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BANKED FIRES
by
E. W. SAVI
Author of "The Daughter-in-Law," "Sinners All," Etc.
_"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above
rubies."_--Proverbs xxxi., 10.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1919
Copyright, 1919
by
E. W. Savi
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
To
MY SISTER, A. B. B.
IN LOVING APPRECIATION OF HER INTEREST
AND HELP
CONTENTS
I.--The Lonely Encampment
II.--Mainly Retrospective
III.--The Civil Surgeon
IV.--A Point of View
V.--What Can't be Cured
VI.--The Leading Lady
VII.--An Anxious Experience
VIII.--The Dinner-Party
IX.--A Moment of Relaxation
X.--The Mission
XI.--A Sunday Observance
XII.--Infatuation
XIII.--Vanished
XIV.--The Indiscretion
XV.--The Aftermath
XVI.--Cornered
XVII.--Breaking Bounds
XVIII.--Secret Joys
XIX.--The Deluge
XX.--The "Ideal"
XXI.--The Real Thing
XXII.--A Desperate Resort
XXIII.--Temporisings
XXIV.--Suspense
XXV.--The Meeting
XXVI.--The Fair
XXVII.--A Difficult Task
XXVIII.--The Atonement
Epilogue: All's Well
BANKED FIRES
CHAPTER I
THE LONELY ENCAMPMENT
An autumn evening in Bengal was rapidly drawing to a close, with a brief
afterglow from a vanished sun to soften the rich hues of the tropical
foliage, and garb it fittingly for approaching night. The grass beside
the Government tents showed grey in the gathering dusk, while a blue
haze of smoke, creeping upward, gently veiled the sheltering trees. But
for the modulated chatter of servants, the stillness was eerie. The
flat, low-lying fields, having yielded their corn to the harvester, were
barren and without sign of life, for the cultivators had departed to
their homesteads, and the roving cattle were housed.
Far in the misty distance were the huts of the peasantry grouped
together, with their granaries, haystacks, and pens; their date-palms,
and the inevitable tank illustrating the typical Bengal
village--picturesque and insanitary; too far for noxious smells to annoy
the senses, or the intermittent beating of the nocturnal "tom-tom" to
affect the nerves of the Magistrate and Collector during the writing of
his judgments and reports.
The spot for the encampment had been well chosen by the blue-turbaned
_chaukidar_--the sturdy watchman of the village--who was experienced in
the ways of touring officials; for even such a little matter as a site
for pitching the tents of the _hakim_,[1] had its influence for good or
ill; and what might not be the effect of a good influence on the temper
of a lawgiver?
[Footnote 1: Magistrate.]
This one, especially, instilled the fear of God and of the British, into
his servants and underlings in spite of his sportsmanship and
generosity, for he had a great understanding of native character and,
like a wizard, could, in the twinkling of an eye, dissect the mind and
betray the soul of a false witness! None could look him in the face and
persist in falsehood. He was a just man, and courageous; and when roused
to wrath, both fierce and fluent. But the diplomatic domestic and
cautious coolie, alike, respect justice and fearlessness, determination,
and a high hand.
Servants, engaged in culinary duties before open fire-places, gossiped
in lowered tones of standing grievances: It was like the exactness of
the Great to require a five-course dinner, served with due attention to
refinement and etiquette in untoward circumstances, such as an
improvised cooking-range of clay and bricks, a hurried collection of
twigs, some charcoal, and every convenience conspicuous by its absence!
And what a village to rely upon!--no shops; only a weekly market with
nothing suitable to the wants of white men fastidious and difficult to
please.
Yet, the day that sahibs condescend to study the convenience of their
Indian domestics, the prestige of the British Raj will be at an end.
"Ho! _Khansaman-jee_!" cried an agitated voice in Hindustani. "With a
little clemency, look quickly in the rubbish heap for the pepper pot.
The _masalchi_,[2] out of the perversity of his youthfulness, has lost
that and every other ingredient for the flavouring of the soup; and now,
what can I do? Of a truth, this night will the Sahib give me much abuse
for that which is no fault of mine. I shall twist the idle one's ear the
moment he returns with firewood from the jungle, just to stimulate his
mind and teach him carefulness."
[Footnote 2: Scullion.]
