In the tiny drawing-room of a tiny house, wedged in between a huge
retaining wall and the almost perpendicular hill-side, Belle Stuart
sat idly looking out of the window. Not that there was anything to
see. The monsoon fogs swept past the stunted oaks, tipped over the
railings, filled the verandah, crept in through the crevices, and
literally sat down on the hearth-stone; for the room was too small,
the thermometer too high, and humanity too poor, to allow of a fire.
Without, was a soft grey vapour deadening the world; within, was a
still more depressing atmosphere of women, widow's weeds, and
wrangling.
On her lap lay the newspaper filled, as usual, with items from the
frontier. To many a woman that first sheet meant a daily agony of
relief or despair; to Belle Stuart it was nothing more than a history
of the stirring times in which she lived, for with Dick's sad end, and
John Raby's return to reap rewards at Simla, she told herself that her
personal interest in the war must needs be over. A passing pity,
perhaps, for some one known by name, a kindly joy for some chance
acquaintance, might stir her pulses; but nothing more. Yet as she sat
there she was conscious of having made a mistake. Something there was
in the very paper lying on her lap which had power to give keen pain;
even to bring the tears to her eyes as she read the paragraph over
again listlessly.
Severe Fighting in the Terwân Pass. Gallant Charge of the 101st Sikhs.
List Of Officers Killed, Wounded, and Missing.--The telegram which
reached Simla a few days ago reporting a severe skirmish in the Terwân
has now been supplemented by details. It appears that a small force
consisting of some companies of the 101st Sikhs, the 24th Goorkhas,
the 207th British Infantry, and a mule battery, were sent by the old
route over the Terwân Pass in order to report on its practical use. No
opposition was expected, as the tribes in the vicinity had come in and
were believed to be friendly. About the middle of the Pass, which
proved to be far more difficult than was anticipated, a halt had to be
made for the purpose of repairing a bridge which spanned an almost
impassable torrent. The road, which up to this point had followed the
right bank of the river, now crossed by this bridge to the left in
order to avoid some precipitous cliffs. Here it became evident that
the little force had fallen into an ambuscade, for firing immediately
commenced from the numerous points of vantage on either side. The
Goorkhas, charging up the right bank, succeeded in dislodging most of
the enemy and driving them to a safe distance. From the advantage thus
gained they then opened fire on the left bank, managing to disperse
some of the lower pickets. Owing, however, to the rocky and almost
precipitous nature of the ground the upper ones were completely
protected, and continued to pour a relentless fire on our troops, who
were, for the most part, young soldiers. During the trying inaction
necessary until the bridge could be repaired,--which was done with
praiseworthy rapidity despite the heavy fire--Major Philip Marsden, of
the 101st Sikhs, volunteered to attempt the passage of the torrent
with the object of doing for the left bank what the Goorkhas had done
for the right.
Accordingly the Sikhs, led by this distinguished officer, rushed the
river in grand style, how it is almost impossible to say, save by
sheer pluck and determination, and after an incredibly short interval
succeeded in charging up the hill-side and carrying picket after
picket. A more brilliant affair could scarcely be conceived, and it is
with the very deepest regret that we have to report the loss of its
gallant leader. Major Marsden, who was among the first to find
foothold on the opposite bank, was giving directions to his men when a
bullet struck him in the chest. Staggering back almost to the edge of
the river, he recovered himself against a boulder, and shouting that
he was all right, bade them go on. Lost sight of in the ensuing
skirmish, it is feared that he must have slipped from the place of
comparative safety where they left him and fallen into the river, for
his helmet and sword-belt were found afterwards a few hundred yards
down the stream. None of the bodies, however, of those lost in the
torrent have been recovered. Nor was it likely that they would be, as
the stream here descends in a series of boiling cataracts and swirling
pools. In addition to their leader, whose premature death is greatly
to be deplored, the Sikhs lost two native officers, and thirty-one
rank and file. The Goorkhas--
But here Belle's interest waned and she let the paper fall on her lap
again. One trivial thought became almost pitifully insistent, "I wish,
oh, how I wish I had not sent back that letter unopened!" As if a
foolish girlish discourtesy more or less would have made any
difference in the great tragedy and triumph of the man's death. For it
was a triumph; she could read that between the lines of the bald
conventional report.
