IT'S NOT MAJOR WYNDHAM.
"I will endure; I will not strive to peep
Behind the barrier of the days to come."
--OWEN MEREDITH.
For a few hours Honor slept soundly. But so soon as her bodily
exhaustion was repaired, grief and stress of mind dragged her back to
consciousness. She woke long before dawn; woke reluctantly, for the
first time in her life, with a dead weight upon heart and brain; a
longing to turn her face to the wall and shut out the unconcerned
serenity of the new day.
But though hearts be at breaking-point, there is no shutting out the
impertinent details of life. And on this particular morning Honor
found herself plunged neck-deep in prose. Domestic trifles thrust
themselves aggressively to the fore. Parbutti assailed her after
breakfast with a voluble diatribe against the dhobi's wife, whose
eldest son was going to and fro in the compound unashamed, wearing a
shirt made from the Memsahib's newest jharrons. She did not feel
called upon to add that her own under-jacket had begun life upon
Evelyn Desmond's godown shelves. It was not a question of morals. It
was the lack of a decent reserve in appropriating her due share of the
Sahib's possessions which incensed the good lady against the dhobi's
wife. Such unreserve in respect of matters which should be hid might
rouse suspicion in other quarters; therefore it behoved Parbutti to be
zealous in casting the first stone.
Honor listened with weary inattention, promised investigation of the
matter, and passed on to the godown--a closet of broad shelves
stocked with an incongruous assortment of household goods, and
smelling strongly of kerosine oil and bar soap.
Here it was discovered that the oil had been disappearing with
miraculous celerity, and Amar Singh cast aspersions on the _kitmutgar_
and his wife. A jealous feud subsisted between him and them; and as
ruler-in-chief of the Sahib's establishment, the bearer made it a
point of honour to let no one cheat Desmond save himself. He had a
grievous complaint to lodge against a _sais_, who had been flagrantly
tampering with the Desmonds' grain, adding a request that the Miss
Sahib would of her merciful condescension impart the matter to the
Sahib. "For he sitteth much occupied, and his countenance is not
favourable this morning."
Honor complied, with a half-smile at the irony of her own position,
which, until to-day, she had accepted without after-thought, and which
of a sudden seemed unendurable.
Desmond, much engrossed in regimental concerns, and anxious to get off
to the Lines, was inclined to irritability and abruptness; and the
delinquent, who, with his charger ready saddled, awaited the Sahib's
displeasure in the front verandah suffered accordingly. He bowed,
trembling, to the ground, and let the storm sweep over his head;
making no defence beyond a disarming reiteration of his own
worthlessness, and of his everlasting devotion to the Protector of the
Poor.
Turning back to the hall for his helmet, Desmond encountered Honor in
the doorway, and his wrath gave place to a smile of good fellowship
that brought the blood into her cheeks.
"Hope my volcanics didn't horrify you," he said apologetically. "It
seems almost as cowardly to fly out at those poor chaps as to strike a
child; but they have a genius for tripping one up at critical
moments."
He paused, and scanned her face with kindly anxiety. "You're all right
again now? Not troubled any more--eh?"
"No. I'm perfectly well. Don't bother your head about me, please. You
have so much more important things to think about."
Her colour deepened; and she turned so hastily away that, in spite of
his impatience to be gone, Desmond stood looking after her with a
troubled crease between his brows. Then he swung round on his heel,
vaulted into the saddle, and straightway forgot everything except the
engrossing prospect of the campaign.
But for all his preoccupation, he had not failed to note the
wistfulness in Evelyn's dutifully smiling eyes. He was more than
usually tender with her on his return, and successfully banished the
wistfulness by giving up his polo to take her for a ride. Honor stood
watching them go, through tears which rose unbidden from the depth of
her lonely grief, her haunting sense of disloyalty to the two she
loved. She dashed them impatiently aside the instant they moistened
her lashes; and betook herself for an hour's rest and refreshment to
Mrs Jim Conolly,--"Mrs Jim" was her station name,--whose open-hearted
love and admiration would give her a much-needed sense of support.