The _khansaman_[3] uncoiled his legs and rose from the ground where he
had been peeling potatoes at his leisure with a table knife, and
proceeded to do as he was bid. He was of an obliging nature and could be
relied upon to perform odd jobs not strictly his duty, so long as they
did not establish a precedent.
[Footnote 3: Butler.]
After some diligent searching among loose charcoal, dried twigs, kitchen
rags, utensils, and vegetable parings, a rusty tin box was discovered
and handed to the cook. Old Abdul grunted approval of his own
intelligence, and after liberally sprinkling the soup with pepper from
between a dirty finger and thumb, he wiped both, casually, in the folds
of his loin-cloth.
Altogether, the task of preparing dinner in camp was no mean effort. The
business of the moment was to produce a clear soup with its artistic
garniture of sliced carrots and turnips; to be followed by tank fish
captured that afternoon from the property of a local Hindu landowner
and, in the serving, robbed of its earthly flavour by a miracle of
savoury dressing. Considering the lapses of the mate-boy's memory, this
was a marvel of achievement. Next, the _entree_ of devilled goat (called
by courtesy, mutton) was also a difficulty; nevertheless with a lavish
addition of mango chutney, it was on its way to completion. The "chicken
roast" was a tolerable certainty in a deep vessel where it baked in its
own juices, stuffed with onions, cloves, and rice. But the
pudding--alas! black despair, invisible owing to natural pigment, was in
possession of Abdul's soul. What to do, he grumbled, but to serve, in
fear and trembling, that abomination of sahibs, a "custul-bile" (boiled
custard), since every possible ingredient for a respectable pudding had
been left behind at the last Rest Bungalow! What the master would say,
might well be imagined, for these were not the easy-going days of his
bachelorhood, when such makeshifts, varied with "custul-bake," could be
imposed upon him with the regularity of the calendar; for, after a
successful day's _shikar_, with a tiger spread at full length on the
grass before the tent for the benefit of an admiring semicircle of
enthusiastic villagers, the quality of a meal used to be a secondary
consideration.
Well--what use to repine? Even a cook must sometimes be excused, since
he was not God to create something out of nothing. Peradventure, the
timely indisposition of the babe within the tent would offer
distraction. In the interludes of stirring the pots and declaiming
against fate and the misdemeanours of the _masalchi_, the cook soothed
his ruffled spirits with a pull at his beloved _hukha_.
Yes, the Sahib was married, worse luck! and lived, above all, to please
his Memsahib who, to him, was the sun, moon, and stars; the light of the
world. And she?--of a sort wholly unsuited to the conditions of his
life; a flower plucked to wither in a furnace-blast. The rough soil of
the country was no place for a delicate plant; and such was also
apparent in the case of her infant. Since its arrival from the hills
where it was born, it daily faded as though a blight had descended upon
its vitality; and now it was stricken with a fever.
Devil take sahibs for their folly! This one had been content enough as a
bachelor, hunting and shooting in his spare time, and consorting with
his kind where games were played to pass the time away; what-for did he
allow himself to be shackled thus during his visit to _Belait_? It
passed understanding; for there were many _Miss Babas_ in the country,
already acclimatised, from among whom he might have selected a suitable
wife; one who could at least have made herself intelligible to his
servants in their own language, instead of this one who created endless
confusion by non-comprehension. But no! he had been unable to stand the
allurements of her person. The rounded outlines of her slender form and
the bloom on her flawless cheek had enslaved him, depriving him of the
power to resist. Truly she was good to look upon, as every masculine eye
betrayed by its open homage.
In all the annals of the District, never had there been a more
picturesque creature than this girl-wife, with her hair like ripe corn
and eyes like full-blown flowers of heavenly blue. Even the servants in
gazing on their wonder forgot to heed the orders she delivered through
the ayah, whose linguistic powers commanded the respect of the entire
establishment.
The subject of the little lady from _Belait_ was a favourite theme of
conversation when domestics congregated in the region of the kitchen to
gossip and smoke, and criticism was condescending and tolerant because
of her good looks, which made their inevitable appeal. But opinion was
agreed that no longer was Meredith Sahib the same man. Henceforth, if
they would keep their situations, they must satisfy his lady. Her little
hand would point the way he must in future tread.
And he, the respected Magistrate and Collector, representative of the
Government in the District--a sahib whose word had authority over
thousands on the land, and before whom all delinquents trembled!
