'GUP,' AND WHAT CAME OF IT,
And now, ere it is too late, to let a little light on what must seem
a mystery, and to tell a story which Eveline was not to hear until
the fatal die was cast.
'Dear Evan,' said a handsome girl, as she interlaced her slender
fingers on Cameron's arm lovingly in one of the most secluded walks
of the Princes-Street Gardens, and under the shadow of the towering
castle rock, 'I cannot bear to see you looking so unhappy--what _is_
the matter?'
'Eveline Graham has ceased to meet me. She is ill--or--or I know not
what!'
'Cannot you ascertain?'
'No. I have no means of ascertaining; moreover, only the other day
she cut me.'
'Cut you--passed you?'
'Cut me dead!'
'Surely that was bad in taste.'
'And cruel too--so unlike her, Alice darling, that I know not what to
think.'
'She has resolved to accept her rich old baronet--that is all; and I
shall hear all about it when I am far away from you in India. How
strange,' added the girl, dreamily, while a great, yet pensive, joy
lighted up her blue eyes, 'how strange to think that I am still in
Edinburgh, and so far away from _him_, when there was a time when I
wondered if anyone in this world was ever so happy as I, when dear
stupid Duncan asked me to be his wife! And oh, Evan dear, but for
you and your great kindness to us, my heart must have broken and I
should never have seen Duncan more!'
The fair speaker was the Alice whose name had unconsciously escaped
Evan, as his heart was full of a great love and pity for her--the
wife of his younger brother Duncan, from whom she had been separated
in consequence of a foolish jealous quarrel, and having been, through
that, sent home by him from India, had no other friend in Europe to
whom to turn for succour and support than the kind-hearted, but
half-penniless Laird of Stratherroch, who had at last effected an
explanation and reconciliation between them.
When quartered in cantonments, in the first year of their marriage,
not far from Hurdwar on the Ganges (where Allan got the idol he gave
to Olive) there seemed to be no more loving and attached couple than
Duncan Cameron and his little wife Alice, and both were prime
favourites with the garrison; he, for his fine bearing which made him
the pattern officer of his regiment--a Bengal Infantry corps--his
skill in horsemanship, as a marksman and pigsticker, and his general
_bonhomie_ and good nature. She, for her beauty and sweetness, her
great abundance of animal spirits, and a charming _espièglerie_ that
made her the object of attention from all.
Ladies were scarce in these cantonments so far 'up country,' and thus
Alice proved a wonderful attraction to all the young subs at the
band-stand, or on the racecourse, and elsewhere; and they hovered
about her rather more than Duncan Cameron quite relished.
She was a leading feature at all the entertainments given by Sir
Bevis Batardeau, G.C.S.I., the brigadier, and his wife; and indeed no
ball, picnic, or dance was deemed complete without the presence of
Alice Cameron.
Now, Sir Bevis was a notorious old _roué_, and the cause of much
'gup,' as scandal or gossip is called in India. He was a middle-aged
man of fashion, grizzled and rather bald, with a reddish nose and
wicked eyes, while Lady Batardeau, his senior by a year or two, was a
kind and motherly woman, who loved Alice dearly; and 'gup' of course
asserted that the General did so too, in a fashion of his own, and
many things were said that never reached as yet the ears of Duncan
Cameron.
The latter was sent to some distance from the cantonments on a
particular duty, and poor Alice was left to mope in her bungalow
alone.
'I often thought,' she said, 'if anything should ever separate us, I
would die. The fear smote me like a sword's point, Evan, and the
night Duncan left me a jackal howled fearfully in the compound. Was
it ominous of evil? I fear so--for separated terribly we were fated
to be, through no fault of mine.'
These forebodings made her pass sleeplessly the hot and breathless
Indian nights while hourly the cantonment _ghurries_ were clanged,
and the jackals howled in the prickly hedges, and the mosquitoes
seemed a thousand times more annoying--no chowrie would whisk them
out of the muslin curtains; and her breakfast seemed so insipid now,
and Gunga Ram, the _khansa-man_, or native butler, could find nothing
to tempt her appetite; yet Gunga, though, like most Hindostanees,
doubtful of the virtue of every European woman, was devoted to his
own particular _mehm Sahib_.
Every morning she had been wont to watch at the open Venetian blinds
of their bungalow for the handsome figure of Duncan returning from
the early parade, while the sun was yet on the verge of the horizon;
and every evening was spent together in delicious idleness--riding on
the course, promenading by the band-stand, or wandering among the
groves where the baubool breathes an exquisite perfume from its bells
of gold, as the oleander does from its clusters of pink and white
blossoms, and where the lovely little tailor-bird sews two leaves
together and swings in his sweet-scented nest from the bough of some
little tree.
Hourly she longed for the return of Duncan.
She was a petted favourite with Lady Batardeau, who, when calling on
her one day, found her asleep under the verandah outside Cameron's
bungalow on a long low Indian arm-chair.
