The days had gone by, and now Campian was installed in the forest
bungalow. Colonel Jermyn's invitation had gone forth, but the missive
which would have counteracted it had not, so here he was.
Not without some deliberation had he decided on accepting it. He had
thought himself safe; had reckoned he had safely parted with all
illusions, as conducive only to disturbance and anxiety, and the
greatest of all illusions was Vivien Wymer. But the sudden and unlooked
for reappearance of the latter had reopened a wound. Yet why? She was
the same as before. She had failed him once. She had sacrificed him to
others once, and would of course do so again unhesitatingly. Why not?
There was no such thing as love as they two had once looked at it--had
once imagined it. A mere illusion; pleasant while it lasted, painful
when its illusoriness became evident. But then the wrench, though
painful, even agonising, was over--and in its effect salutary. Five
years make a difference in a man's life. He had not been young then; he
was older now. Sensibility was blunted. The capacity for self-torment
was no longer his.
Love, the ever endurable! He had believed in that once. He was no
misogynist, even now. His experience of the other sex had been
considerable. He was ready to accord the members thereof the possession
of many delightful qualities. As friends they were staunch, as
companions unrivalled. Life unbrightened by feminine presence and
feminine influences would be a dull affair. But as exponents of Love,
the ever endurable, they were a failure; and exactly as he came to
appreciate this did he come to appreciate the other sex the more because
he had ceased to expect too much.
His experiences had been many and varied, and took in all types of the
softer sex, and he had found them wonderfully similar. The fire and
passion of to-day became chill and indifference a year hence. Then
Vivien Wymer had come into his life, and lo, all was changed. Here was
a glorious exception to the rather soulless rule. She met his every
want; she appealed to him as he could never have believed any woman
could, and by some strange, magnetic instinct, his own personality
appealed to hers. They seemed made for each other--and yet--he had been
sacrificed. Not even there was he to be all in all--to be first and
everything.
They had seen each other again once since that chance meeting in the
markhor cave. The colonel and his niece had ridden over to Upward's
camp to tiffin, and it was on that occasion that the hearty old soldier
had pressed him to come and pay them a visit. He had not even glanced
at Vivien, striving to read to what extent she would second the
invitation, but had accepted on the spot, yet not without a mental
reservation.
For there was one point which he desired to debate within himself, and
that was the very one which had occurred to Vivien. How could they two
be together under the same roof, in close, daily intercourse as mere
acquaintances, they two who had been so much to each other? How could
they bear the strain, how keep up the _role_?
Then when his meditations had reached this point, a strange exultant
thrill seemed to disturb the balance of his clearer judgment. Why
should the _role_ be kept up? After being parted for five years, they
had met again--nay, more--had been thrown together again in this
strange, wild country, that in former times had been to either of them
no more than a mere geographical name. Both were unchanged. There was
a softening in Vivien's voice, when off her guard, as on the last
occasion of their meeting, which seemed to point to the fact that she
was. For himself--well, he had grown older, wiser--and, he imagined,
harder. Still, the wound did seem to be reopening. Why, the whole was
almost as though Fate had gone out of her way to bring they two together
again.
Yes, he had grown harder. Love, the ever endurable! Ridiculous! She
had sacrificed him before, and would do so again if occasion arose. If
she did not do so it would be because occasion had not arisen, and this
consideration constituted a state of potential unreliability, which was
not reassuring. The idea even served to re-awaken much of the old
bitterness and rankling resentment, and he decided that it would be an
interesting, if coldblooded, study in character to observe how Vivien
herself would come out under such an ordeal as the close, intimate
intercourse which life beneath the same roof could not but involve.
Once there, he had no cause to regret his decision. The colonel was a
fine old soldier of the very best type. Most of his life had been spent
in India, and he was full of anecdote and reminiscence. He had served
through the Mutiny, and in several frontier disturbances, and his
knowledge of the country and its natives was intelligent and exhaustive.
He had been a sportsman, too, in his time--and, in short, was a man
whom it was a pleasure to talk with. He and Campian took to each other
immensely, and the two would sit together under the verandah of an
evening, smoking their cheroots and exchanging ideas, while Vivien
discoursed music through the open doors, upon a cottage piano which had
been lugged up, at some risk to its tuning and general anatomy, on board
the hideous necessary camel.