She entered her friend's drawing-room without formal announcement, to
find her seated on a low sofa, barricaded with piles of cotton frocks
and pinafores, which had suffered maltreatment at the hands of that
arch-destroyer of clothes and temper--the Indian dhobi.
"Don't get up, please," the girl said quickly, as Mrs Conolly gathered
her work together with an exclamation of pleasure. "I've just come for
a spell of peace and quietness, to sit at the feet of Gamaliel and
learn wisdom!"
She settled herself on the carpet,--a favourite attitude when they
were alone together,--and with a sigh of satisfaction leaned against
her friend's knee. The older woman put an arm round her shoulders, and
pressed her close. Her mother's heart went out in very real devotion
to this beautiful girl, who, strong and self-reliant as she was,
turned to her so spontaneously for sympathy, counsel, and love.
"Arrogant child!" she rebuked her, smiling. "Remember who it was that
sat at the feet of Gamaliel! But what particular kind of wisdom are
you wanting from me to-day?"
"No particular kind. I'm only liking to have you near me. One is so
sure of your faith in the ultimate best, that there is encouragement
in the touch of your hand."
She took it between both her own, and rested her cheek against the
other's arm, hiding her face from view.
Mrs Jim smiled, not ill pleased. She was one of those rare optimists
who, having frankly confronted the evil and sorrow, the ironies and
inconsistencies of life, can still affirm and believe that "God's in
his Heaven; all's right with the world." But an unusual note in the
girl's voice perplexed her.
"Are you in special need of encouragement just now, dear?" she asked.
"Is that big baby of yours making you anxious on account of this
expedition?"
"No--oh no! She is going to behave beautifully. The shock upset her at
first, and she wanted Theo to stay behind. It was hard for him; but he
held out; and I think I have helped her to see that he was right. He
has taken her for a ride this afternoon and she is very happy."
"She has a great deal to thank you for, Honor," the elder woman said
gravely. "I felt from the first that you were in rather a difficult
position between those two, and you have filled it admirably. I have
said very little to you about it, so far; but I have watched you and
thought of you unceasingly; and I believe Major Meredith would be
prouder of you than ever if he could realise that you have turned your
time of waiting to such good account."
Honor's cheek still rested against Mrs Conolly's arm, and the warmth
that fired it penetrated the thin muslin of her blouse. She wondered a
little, but said nothing; and after a short pause Honor spoke in a low
voice and with an attempt at lightness which was not a conspicuous
success.
"You think too well of me, so does John. I have done little enough.
Only, I care very much for--them both, and I want them to be
happy--that's all."
"There are always two ways of stating a fact," the other answered,
smiling. "And--do you know, Honor, _I_ care very much for you--if you
were my own child, I could hardly care more--and, frankly, I want to
see _you_ happy in the same way." She laid her free hand over the two
that held her own. "It would be a sin for a woman like you not to
marry. I take it for granted you have had chances enough, and I have
sometimes wondered----"
The girl lifted her head and sat upright. She had come here to escape
her trouble, and it confronted her at every turn.
"Please--please don't begin wondering about that," she said
decisively, "or I shall have to get up and go away; and I don't want
to do that."
"No, no! my child, of course not. We will talk of other things."
But the shrewd woman said within herself: "There _is_ some one after
all," adding a heartfelt hope that it might be Major Wyndham. Thus her
next remark was more relevant to the forbidden subject than Honor was
likely to guess.
"I hear Major Wyndham's squadron remains behind. You are glad, I
suppose? You seem to be good friends."
"Yes; it will be a great comfort to have him when one will be
missing--all the rest. There are very few men in the world like Major
Wyndham; don't you think so? He has the rare secret of being in it,
yet not of it. I sometimes wonder whether anything could really upset
that self-contained tranquillity of his, which makes him such a
restful companion."
Here was high praise, and Mrs Jim echoed it heartily; yet in spite of
it, perhaps because of it, she was far from content. "It is not Major
Wyndham," she decided, regretfully. "But then,--who else is it likely
to be?"
