A SUDDEN CHANGE.
"Koi hai? any one there?" the usual summons to a servant in India,
brought Walter to his feet. Turning, he saw in the horseman,
splendidly mounted, who appeared before him, a gentleman whom he had
only once met before, about three months previously, but whom he
instantly recognised. Walter would have done so had thrice as many
years intervened since the meeting.
For Dermot Denis was not one to be quickly forgotten. He was upwards
of six feet in height, and with form graceful as well as powerfully
built. A quantity of thick curly hair, of a tint that might be
called golden, surmounted an intelligent face, both handsome and
pleasant, whose grey eyes sparkled with life and fun. Walter had, as
has been mentioned, seen Denis but once before; but it was under
circumstances that had made a deep impression on his mind.
It had been a time of great trouble amongst the native Christians of
Santgunge. Their crops had utterly failed. Their missionary was
sinking under a slow and painful disease. Mr. Gurney, who felt the
trials of his people more than his own, desired Walter to pay a visit
to an official at the nearest station, which was fifteen miles away,
to try to induce him to give some relief. It was a commission
distasteful to the youth. He disliked playing the beggar, and had no
faith in his own powers of persuasion. It was shyly that he told his
father's message to the official, whom he found entertaining the
handsome Irishman.
"I wish I could do more for your people," said the official, placing
five rupees on the table; then, as if changing the subject, he turned
and said, "Let me introduce you to Mr. Dermot Denis, an Irish
gentleman, who, having more time and money on his hands than he knows
what to make of, has come to India in search of adventures. Mr.
Denis, this is the son of a missionary who, for twenty years, in a
desolate jungle, has devoted his life to attempts to convert the
natives."
The cordial shake of the young Irishman's hand which followed this
introduction was gratifying to Walter, and still more so was the
currency note for a hundred rupees which was frankly and pleasantly
given. Walter could hardly utter a word of thanks, but his heart
felt deeply grateful. Joyfully he bore back the large contribution,
which his sick father received almost with tears, as a gift from
heaven.
"God bless the generous donor!" he faltered.
"O father! I wish that you could have seen him!" exclaimed Walter,
with the enthusiasm of youth. "I never met with any one like him, he
looked so bright and brave! How noble he must be in whom wealth and
position have raised no pride, one who gives without being asked, and
in a manner so frank and kind!"
The parting words of Denis to Walter had been, "I'll some day invade
you in your jungle, and see the fruits of your good father's attempts
to manufacture monkeys into men."
And now the Irishman had kept his promise. Walter eagerly went
forward to meet him, wrung his hand warmly, and in few words told him
of the heavy loss which he himself had sustained.
"And you're here all alone!" exclaimed Denis, as he dismounted; "just
call your _sais_ (_groom_); my man has fallen desperately ill on the
road--I had to leave him behind."
"I am my own _sais_, and will be yours," said Walter, laying his hand
on the horse's bridle to lead it away.
"Groom and cook too? you're a clever fellow!" cried Denis, gaily.
"I'm glad that I've caught you just at dinner-time, for I'm
desperately hungry. Just returned from a long expedition, riding day
and night from dawn to sunset. I'll just turn into the house and
have a smoke, whilst you look after the bay."
Even had Walter had no reason to feel grateful towards Denis, he was
much too hospitable to grudge the stranger a share of the dinner
which was to have lasted himself for two meals, though he had had
nothing but chapatties on the previous day, and it was doubtful when
he would again be able to procure anything more substantial.
When Walter re-entered the dwelling, carrying with him the stewed
pheasant and chapatties, he found his guest seated at his ease on a
chair, with his feet on the table, smoking. Denis threw away his
cigar, put down his feet, and applied himself with vigour to the
occupation of eating his dinner, demolishing more than two-thirds of
the pheasant, whilst talking all the time.
"A most unlucky chance for me, my fellow's falling ill!" he
exclaimed. "He was a regular brick; could jabber several languages,
was clever at everything--of course cheating his master included. I
daresay that he shammed sickness, because he had no fancy to go where
I am going. How to supply his place I know not. By-the-by, do you
happen to know anything of Pushtoo?"*
* The language of the Afghans.