Such was the influence of beauty!
According to the words of a local poet who sang his verses in the
Muktiarbad bazaar to an accompaniment of tom-tomming:
_A beautiful wife is as wine in the head to her husband; as wax is
in the palm of her hand.
His wisdom cometh to naught in his dwelling; his will is bartered
for the things in her gift.
Beguiled is he by the words of her mouth, and he taketh only the way
that will please her.
Bereft is he of his power to govern, yet happy is he in the bonds of
enslavement._
And these did he compose out of the rumours current in the market-place
respecting Meredith Sahib and the Memsahib he had taken to wife. _Yah,
Khodah!_ the white race were amazingly simple!
The sound of an infant's distressed wail broke the calm of the
descending gloom. Voices within the tent conferred together in agitated
whispers. There was a call for hot water, and in a moment the Madrassi
ayah rushed forth for the steaming kettle which was boiling for scullery
needs, and carried it off without a question. The waterman, clad only in
a loin-cloth, hurried round to the bath tent, and a diminutive, tin
bath-tub was extracted. Apparently the child was to be immersed.
"What has happened?" called the Sahib's body servant, the _bearer_, who
was the major-domo of the camp. But the waterman, fully appreciative of
his temporary importance, refused to reply as he disappeared from view.
"Ice--ice!" the lady cried dashing through the bamboo chick and almost
tearing it from its fastenings. "Give me ice quickly." She looked
haggard and distracted. Dark circles ringed her eyes; her sleeves rolled
above the elbows revealed rounded arms from which water dripped; her
skirt was splashed; her blouse and hair were in disarray.
"There is none, _huzur_," said the _bearer_ in Hindustani. "Hourly is it
expected from Muktiarbad, but as yet it is not in sight."
"What is he saying?" she cried vaguely in her distress, refusing to
believe that there was none, which the corroborating action of a hand
had implied.
"No ice got it, Memsahib," volunteered the _khansaman_ in his best
English, learned from a teacher in the Station bazaar. "All
finish--melting fast--making saw-dust one porridge."
"No ice?--my God! My child will die if I cannot have ice." She
disappeared within the tent, wringing her hands, leaving the servants to
hold council together on what was the best course to pursue.
"Without doubt the little one is in a fit," ventured the cook. "Such is
sometimes the case when the teeth press their way through the gums."
"What folly," sneered the _khansaman_, "when the infant is barely three
months old!"
"Without doubt it is a fit," the cook repeated, "else why the hot bath?
Such is the treatment the doctor-_babu_ ordered for the son of Amir
Khan, my relative in Benares when, from fever, his eyes fixed and his
limbs grew rigid."
"Thou speakest true words," said the waterman approaching the group in
visible excitement. "To see the limbs twisting and the eyes strained
upward turns my stomach. Assuredly it will die--and the master
away!--_ai ma!_--what a calamity!"
"It will die, and we shall all be blamed because there was no ice,"
sighed the _bearer_ feeling the weight of his responsibility.
"God send that he be even now returning," prayed the _khansaman_
devoutly. "The sun has long set, and any moment he may be here, for who
can shoot a leopard in the dark?"
"Tell Hosain to drive the _hawa-ghari_[4] quickly to the Station for the
doctor and the ice. If he meet not the ice cart on the road, let him
borrow all they will lend him at the houses of the sahibs," said the
cook. "_Jhut!_--lose no time. In these illnesses the life of a child is
as the flicker of a candle. A breath, and it is out; and once dead, who
can restore it to life again?"
[Footnote 4: Motor-car.]
Servants ran to do his bidding while he returned to his pots and pans,
anxious lest the roast should burn at the bottom of the pan, and the
soup boil over.
"For what dost thou concern thyself?" jeered an old watchman who stood a
spectator of the scene. "All that thou cookest will be given to the
sweeper's family. Who will eat of thy cooking tonight when the child is
like to die?"
"Not the sweeper and his family, _bhai_,[5] but we of the kitchen shall
have a feast, have no fears." "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good,"
was the essence of the cook's philosophy, and since there was no
swine-flesh in the menu, there was no reason why Mohammedans should not
enjoy the repast he was cooking for the Sahib's table. It was a
dispensation of Providence that had not made him at birth a Hindu like
the watchman, who took pride in the exclusiveness of his caste, yet
feasted on the sly, on things forbidden.