At this moment children's voices sounded in the garden and Honor
sprang impulsively to her feet. "Oh, there are Jimmy and Violet!" she
cried. "Let me go and be foolish with them for a little and give them
their tea. We can play at wisdom again afterwards--you and I."
With that she hurried out into the garden; and in surrendering herself
to the superbly unconscious egotism of childhood, found passing
respite from the torment of her own thoughts. But it was some time
before Mrs Conolly returned to her interrupted work.
Paul Wyndham dined again at the blue bungalow that night; and it soon
became evident to Honor that something had succeeded in upsetting the
schooled serenity which was the keynote of the man's character.
Desmond kept the conversation going with unflagging spirit, obviously
for his friend's benefit; but he never once mentioned the campaign;
and Honor began to understand that Paul rebelled, with quite unusual
vehemence, against an order which sent his friend on active service
without him. Then it occurred to her that he must have been unlike
himself the night before, and that she, in her blind self-absorption,
had noticed nothing. Remorse pricked her heart and gave additional
warmth to her manner,--a fact which he was quick to perceive, and to
misinterpret.
The men sat a long while over their cigars, and thereafter went into
the study at Paul's request.
Honor had been right in her guess. The fiat of separation, coming at a
time of active service, had roused him as he was rarely roused; had
proved to him, if proof were needed, that in spite of the strong love,
which had opened new vistas of thought and emotion for him during the
past year, his feeling for Desmond was, and always would be, the
master-force of his life. That he should be condemned to play the
woman's part and sit with idle hands while his friend risked life and
limb in the wild mountain country across the Border, seemed for the
moment more than he could accept in silence.
He was obliged to own grudgingly that the Colonel was justified in his
decision,--that as Second in Command he was the right man to remain in
charge of the station. But the acknowledgment did not make the
necessity one whit less detestable in his eyes; and to-night the two
men's positions were reversed. It was Paul who moved to and fro with
long restless strides; while Theo, enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke,
sat watching him in profound sympathy and understanding, making
occasional attempts at consolation, with small result.
* * * * *
During the next ten days Honor Meredith discovered how much may be
achieved and endured with the help of use and wont; discovered also
that habit is the rock on which man's soul shall be wrecked or
anchored in his evil day.
She forced herself to speak of Theo more often than she had done
hitherto; for she now understood the reason of her instinctive
reserve where he was concerned; and the mere effort of breaking
through it was a help. She succeeded in talking to him also, if with
less frankness, still with something of her old simplicity and ease;
and in playing his favourite preludes and sonatas, even though they
stirred unsounded depths of emotion, and made the burden laid upon her
shoulders seem too heavy to be borne.
One habit alone seriously hindered her. Her spirit of candour--which
was less a habit than an elemental essence--chafed against the barrier
between her and those she loved. For she now found herself constrained
to avoid the too discerning eyes of Paul and Mrs Conolly, and, above
all, of Theo himself. Men and women whose spirit hibernates more or
less permanently in its temple of flesh have small knowledge of the
joy of such wordless intercourse; such flashes of direct speech
between soul and soul; but Honor felt the lack of it keenly. She
experienced, for the first time in her life, that loneliness of heart
which is an integral part of all great sorrow.
But when things are at their worst we must needs eat and sleep, and
find some degree of satisfaction in both. Honor was young, practical,
healthy, and her days were too well filled to allow of time for
brooding; nor had she the smallest leaning toward that unprofitable
occupation. She sought and found refuge from her clamorous Ego,--never
more clamorous than at the first awakening of love,--in concentrating
thought and purpose upon Evelyn; in bracing her to meet this first
real demand upon her courage in a manner befitting Theo Desmond's
wife.
And she reaped her measure of reward. Evelyn bore herself bravely on
the whole. Theo's manifest approbation acted as a subconscious pillar
of strength. But on the last day of all, when the strain of standing
morally on tiptoe was already producing its inevitable effect, an
unlooked-for shock brought her back to earth with the rush of a
wounded bird.