"There's Belle crying, actually crying over Major Marsden," broke in
Maud's cross voice from a rocking-chair. Now a rocking-chair is an
article of furniture which requires a palatial apartment, where its
obtrusive assertion of individual comfort can be softened by distance.
In the midst of a small room, and especially when surrounded by four
women who have not rocking-chairs of their own, it conduces to nervous
irritation on all sides. "You talk about disrespect, mamma," went on
the same injured voice, "just because I didn't see why we shouldn't go
to the Volunteer Ball in colours, when he was only our stepfather; but
I call it really nasty of Belle to sit and whimper over a man who did
his best to take away the only thing except debts that Colonel
Stuart--"
"Oh, do hold your tongue, Maudie!" cried Mabel. "I'm getting sick of
that old complaint. I don't see myself why we shouldn't wear our pink
tulles. It would be economical to begin with, and, goodness knows, we
have to think of the rupees, annas, and paisas nowadays."
Here Maud, who was not really an ill-tempered girl, became overwhelmed
by the contemplation of her own wrongs, and began to sob. "I
never--wore--a year-behind-fashion dress before, and--when I suggest
it--just to save the expense--I'm told I'm heartless. As if it was my
fault that mamma's settlement was so much waste paper, and that our
money went to pay--"
"Really, Maud, you are too bad," flared up her youngest sister. "If it
was any one's fault, it was Uncle Tom's, for not being more careful.
The governor was awfully good to us always. Ah, things were very
different then!"
This remark turned on the widow's ready tears. "Very different indeed.
Three in the kitchen, and I wouldn't like to say how many in the
stable. And though I don't wish to repine against Providence, yet caps
are so expensive. I can't think why, for they are only muslin; but
Miss Crowe says she can't supply me with one that is really respectful
under five rupees."
"It is all very well for you to talk, Mabel," insisted Maud from the
rocking-chair; "you have a settlement of your own in prospect."
"So might you," retorted the other, "if you were wise, instead of
wasting your time over men who mean nothing, like that handsome
Captain Stanley."
"Yes!" yawned Mildred. "It is the stubby Majors with half-a-dozen
motherless children growing up at home who marry."
Mabel flushed through her sallow skin and in her turn became tearful;
for in truth her _fiancé_ was but too accurately described in these
unflattering terms. "It is not your part to jeer at me for sacrificing
myself to the interests of you girls. In our unfortunate position it
is our duty to avail ourselves of the chances left us, and not to go
hankering after penniless probationers in the Post-Office."
Yet one more recruit for pocket-handkerchief drill rushed to the
front, though more in anger than sorrow. "If you are alluding to
Willie Allsop," retorted Mildred fiercely, "I dare say he will be as
well off as your Major some day. At any rate I'm not going to perjure
myself for money, like some people."
"Oh, girls, girls!" whimpered the widow plaintively, "don't quarrel
and wake Charlie, for the doctor said he was to be kept quiet and not
excited. Really, misfortunes come so fast, and things are so dear,--to
say nothing of Parrish's Chemical Food for Charlie--that I don't know
where to turn. If poor Dick had but lived! It was too bad of those
nasty Afghans to kill the dear boy just as he was getting on, and
being so generous to me. I always stood up for Dick; he had a warm
heart, and people don't make their own tempers, you know."
Belle, who had been sitting silent at the window, clasping and
unclasping her hands nervously, felt as if she must stifle. "I wish,"
she said in a low voice, "you would let me go on teaching as I did in
the winter. Why should we mind, even if there are old friends here
now? I am not ashamed of working."
Her remark had one good effect. It healed minor differences by the
counter irritation of a general grievance, and the upshot of a
combined and vigorous attack was that there had been quite enough
disgrace in the family already, without Belle adding to it. Of course,
had she been able to give lessons in music or singing, the suggestion
might have been considered, since the flavour of art subdued the
degradation; but the idea of teaching the children of the middle class
to read and write was hopelessly vulgar. It was far more genteel to
become a _zenana_-lady, since there the flavour of religion disguised
the necessity. Belle, trying to possess her soul in patience by
stitching away as if her life depended on it, found the task beyond
her powers. "I think I'll go out," she said in a choked voice. "Oh,
yes! I know it's raining, but the air will do me good; the house is so
stuffy."