"I know it pretty well," replied Walter, who was a very good
linguist; "Afghans frequently pass this way; we have had one here for
weeks who has just recovered from a troublesome illness, and is going
back to his home. He is a Kandahar man."
"A Kandahar man!" exclaimed Denis eagerly. "That's just what I
wanted. Do you think that he would act as my guide into Afghanistan?"
"You do not mean that you think of crossing the border?" said Walter
in surprise.
"Cross it? yes, and go a great way beyond it--as far as Kandahar,
possibly to Kabul; I have a great object before me," said Denis,
mysteriously lowering his voice.
"You are hardly aware of the danger----"
"Danger!" interrupted Denis, "I revel in danger. I know that the
Afghans, every mother's son of them, are thieves and cut-throats;
they slice off your head, and then----"
"And then?" said Walter, smiling.
"You have something to put into a book."
Walter could not help laughing at the Hibernian's bull; but resuming
his grave expression he observed, "I do not think that you fully know
what you would undertake."
"I know everything!" cried Denis, a little impatiently; "I've had it
all dunned into me by every one whom I've met, but all I've heard
only strengthens my resolution to go. I'm sick of travelling about
in a place like India, where every black fellow salams you, and vows
he's your slave. I've done India thoroughly all round; seen all
that's to be seen, and much more. I've visited no end of Hindu
mosques and Mohammedan temples, have dined with the Viceroy, and
taken pot-luck with the Brahmins. Now I want something new and
exciting. Besides, as I told you, I've an object in view. I'm
going, if all the world should cry 'stay.'" And with a look of stern
determination, Denis finished off the last bit of the pheasant.
Then followed a few seconds of silence. It was broken by Denis
exclaiming, with the joyousness inspired by a happy thought: "I say,
Walter, you will come with me! You know the language, you have made
friends with the Afghans; having you with me would increase a
thousandfold my chance of getting back with a whole skin. You're a
good shot, I suppose?"--he glanced at a gun in a corner.
"Fair," replied Walter Gurney, who hardly ever missed his aim.
"You have a horse, I suppose?"
"A hill-pony,--not much of a mount."
"But, doubtless, he can keep his legs on the mountains; you're not
such a weight as I am, though pretty nearly as tall. Yes, yes,
you're just the companion I wanted; a jovial young chap, sticking at
nothing, who can ride, shoot, cook, groom a horse, and I daresay shoe
it at a pinch, and who will think no more of danger than I do."
The blood mantled on Walter's cheek; he was young, and his heart beat
high at the thought of adventures; besides, he knew that it was true
that his knowledge of Afghan character, customs, and language, might
possibly be the means of even saving the life of his imprudent
friend, who scarcely opened his lips without making a blunder. Denis
saw Walter's look of hesitation, and eagerly pushed his advantage.
"We'll strike a fair bargain!" the Irishman cried. "You go with me
for one or two months, and I'll take you back with me to England.
You're poor--there's no disgrace in that; I happen to have a full
purse; I'll share with you as if you were my brother. I'll see to
your education, and start you in life; you shall never know a want
whilst Dermot Denis has a sovereign left. It's a bargain! Give me
your hand on it, old boy!" And Denis stretched out his own.
How rapidly thoughts fly through the mind--more rapidly than fingers
can trace them! "Is not this an answer to my prayer?" thought
Walter. "A few minutes ago I felt, as regards earth, friendless,
penniless, desolate! At once, how unexpectedly a friend and the
means of future independence are given me! If I risk something, is
it not for a hero, a benefactor, one who has shown me kindness
unsought! Then the journey itself may be an opening for good. My
father often expressed hopes that a day might come when mission-work
might be pushed on beyond the frontier--the Afghans were frequently
in his prayers. May I not hope to carry the Gospel to some of the
wild people of the mountains, several of whom have enjoyed the
hospitality of my parent, and received some instruction from his
lips. I believe that my 'fiery cloudy pillar' is moving towards the
hills."
"How long will you keep me with my hand stretched out like a
sign-post, waiting till you come to a decision which I see that you
have jumped at already?" the Irishman cried.
Walter grasped the strong, sun-burnt hand. The silent bargain was
concluded; no signed and sealed bond could have made it more firm, at
least as regarded the missionary's son.