The troops were to march at dawn; and in the evening it transpired
that Theo intended to dine at Mess, returning, in all probability,
just in time to change and ride down to the Lines. The programme was
so entirely a matter of course on the eve of an expedition, and his
squadron had absorbed so much of his attention, that he had forgotten
to speak of the matter earlier; and the discovery was the last touch
needed to upset Evelyn's unstable equilibrium. Her collapse was the
more complete by reason of the strain that had gone before.
At the first she entreated him to give up the dinner and to spend his
last evening with her; and upon his gentle but definite answer that
such a departure from precedent was hardly possible, she fell to
sobbing with the passionate unrestraint of a child. In vain Desmond
tried to reason with her, to assure her that these big nights on the
eve of active service were a time-honoured custom; and that all
married officers attended them as a matter of course.
"I would willingly stay at home to please you, Ladybird," he added,
"but the fellows would probably come round and carry me off by main
force. It would all be done in the way of a joke, of course; but can't
you see that any lack of regimental spirit on my part is a reflection
on you, which I won't have at any price?"
No, she could see nothing, poor distracted child, except that he was
rewarding her cruelly ill for the genuine effort at control she had
made for his sake; and having once lost hold upon herself, all the
pent-up fears and rebellion, at loss of him, found vent in a
semi-coherent outbreak of reproaches and tears, till Desmond finally
lost his patience, and went off to change for Mess in a mood of mind
ill-tuned to the boisterous night ahead of him.
"Big nights," an immemorial feature of army life, are a specially
marked feature of the Frontier, where the constant recurrence of
Border warfare, and the hardness of existence generally, produce more
frequent outbursts of the schoolboy spirit that characterises the
British soldier of all ranks; that carries him unafraid and undismayed
through heart-breaking campaigns; keeps him cheerful and uncomplaining
in the face of flagrant mismanagement, fell-climates, disaster, and
defeat. Big nights, sixty years ago, left a goodly number of men,
either under the table or in a condition only a few degrees less
undignified. But, in spite of the outcry against modern degeneration,
these things are not so to-day; and the big nights of the Frontier
Force, on the eve of active service, are singularly free from this,
the least admirable part of the programme.
The week before departure was necessarily a week of hard work,
culminating in the task of getting all details into perfect marching
order, and setting every item in readiness for the start at dawn. This
done, the British predilection for "letting off steam" resulted in a
night of uproarious hilarity, incomprehensible to those ignorant of
the conditions which gave it birth, and unable to realise its tonic
effect on men who are setting out to face danger, hardship, and
possibly a violent death.
Wild games and contests were the order of the evening,--the wilder the
more acceptable. Cock-fighting, mock-polo matches, or gymkhanas,--on
such occasions nothing comes amiss in the way of riotous foolishness
pure and simple. The senior officer forgets his seniority; the most
dignified lets fall the cloak of dignity for a few exhilarating hours.
Colonel Buchanan himself entered with zest into the maddest
innovations which Desmond or Olliver could devise; and those who knew
Paul Wyndham, in his normal habit as he lived, would scarce have
recognised him masquerading as Desmond's polo pony, in a
inter-regimental match played with billiard balls, brother officers
doing duty for mounts and cues for polo-sticks. It was all excellent
fooling; and the bar of grey in the east came far too soon.
Close on five o'clock Desmond re-entered the bungalow; his scarlet
kummerbund disordered; his white mess-jacket in a hundred creases; yet
alert and ready in every fibre for the day's march that lay before
him.
The grey twilight of dawn was already creeping in through the
skylights and long glass doors, as he passed through the drawing-room
into his study.
Here he came to a standstill with a low exclamation of surprise.
On his cane deck-lounge Evelyn lay fast asleep, her face so turned
upon the cushion that its delicate profile showed clear as a cameo
against a background of dull blue. Her white dinner dress gleamed
ghostly in the dusk of morning. One bronze slipper had fallen off;
and one bare arm hung limply over the chair's edge, the fingers curled
softly upwards. A slender chain bangle, with a turquoise pendant, had
almost slipped over her hand.
Desmond drew nearer with softened tread, and stood looking down upon
her, a world of tenderness in his eyes;--tenderness touched with the
reverence a finely tempered man is apt to feel in the presence of a
child or woman asleep. For by some mysterious process sleep sanctifies
a face; perhaps because it is half brother to death.