"It's the best we can afford now," retorted Maud.
"And the position is good," suggested Mrs. Stuart feebly.
"Belle doesn't care a fig for position, mamma," snapped up her
daughter. "She would have liked one of those barracks by the bazaar
where nobody lives."
"We might have got up a scratch dance there," remarked Mildred in
tones of regret. "Oh, not _now_, mamma, of course; but by and by when
things got jollier."
"I don't believe they ever will get jollier," came in gloomy prophecy
from the rocking-chair, as Belle escaped gladly into the mist and
rain. Six weeks, she thought; was it only six weeks since the
maddening, paralysing drip, drip, drip of ceaseless raindrops had been
in her ears? And yet these experienced in hill-weather spoke
cheerfully of another six weeks to come. Would she ever be able to
endure being the fifth woman in that ridiculous little room for all
those days? What irritated her most was the needlessness of half the
petty worries which went to make up the dreary discomfort. The
extravagant clinging to the habits of past opulence, the wastefulness,
resulting in the want of many things which might have made life more
pleasant; the apathy content to grumble and do nothing, while she felt
her spirits rise and her cheeks brighten even from her rapid walk
through the driving mist. The rain had lessened as she paused to lean
over the railings which protected a turn of the road where it was
hollowed out from the hill-side; sheer cliff on one side, sheer
precipice on the other. Up to her very feet surged the vast grey sea
of mist, making her feel as if one more step would set her afloat on
its shoreless waste. Yet below that dim mysterious pall lay, she well
knew, one of the fairest scenes on God's earth, smiling doubtless in a
sunshine in which she had no part. Then suddenly, causelessly, the
words recurred to her--"_The world is before you yet; it holds life,
and happiness, and love_." Who had said them? Even now it cost her an
effort to remember clearly the events following on the shock of her
father's death. The effort was so painful that she avoided it as a
rule; but this time the memory of Philip Marsden's kindness came back
sharply, and the trivial remorse about the letter rose up once more to
take the front place in her regrets until driven thence by one vague,
impotent desire to have the past back again. Looking down into the
impalpable barrier of cloud through which a pale gleam of light
drifted hither and thither, she could almost fancy herself a
disembodied spirit striving after a glimpse of the world whence it had
been driven by death; so far away did she feel herself from those
careless days at Faizapore, from the kindly friends, the--
"Miss Stuart! surely it is Miss Stuart!" cried a man's voice behind
her. She turned, to see John Raby, who, throwing the reins of his pony
to the groom, advanced to greet her, his handsome face bright with
pleasure. His left arm was in a sling, for he had been slightly
wounded; to the girl's eyes he had a halo of heroism and happiness
round him.
"I am so glad!" she said, "so glad!"
As they stood, hand in hand, a sunbeam struggling through the cloud
parted the mist at their feet. Below them, like a jewelled mosaic,
lay the Doon bathed in a flood of light; each hamlet and tree, each
silver torrent-streak and emerald field, seemingly within touch, so
clear and pellucid was the rain-washed air between. Further away, like
fire-opals with their purple shadows, flashed the peaks of the
Sewaliks, and beyond them shade upon shade, light upon light, the
mother-of-pearl plain losing itself in the golden setting of the sky.
"I am in for luck all round," cried John Raby in high delight. "That
means a break in the rains, and a fortnight of heaven for me,--if fate
is kind--"
But Belle heard nothing; one of those rare moments when individuality
seems merged in a vast sympathy with all things visible and invisible
was upon her, filling her, body and soul, with supreme content.
"Are you not coming in?" she asked, when, after walking slowly along
the Mall, they reached the path which led downward to the little
drawing-room and the four women.
"I will come to-morrow," he replied, looking at her with undisguised
admiration in his eyes. "Today it is enough to have seen you. After
all, you were always my great friend,--you and your father."
"Yes, he was very fond of you," she assented softly; and with her
flushed cheeks and the little fluffy curls by her pretty ears all
glistening with mist drops, showed an April face, half smiles, half
tears.