Decidedly it was very close quarters, indeed, this party of three,
isolated there in that remote forest bungalow, away among the chaotic,
piled up mountain deserts of wild Baluchistan; but there was no element
of monotony about it; indeed, how could there be when to two out of the
three life thus represented an ordeal that meant so much, that might
mean indeed so much more. Yet it spoke volumes for the self control of
both that no suspicion should have entered the mind of the third that
they had ever beheld each other elsewhere, and under very near
circumstances. Their intercourse was free and unrestrained, but it was
the easy intercourse of two people who had ideas in common and liked
each other's society, and totally devoid of any symptom of covering a
warmer feeling. They would frequently take rides or walks together
through the juniper forest, or to some point overlooking a new or wider
view of the great chaotic mountain waste, and it spoke volumes for their
self control that no allusion was ever made to the past. They would not
have been human if occasionally some undercurrent of feeling had not now
and then come unguardedly near the surface, but only to be instantly
repressed. It was as though both were engaged in a diplomatic game
requiring a high degree of skill, and in which each was watching the
next move of the other with a jealous eye.
Once, in course of their rides together, the two were threading a
_tangi_, and the sense of being shut within those high rock walls moved
Vivien to broach the subject of the adventure which had so nearly ended
in tragedy for her companion and his.
"It must have been a dreadful experience," she said, looking up at the
cliffs overhead.
"Yes. It was awkward. I've no use for a repetition of it."
His tone was discouraging, as though he would fain have changed the
subject. But she seemed to cling to it.
"I think that was a splendid feat," she went on, looking straight at
him. "I wish I knew what it was like never to be afraid."
"So do I--most heartily. But I simply don't believe in the existence of
that enviable state; if you can talk of the existence of a negative,
that is."
"But you do know what it is. Were you ever afraid of anything in your
life?"
The very words Nesta had used. Then he had not taken them in a
complimentary sense. He had thought the remark a foolish one. Now
coming from this woman, who had idealised him--who did still--with her
wide luminous eyes turned full upon his face, and that unguarded
softening which had again crept into her tone, there was a subtle
flattery in it which was delicious, but enervating. As a matter of fact
he really thought nothing of the feat, beyond what a lucky thing it was
they should have been able to save both their lives. He answered so
shortly as to seem ungracious.
"Very much and very often. I would rather run away than fight any day.
Fact."
"I don't believe you."
"No? People don't, I find. Some day I may do that very thing--then
when everybody is howling me down I can always turn round and say--`I
told you so, and you wouldn't believe me.'"
"But do you want them to believe you?"
"Why, of course. You don't know me at all, Vivien, even now." Then, as
if to hurry away from a dangerous slip. "By the by, I never can
understand the insane way in which even civilised and thinking people
elect to deify what they call courage or pluck. There is no such thing
really. It is purely a matter of opportunity or temperament--in short,
sheer accident. To get out of a tight place a man has got to do
something. While doing it he has no time to think. If he had, in nine
cases out of ten he'd run away."
"Yes? And what about when he has to go into a tight place?"
"Why, then he's got to go. And as a matter of fact it is funk that
drives him in. The opprobrium and possibly material penalty, he would
incur by backing out constitute the more formidable alternative of the
two. So of the two evils man, being essentially a self preserving
animal, instinctively chooses the least."
"Plausible, but not convincing," returned Vivien, with a laugh. "And is
there not something of what they call a `crank' underlying that
philosophy?"
"`They' are apt to say that of any application of the principles of
common sense,"--"as I have so often told you before," he was nearly
adding.
"Was Miss Cheriton very much scared that day? She says she'll never get
over it as long as she lives."
"Poor little girl. It must have been a ghastly experience. She behaved
very well; was no more scared than any other woman would have been, and
a good deal less so than some."
"What a pretty girl she is."
"Very--of her type."
Vivien was conscious of two emotions--swift, simultaneous as a lightning
flash; first a pang over the readiness with which he endorsed her
remark, then a heartbeat of relief, for those three words constituted a
whole saving clause.
"You must have seen a great deal of her?"
No sooner uttered than Vivien would have given anything to recall the
remark. What construction would he put upon it other than jealousy of
this blue-eyed, golden-haired girl, who had several years of youth the
advantage over herself?
"That depended upon circumstances. Nesta Cheriton has a great
_penchant_ for the British Army, and the British Army thoroughly
reciprocates the predilection. While the British Army was represented
at Chirria Bach I saw not much of her, over and above the occasions when
one had to meet in ordinary life. While it was unrepresented she seemed
to make herself equally happy in going chikor shooting with me. On the
whole, I rather like the little girl. She is bright and amusing, and
acts, I suppose, as a passing tonic to one's jaded and middle-aged
spirits."