Evelyn's face was white as her dress, save for the coral tint of her
lips. Their downward droop, the red line along her eyelids, and the
moist handkerchief clutched in her right hand, were more
heart-stirring than tears.
He knelt down beside her and lightly caressed her hair.
"Ladybird," he said softly, "time to wake up."
His touch brought her back to life with an indrawn breath like a sob;
and at sight of him her arms went round his neck.
"Theo, darling," she whispered, drawing his head down close to hers.
"I--was dreaming--that you were gone. I suppose you are going very
soon now?"
"Yes; in about an hour."
She held him closer.
"I was bad and selfish to you last night, Theo. I didn't mean to be;
but--I was. Honor made me understand."
"Bless her brave heart!" he said fervently. "She comes of the best
stock I know. By the way, I am sure she never told you to spend the
night here."
"No. She thought I had gone to bed. But I was too unhappy to trouble
about that--and----"
"You thought I might turn up before morning,--wasn't that it?"
"Y--yes." She flushed softly on the confession.
"Poor dear little soul!"
He drew her to her feet, slipped on the fallen shoe, and put his arm
round her. "Come along to the dressing-room and help me to get into my
khaki."
She walked beside him in so strange a confusion of happiness and
misery that it was impossible to say where one ended and the other
began. In the semi-darkness she tripped and stumbled on the threshold,
and he caught her close to him, holding her thus for a long moment.
Then he began to dress.
At this point the long lean form of Amar Singh appeared in the
doorway. But at sight of the Memsahib, arrayed for dinner, he departed
as noiselessly as he had come; not without a lurking sense of injury,
since it was clearly his privilege to do those last offices for his
Sahib of twelve years' standing.
Evelyn, anxious to show that she could be useful on occasion, followed
Theo to and fro like a shadow; handed him the wrong thing at the wrong
moment with pathetic insistence; and hindered his progress by a host
of irrelevant questions. But some women can hinder more engagingly
than others can help; and in any case Theo Desmond was in no humour to
lose patience with his wife that morning.
Once her attention was caught and held by Desmond's sword and
revolver, laid ready on a small table. She regarded them with a kind
of fearful fascination. They were no longer mere ornaments of his
uniform, but actual death-dealers, going forth to do murderous work.
The short blue muzzle of the revolver had a sinister look, and a point
of light at the tip winked like a mocking eye.
"Theo," she said suddenly in an awe-struck undertone, "do you know what
I was dreaming when you woke me? I dreamt that you were fighting with
Afridis,--ever so many of them,--and you were all alone. I thought
they were going to--kill you every minute. They were running after
you----"
Here Desmond dispelled the tragic vision with a shout of laughter.
"They'll never get the chance to do _that_, Ladybird, so long as I
have the use of my bare hands, let alone my sword!"
"But, Theo, just think, if you were all alone, and you were bound to
get killed if you stayed, and there was me at home praying to get you
back safe; wouldn't you be allowed to run away--even then?"
Desmond smiled; but he did not answer at once. The ludicrous
suggestion, with its unconscious touch of pathos, hurt him more than
he cared to acknowledge.
"It isn't a case of being allowed," he said. "I should never be left
quite alone like that; and anyway, they don't lay down a code of
morals for us in the Queen's Regulations. It is understood that a
British officer will play the man, even in desperate straits."
She knitted her brows wistfully. "Yes, of course. Only--it seems
rather hard on--the wives and mothers."
"You never said a truer word, little woman. That's why they need to
have such good grit in them,--don't you see?"
"Yes--I see. But mayn't you just get out of the way of a bullet if you
happen to see it coming?"
Desmond shook his head.
"One generally happens to feel it before one gets a chance of seeing
it," he said. "But now, let's have done with nonsense. Buckle on my
sword and we'll go to breakfast. The whole house is astir."
She set the leathern belt round his waist, and tried to fasten it; but
her fingers trembled in spite of herself, and a mist blinded her eyes.
He took the heavy strap from her very gently, and fastened it himself.
