my carriage again and presently I saw two kites having
a duel almost above my head, then something bright fell through the air.
I called my syce to stop, and keeping my eye on the spot where the kite
had dropped its booty, I picked up this."
Mr. Morpeth held out the recovered ring.
"Oh, Mr. Morpeth, what a trophy! How kind and clever you are!" exclaimed
Hester with joy in her eyes. "You can't think what a morning of anguish
we've had over that ring. Rosie has been broken-hearted. What a joy this
will be to her, and even more to her granny, my ayah, who has been
feeling very bitter over the accusation which she knew to be false. She
thought her gods must be angry with Rosie, and that it was all over with
her. This is a beautiful clearing up! Now, since you won't come in, will
it be too much to ask if you will step across with me to Mrs.
Harbottle's and unfold this delightful ending of our trouble to her? She
was much too hard on our poor little Rosie. I, like you, believed the
child was innocent, but never did I dream we should have such a swift
and fairy-like proof of it! But allow me first to call the child, Mr.
Morpeth, you will like to see her joy!"
"Yes, I should like to see Rosie. It will be a pleasure to watch her
face when she hears the ring has been found, though the thief is still
a-flying. But please don't ask me to face Mrs. Harbottle," said Mr.
Morpeth, shrugging his shoulders. "I heard her voice--it wasn't musical!
I beg off! You lead Rosie to her and unfold the last chapter of the
tale."
"But, Mr. Morpeth," began Hester, in a hesitating tone. "Am I very
uncharitable? What if Mrs. Harbottle thinks I've invented the story to
shield the child? I'm ashamed of my evil thought, but there--it's out!"
"You are right! A woman's wit always scores! After all, I am the most
important witness in the case--saving the kite who was wresting the
prize from the thief, and I fear we can't summon him! Well, I suppose
there's nothing for it but to face the formidable lady--but alone,
please. I want to have a word with her butler. Did you see the child's
hand?"
"I did. I never was so shocked in my life! I've just been doing what I
could for it. Surely that man ought to be punished for his cruelty. I
only wish my husband had been at home. He's out driving this morning."
"I don't wonder you were horrified, Mrs. Rayner. No doubt it's your
first experience of one of the iniquities of this land--systematised
torture applied to wring confession from the victim. I grieve that you
should have come into contact with it. It only goes on under the surface
now, but like many iniquities, it dies hard. However, in this case I
shall deal with the butler in a way he will feel--also with Mrs.
Harbottle. I shall be able to tell them I saw the child's hand with my
own eyes. Perhaps that will frighten them sufficiently, you need not
trouble yourself further," Mr. Morpeth added, looking at the fair young
wife in a protective fatherly manner. "I don't think I'll have time to
see Rosie just now, since I must go to Mrs. Harbottle's. You can tell
her that the true thief has been found and made to renounce his booty. I
envy you the mission, Mrs. Rayner. It is ever gladsome work to unfold
the loving kindness of our God.
"'Tis the name that whoso teacheth
Finds more sweet than honey's cheer."
he murmured, with glistening eyes that seemed to Hester like a
benediction as they rested on her.
Why had she not been able to tell the stricken ayah of that Love which
seemed so near and dear to this man? Never had that Love felt so near to
herself.
"I pray that this morning's work may prove a helpful memory to the
little Rosie in days to come," added Mr. Morpeth, holding out his hand
with a sweet lingering smile.
"It will be a helpful memory to me too, Mr. Morpeth, I thank you with
all my heart," was Hester's parting word as she turned away.
Before the visitor had reached the last of the broad flight of the
verandah steps, the master of the house came hurrying round the corner
of the walk that led from the stables. His recent encounter with his
former acquaintance had left him a prey to angry feelings.
"I declare, if this isn't another of those vile half-castes! We shall
have the whole population of Vepery landing at our door!" he muttered,
hurrying forward and glancing with an air of insolent chilliness at the
stooping figure, from whose lined face the gracious smile had hardly
faded.
"What, may I ask, is the reason of your call? I don't happen to have
the----" "the pleasure" he was about to say, but with a cruel smile
changed it to: "I have not the need of your acquaintance!"
The old man's face became grey and stern. For a moment he seemed about
to speak, then, shaking his head sadly, he walked away in silence.
"Oh, Alfred, how could you--how could you speak so to him?" cried
Hester, who had turned in the hall when she heard her husband's voice.
"That is Mr. Morpeth, Mrs. Fellowes' friend, and mine too now."
"Yours is he? That he shan't be! I tell you what it is, Hester. I'll not
have you encouraging these half-castes--male or female--that man Morpeth
or anybody else--to come and crawl about my verandah on any pretext
whatever! It's sheer forwardness! The fact is I can't afford to risk my
position by mixing with them in any way. That's the long and the short
of it!"
They had gone forward and were now standing on the threshold of the
darkened library. Mr. Rayner could not see his wife's face, or perhaps
he would not have gone so far. She covered it with her hands and stood
mute for some moments, then with a shudder, she said:
"Oh, Alfred, there's something very wrong about this! You cannot be in
earnest! I never thought----"
Suddenly Hester's voice broke and she turned away and mounted the
staircase. Her husband stood looking at her retreating figure with a
half repentant air, then he shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip, and
seating himself at his writing-table began to fumble among his papers.