Thinking how charming the girl-wife looked, Lady Batardeau, in
playful kindness, slipped on one of her fingers a rose-diamond ring,
which had been in the past time a gift to herself from Sir Bevis,
when she valued his gifts more than she had reason to do now; and,
having done this, she went softly and laughingly away.
To the joy of Alice, Cameron returned suddenly while she was yet
puzzling herself to account for the presence of the ring, and for a
time, in the happiness of their reunion, she forgot all about it,
till he, while toying with her pretty hands, observed it on her
finder.
'A magnificent ring, Alice,' said he. 'Where did it come from?'
'That is more than I can tell you.'
'How?' he asked.
'I found that it had been slipped on my finger when I was asleep.'
'By whom?'
'I cannot say, Duncan dear.'
On examining the jewel he saw graven on the inside the name of that
notorious old _roué_ and Lothario, the brigadier!
Lady Batardeau had left the cantonments for awhile, and poor Alice
could give no explanation as to how the mysterious ring with the name
of Sir Bevis thereon came to be on her finger. Duncan loved her so
trustfully, so utterly, that doubt failed for a time to find a place
in his gallant heart; but 'gup' had playfully asserted that the old
brigadier immensely admired young Mrs. Cameron--he recalled some
jests he had heard, and now the poison they breathed was stealing
upon his senses, and his face grew white as death.
Duncan mistook the genuine confusion of Alice for guilt--her dismay
for dread of detection, and the whole affair for a feature in an
intrigue. He knew how keen and bitter was scandal in India, and
already he saw himself a source of mockery and disgrace, and
figuring, perhaps, in the columns of the _Hurkara_!
He saw it all now! He had been sent on duty to a distance for some
days, as he believed out of his turn, and by the express order of the
brigadier.
That circumstance had surprised him, but he believed it was fully
explained now by finding the ring of Sir Bevis on his wife's finger,
and he became transported with fury. Alice cowered for a time
beneath the expression she read in his face.
Could it be possible, he thought, that she was proving as one of the
'dead-sea apples of life, which a mocking fate so often throws in our
lap, charming to the imagination, but bitter to the sense?'
'Duncan!' said Alice, softly and imploringly; but he felt all the
mute despair of a broken heart, the agony of a shaken faith, and he
put her soft white hands gently from him, as if he would never seek
them in this life again.
He at once sought the presence of the brigadier, who, on hearing what
he had to say, certainly--to do him justice--was rather bewildered.
'I beg leave, sir, to return to you this ring,' said Duncan, tossing
it contemptuously on the table.
'My ring--my wife's ring it was--'
'_Was_--eh!'
'Yes, Captain Cameron. Where did you find it?'
'Where you placed it, I doubt not.'
'I do not understand your tone and manner, Captain Cameron; but I
certainly placed it on the finger----'
'Of my wife,' said Duncan, hoarsely and scornfully. 'I thank you for
your kind attention, but trust that it will end here ere worse come
of it. I am not a man to be trifled with, Sir Bevis.'
Now, Sir Bevis had no dislike to be thought 'a gay Lothario, a sad
dog, and all that sort of thing,' so he actually simpered
provokingly, shrugged his shoulders and said, deprecatingly,
'Really, you wrong Mrs. Cameron.'
'She has deceived me!' exclaimed Duncan, furiously.
'If a woman can't deceive her own husband, _whom_ may she deceive!'
asked the unwise brigadier.
'In the days of the pistol this matter would not have ended here.'
'Come, come, don't let you and I fall to carte and tierce in this
fashion,' said the general; 'it may be explainable----'
'I want no explanations!'
'As you please. It seems there is a little romance in most lives----'
'With your grey hairs you should have outlived all that, I think.'
Now his years proved a sore point with old Sir Bevis, and he became
inflamed with anger; but, ere he could retort, Duncan had jerked his
sword under his left arm and swept from his presence with a rather
withering expression in his face, and that very evening saw Alice in
the train for Delhi, _en route_ to Europe.
'Innocent, I suffer all the shame and all the agony of guilt! Oh, it
is hard, Duncan--very, very hard,' were the last words she said,
brokenly, to her husband, who heard her with a stern silence that
astonished her.
Now that Lady Batardeau, on her return to the cantonments, had
explained the whole story of the ring, Duncan was--when too late, for
his wife was on the sea--full of shame and contrition for his
suspicions and severity, and had written to crave the pardon of Alice
and insure her return to him again; hence the farewell and departure
of 'Mrs. Cameron,' with her overlands and other baggage, as witnessed
by the sharp little eyes of Sir Paget Puddicombe at the Waverley
Station, and thus it was that, by an unexplained mistake, two fond
hearts were separated for ever; but separated they would have been
eventually by fate or fortune--the lack of fortune, rather--as time
may show.
But for a time poor Eveline had to ponder bitterly on the humiliating
thought that Evan Cameron had been thinking of _another_ face, form,
and name while in the act of caressing herself, and that the other
was--as Sir Paget had left them no reason to doubt, and never himself
doubted--Evan Cameron's wife!