His tone had been that of absolute and unaffected ease, and now it
occurred to him suddenly, and for the first time, that Vivien was
putting him through something of a catechism. The moral dissection
which he had promised himself in risking a sojourn beneath the same roof
with her had already begun, and this was only a phase of it. At such
times the old feeling of rankling bitterness would come upon him, and
with it a wave of desolation and heart-emptiness. Why had she failed
him--she his destined counterpart? Why had she proved so weak under a
not very strong ordeal? He had indeed become hard, when he could go
through day after day in closest companionship with her, and yet keep on
the mask, never once be betrayed into letting down his guard.
One consideration had acted as a salutary cold douche in the event of
the smouldering fires of his nature rising too near their restraining
rock crust. One day Vivien was telling him all about her uncle and how
she came to be keeping house for him. She had done so since her aunt's
death, and supposed she would go on doing so. He was such a dear old
man, she said--so thoughtful and kind and unselfish, and he had no one
to look after him but her. All of which her listener, even from his
short opportunity of observation, was inclined to endorse; but the sting
lay in the concluding consideration, for it recalled that other time.
In it had lain the pretext for sacrificing him to an imaginary duty. He
was not going to risk a repetition of what he had then undergone. The
iron entered deeper and deeper.
Once an incident occurred which nearly availed to shatter and melt it.
Vivien had gone into his room during his absence, as she frequently did,
to see if there was not some little touch she could add to its comfort
or attractiveness. An object on his table caught her attention. She
picked it up and examined it, and her eyes filled. Yet it was only an
old tobacco pouch, and a very worn and weather-beaten one at that--so
worn and frayed that hardly more than a few threads of the original
embroidery still hung to the cover. Then she did an extraordinary
thing. Instead of replacing it she took it away with her. That night
she sat up late, and lo, in the course of the day, going into his room
Campian found that the old battered pouch for which he had hunted high
and low was replaced by a beautiful new one, the embroidery of which was
a perfect work of art.
"Why did you take so much trouble?" he said when next they met. "You
could not have known I had lost the other."
"Is that why we were so glum last night?" she returned, a glad light,
struggling with a mischievous one, in her eyes. "Never mind. This is a
much better one."
"I loved that one. I would give a great deal to recover it, as you
ought to know."
"Wait a moment." She left him and returned almost immediately.
"Here it is--or what is left of it. Now--? What will you give?"
She held it out to him--then drew it back. Her eyes were raised to his.
Her voice was soft and caressing as ever he had heard it in the old
days. Just one of those trivial accidents bringing about the most
crucial moment in two lives--when, as usual, the most trivial of causes
availed utterly to mar its effect. That most trivial of causes was the
voice of Colonel Jermyn, followed by the entrance of its jolly
possessor.
"Here's the _dak_ just come from Upward. They're all going back to
Shalalai the day after to-morrow Campian, and want to know if you've had
enough of us yet. If you have they say they are leaving early and you'd
better be down at the camp to-morrow night. If you haven't--why--all
the better for us."
"The point is whether you haven't had enough of me, Colonel." But while
he made the laughing remark his glance travelled round to Vivien's face.
It was one of those moments when her guard was down. The interruption
had come so inopportunely. Decidedly the study he had promised himself
was bearing rich results.
"Pooh! Of course we haven't. Why, you've only just come. Besides, you
can get to Shalalai at any time. That's settled then. But I have an
idea. We might go down to Mehriab station and see them off. There are
some things I am getting up, and that idiot of a Babu in charge can't
send an intelligent answer to any question I write him. It's not a bad
sort of ride down there, and we'll kill two birds with one stone. What
do you say, Viv?"
"I beg to second it, Uncle Edward. The idea is an extremely good one."
To him who watched it, while not seeming to, there was an entire
revelation in Vivien's face during that momentary lifting of the veil.
She was as anxious to prolong the time as--he was. Yes, that is what it
amounted to. The experiment, from its coldblooded side, seemed to have
failed.
"We shall be up here some weeks longer, Campian"--went on the
Colonel--"but of course if you have to go, it is easy enough to get to
Shalalai. Meanwhile my boy, as long as you can make yourself happy here
we are only too glad."
"Oh, I can do that all right, Colonel. And I'm not tied to time in any
way either."
Again that relieved look on Vivien's face. Some weeks! What might not
be the result of those weeks was the thought that was in the minds of
both of them? What might not transpire within those weeks? Ah, if they
had only known.
"By the way there's another item of _kubbar_ in Upward's letter," went
on the Colonel, fumbling for that missive. "A _budmash_ named Umar Khan
has started out on a Ghazi expedition down Sukkaf way. He and several
others rode out along the road and cut down a couple of poor devils of
gharri-wallahs. Killed 'em dead as a door nail. There was a _mullah_
in one of the gharris, and they plundered him. He got out a Koran and
put it on his head--singing out that he was a _mullah. `Mullah_ or
not,' says Umar Khan--`hand out those seven hundred rupees you've got on
board.' And he had to hand them out. Sacrilegious scamps--ha, ha! But
if he hadn't been a _mullah_ they'd have cut him up too. Well these
_budmashes_ will have to swing for it. They'll soon be run to earth.