"You won't change and ride out a little way with us as the others mean
to?" he asked.
"N--no; I couldn't. I don't want to make you ashamed of me, Theo."
For answer he held out his arms; and there was a long silence in the
dimly lighted room.
Then he led her to the door of their room, and himself went out to the
breakfast-table with a brisk elasticity of tread. He would not have
been the man he was, if even the pang of parting could altogether
quench his ardour to be gone.
In the dining-room he found Honor ready equipped for the start. She
looked paler than usual, and there were blue shadows under her eyes;
but she answered his greeting cheerfully enough, and busied herself
with pouring out his tea.
"Ladybird is changing into a morning gown," he explained. "She never
went to bed last night poor child!"
"Oh, I wish I had known that! I did my best to comfort her."
"So she told me: and you succeeded. You generally do."
He glanced at her thoughtfully, a shade of anxiety in his eyes.
"You're not looking as fit yourself as you did a fortnight ago," he
said.
"Don't talk nonsense," she answered with a touch of impatience.
"Well, I hope it may be nonsense. But I feel responsible for you. Take
good care of yourself, please, while I am away; and--take care of my
Ladybird as well.... Hullo, there's Paul!"
Wyndham entered as he spoke, wearing the undress uniform of station
life: and Honor had seldom been so glad to see him as at that moment.
The two men stood facing one another for quite a long time. Then they
smiled, and sat down to breakfast. Both knew that in that long look
they had said all that need ever be said between them and it sufficed.
Evelyn came in a few minutes later, pale and subdued, but not
uncheerful. Her real sorrow, and no less real determination to control
it, gave a rare touch of dignity to the grace and simplicity that were
hers by nature;--a fact which her husband was quick to perceive and
admire. Both men, by a natural instinct, were a trifle more attentive
to her than usual, without the least hint of intrusion upon the
privacy of her grief; and it is in just such acts of unobtrusive
chivalry that Englishmen, of the best type, stand unrivalled
throughout the world.
The meal over, Evelyn accompanied them into the verandah, and stood
smiling and waving her hand to them as they rode away, with a
composure born of a stunned sense of the unreality of it all. Theo was
just going down to the Lines, and he would be back to tiffin as a
matter of course. Nevertheless, half an hour later the rims of her
eyes were again reddened with weeping: and donning a sun-hat, she
hurried out to a point where she could watch the little force move
across the space of open country between the cantonment and the
bastioned fort that stands at the entrance to the hills.
By the time Evelyn reached her coign of vantage, the cavalcade was
already nearing the prescribed mile where the final parting would take
place, to the strains of "Auld Lang Syne"; a piece of gratuitous
torment, honoured by custom, which many would have willingly foregone.
The slowly retreating mass, half enveloped in dust, showed a few
shades darker than the desert itself. A patch of vermilion indicated
the Pioneer band, now blaring forth, with placid unconcern, "The Girl
I Left Behind Me!" Lesser specks denoted officers, riding out, like
the rest of the station, to speed the parting troops.
The cavalry riding in the van were a mere moving dust-cloud, followed
by artillery, infantry, ambulance doolies, borne by half-naked Kahars;
while a jumble of men and animals, camp-followers and transport,
formed, as it were, a disorderly tail to the more compact body.
Camels, groaning under tent-poles and heavy baggage, shuffled and
swayed on the outskirts, with leisurely contempt; grass-cutters bobbed
cheerfully along on ponies of no birth or breeding, that appeared
oddly misshapen under vast loads of grass: and at the last came
miniature transport carts, closely followed by the rear-guard, a mixed
body of all arms.
While Evelyn still watched, the halt was called, and the disturbing
strains of parting reached her where she stood. Hill, plain, and
nearer objects lost their crispness of outline; and she went back to
the silent house awaiting her,--the lively strains of the return march
already sounding in her ears.
As she stood still for a moment, fighting against her emotion, Owen
Kresney rode past. She barely acknowledged his greeting; and he had
the tact to pass on without speech. For the man saw plainly that the
coveted opportunity for striking a blow at Desmond, behind his back,
was very near at hand; and he could afford to bide his time.