In the open houses of India there is no privacy. Mark Cheveril, busy
over his letters in the adjoining room, had not failed, though much
against his will, to overhear the whole conversation. He could gather
that Mr. Morpeth had evidently called on some errand, and had been
insultingly dismissed. It was a painful revelation, made more so by his
recollection of Alfred Rayner's attitude to the man who had been almost
trampled under the hoofs of his horses. Mark had been vividly reminded
of the incident when he observed Mr. Morpeth's evident agitation at the
sight of Hester on Mrs. Fellowes' lawn. Possibly the old man thought Mr.
Rayner was also of the party, and shrank from meeting him. In the
interest of his talk with the gracious host in his own library, the
recollection of the painful scene in the mail-phaeton had been overlaid
for Mark. Since then he had neither opportunity nor inclination to tell
Mr. Rayner of his meeting with the despised East Indian, knowing well
that he would not sympathise with the intense interest and admiration
which had grown up already in his heart towards David Morpeth. And now
the overheard words seemed more than likely to prove an impassable
barrier to any mention of the subject, unless he was prepared to fight
the bitter prejudice in the open.
Even more grievous to Mark had been the note of pain in Hester's voice
when she remonstrated with her husband. Surely Rayner's attitude to
these people was the outcome of a shallow and vulgar mind! Were gentle
Mrs. Bellairs' fears concerning this union too likely to be realised? He
was at the moment engaged in writing to that anxious mother far away.
What could he say now to alleviate her fears, to send assurance that all
was well with her beloved daughter? Yet on many grounds it was not for
him to be the sender of even a breath of evil tidings. No, he must probe
the matter further, he decided.
Closing his portfolio he began to pace up and down the rattan-matting of
the long room. How he desired to comfort the girl who had been such a
good gay comrade in past days! These last words of hers seemed wrung as
from a bleeding wound. Yet it was denied him to whisper one soothing
word to her who was probably weeping in one of those white rooms
up-stairs. The very thought of it roused the young man's chivalrous
soul. His indignation waxed hot at the revelation of the shallowness and
egotism which had occasioned the outburst of temper on Rayner's part.
What mattered all his show of hospitality to himself while such feelings
lurked beneath it? Might it not have been safer for the guarding of that
trusty friendship which he desired should subsist between Hester and
himself if he had not been Alfred Rayner's guest;--if he had not come
into such close contact with the man? Yet it pained him to remember that
he should have to leave Clive's Road with this impression on his mind.
Looking at his watch he saw that it was time to get ready for the late
breakfast. How could he meet his sweet hostess whom he had only seen for
a few moments at early tea that morning? She probably thought that he
had gone out with her husband, as had been first arranged. If she had
not done so, she would have called him to meet Mr. Morpeth, who possibly
may have come to return his call. Hester, he knew, had meant to devote
her morning to her home-letters. How cruelly they had been interfered
with! Perhaps she would not appear at breakfast, possibly he might not
see her again before he left for Puranapore!
But Mark was mistaken. He had not probed the stern moralities of such
secret care and trouble. How often in life has a smiling face to cover a
broken heart? When he entered the breakfast-room, there sat the young
hostess, sweet and gracious, entertaining two of her husband's merchant
clients from Kurrachi. Rayner was at the head of the table smiling
affably, vastly gratified at the impression his wife was evidently
making upon his important guests. But Mark could not fail to notice that
he cast an anxious glance towards her, as if pondering whether his words
were already forgotten and forgiven; and as Mark encountered Hester's
gaze he felt sure they were not, at all events, forgotten. Her eyes were
weary, there was an increased pallor on her cheeks, and a certain
pitiful curve of her lips when her face was in repose.
Never before had he admired her as he did now while he watched how
skilfully she kept the ball of conversation rolling on harmless topics.
Alfred, having heard an account of the ring from his dressing-boy, tried
to make some inquiry concerning it. Hester briefly narrated the story,
but from her repressed air Mark was able to gather that the restorer was
none other than the man who, in return, had received such cruel
treatment at her husband's hands.
He hardly knew whether he felt more relief or regret when his bandy was
announced to drive him to the train for Puranapore. The other guests had
departed, and Hester, after her efforts to entertain them, wore a
visibly depressed air. When Mark clasped her hand and looked wistfully
into her face he felt that she, too, thought it better no risk should
be run of a repetition of the scene which had shamed her, for she gave
no invitation for a future visit. His host, on the contrary, full of
surface courtesy, was charging him not to fail to make Clive's Road his
home when he chanced to be in Madras. Mark, at the same moment, happened
to meet Hester's eye, and read there a look of doubt and pain which
seemed to say, "How can he be so unjust as to welcome one and flout the
other?" He felt strongly of the same opinion. One thing, however, seemed
clear to him that he must, in spite of all his social disabilities in
Alfred Rayner's eyes, continue to be a friend without fear and without
reproach to the young wife whose happiness seemed in such jeopardy.