Nice country this, eh, Campian?"
"Rather. It seems to me only half conquered, and not that."
"Yes. It's run at a loss entirely. A mere buffer State. We hold it on
the principle of grabbing as much as we can and sticking to it, all the
world over--and in this particular instance putting as much as we can
between the Russians and India."
"And what if Umar Khan is not speedily run to earth?"
"Oh, then he'll knock around a bit and make things generally unpleasant.
Do a little dacoity from time to time. But we are bound to bone him in
the long run."
"There's an uncommonly queer closeness in the air this evening," said
the Colonel as they were sitting out under the verandah a little later.
"As if there was a storm of sorts working up. Yet there's no sign of
thundercloud anywhere. Don't you notice it, Vivien?"
"I think so. It has a dispiriting effect on one, as if something was
going to happen."
The sun had gone down in a lurid haze, which was not cloud, and the
jagged peaks of the opposite range were suffused in a hot, vaporous
afterglow, while the dark depth of juniper forest in the deep, narrow
valley seemed very far down indeed. What little air there was came in
warm puffs.
"We all seem rather _chup_ this evening," said the Colonel. "Viv, how
would it be to play us something lively to wake us up?"
She rose and went inside. Campian could still see her as she sat at the
piano, rattling off Gilbert and Sullivan at their liveliest. He could
continue the very favourite occupation in which he had been indulging--
that of simply watching her--noting every movement, the turn of the
head, the droop of the eyelids, the sweet and perfect grace which
characterised her most trivial act. This woman was simply perfect in
his sight--his ideal. Yet to all outward intent they were on the easy,
friendly terms of two people who merely liked each other and no more.
"Come and have a `peg,' Campian," said the Colonel presently.
"No thanks--not just now."
"Well, I'm going to," and away he went to the dining room.
Then Campian, sitting there, was conscious of a very strange and
startling phenomenon. There was a feeling as though the world were
falling away from beneath his feet, together with a dull rumble. There
was a clatter of glass and table ornaments in the drawing room, and he
could see Vivien sway and nearly fall from the music-stool. He sprang
to his feet to rush to her aid, and seemed hardly able to preserve his
own balance. Both staggering they met in the doorway.
"Oh, Howard, what is it?" she cried, seizing in both of hers the hand
which he had stretched out to help her.
"Quick. Come outside," was all he said. They were able to walk now,
and he drew her outside the verandah, right into the open. Then again
came that cavernous rumble, and the earth fairly reeled beneath their
feet.
"That's what all this heaviness in the air has been about," he said, as
the ground felt firm again. "A shock of earthquake."
"Is it over? Will there be any more?" she gasped, her white face and
dilated eyes turned up to his. She still held his hands, in her sudden
terror, casting all considerations of conventionality to the winds.
"I don't think so," he answered, a very tremble of tenderness in his
voice as he strove to reassure her. "These shocks generally go in twos
or threes, like waves. And even if there are any more we are all right
outside."
Here the humorous element asserted itself, in the shape of Colonel
Jermyn choking and coughing in the verandah. In his hand he held a tall
tumbler, nearly empty.
"Look at this, Campian," he cried. "A man can't even have a `peg' in
his own house without the whole world rising up against it. Flinging it
in his face, and half choking him, by George."
"Some awful big teetotaler must have gone below, Colonel, to raise
racket enough to knock your `peg' out of your hand. I hope you'll take
warning and forswear `pegs.'"
"Ha, ha! Well, Viv? Badly scared, child?"
She laughed, but the colour had not yet come back to her cheeks.
"I predicted something was going to happen, didn't I?" she said.
"And it has happened--and now there's another thing going to happen, and
that is dinner, so we'd better go inside and begin to think about it.
What? Is it safe? Of course, though, my dear, I don't wonder at it if
you were a little scared. It's an experience that is apt to be alarming
at first."
The while the speaker was chuckling to himself. He had been a witness
both by ear and eye to the foregoing scene, having overheard Vivien's
alarmed apostrophe.
"So? It has come to that, has it?" he was saying to himself.
"`Howard,' indeed? But how dark they've kept it. Well, well. They're
both of them old enough to look after themselves. `Howard,' indeed!"
and the jolly Colonel chuckled to himself, as with kindly eyes he
watched the pair that evening, reading their easy unrestrained
intercourse in an entirely new light.