[Footnote 5: Brother.]
Inside the tent the lady and the ayah together ministered to the small
sufferer lying in the warm bath. The sympathetic servant supported the
light body which had relaxed its rigidity, while the mother bathed the
brows and head with cold water.
"He is better, ayah, don't you think?" asked Mrs. Meredith, dependent on
the woman's superior knowledge.
"Plenty better, Ma'am. Heaven is merciful."
"Or do you think he is dying? Don't lie to me."
"He not dying, oh, no! See that black round his mouth?--now fast going.
This is what they call _bahose_."
"Thank God if it's only that. Children recover from fainting fits, don't
they? Oh, ayah, I could not bear to lose my baby!" she cried in choked
accents.
"Say not like that. Got is goot and the baba will live. Now take out of
the water, dry, and keep head cool," said the woman whose experience in
the management of infants had gained her her present post at some
considerable advantage to herself.
They placed the limp form, when dried, on the cool sheets in its crib
and hung upon its every breath.
"Barnes-_mem_ saying, when bad with fever, lap plenty hot place, bed
goot," the ayah remarked; "Barnes-_mem_," a former mistress, being a
standard reference in nursery difficulties.
"Had she many children?"
"Children? My lort! Every year a child. She was plenty blest. One child
for every finger, and a grand-child older than her last. Master, he
shake his head and say, 'Damn-damn,' but Barnes-_mem_, she say, 'Let
come; the Lort will provide.'"
"Were they all brought up in India?"
"In Calcutta they were born and grew up; no Darjeeling _pahar_;[6] no
Munsuri _pahar_! All living; all plenty strong."
[Footnote 6: Mountains.]
"Yet most children cannot thrive out here--English, I mean."
"English Memsahib making much fuss, like there is no Got Almighty.
Everywhere there is sickness, also in _pahar_."
Mrs. Meredith shivered at the cold consolation. After a short interval
spent in anxious suspense, a clatter of hoofs announced the return of
the Sahib. Raymond Meredith galloped into the camp and flinging his
reins to a _saice_, leaped to the ground. A messenger had met him on the
road with the disturbing news of his infant's bad turn. In another
moment he was beside his wife, eagerly sympathetic and anxious to
comfort her.
At any other time she would have received him affectionately upon his
return from a long day's outing, and he marked the change, excusing it
on the plea of anxiety and distraction.
"This is very sudden, darling," he said in lowered tones, placing his
arms tenderly about her. "How did it happen?"
His wife explained emotionally. "Baby was feverish when you left. You
remember, perhaps, that I was worried and did not like being left
alone?" she concluded resentfully, her eyes refusing to meet his.
"He seemed a bit out of sorts, but nothing to alarm one," her husband
allowed in self-defence. "You know, sweetheart, you are often needlessly
anxious." He would have kissed her to soften the reproach, but she
turned her face aside. "Anyhow, I had to go, you know that? The leopard
had done enough damage in the village and was a danger to human life. An
infant had been carried off from the doorway of its dwelling the moment
its mother's back was turned. I simply had to hunt and shoot the beast,
or let the people think I funked it. I managed to bag it in the end, but
the fellow gave us a devil of a time," he continued, warming to his
subject. "Had it not been for the pluck of the _chaukidar_, I might
never have returned at all--" He waited for some evidence of concern.
"He's a fine sportsman," he went on, though disappointed at her lack of
interest. "With only a stout stick in his hand, he--" his voice trailed
away as he became convinced that he was talking to an inattentive mind.
"Don't worry, I'll send post-haste for Dalton. He'll be here before
morning."
"Anything might happen before morning," she cried brokenly.
"You mustn't be so pessimistic."
"The car was sent for the doctor when Baby was in convulsions," she said
coldly. "It was terrible not having you here to advise. I have been
desperate, and you--" a sob--"you were enjoying yourself in the
jungles." She had not an atom of sympathy for the sport.
"Surely you are not blaming me?" he cried deprecatingly, afraid that he
had injured himself for ever in her sight.
"It is not a question of blame; you have failed me, that is all."
"That's a cruel thing to say, dearest!" he cried kissing her
unresponsive lips at last, in the hopes of melting her hardness. "It is
only that you are in a mood to be unjust, that you say so. You know I am
happiest with you."
"This is a cruel country which I shall hate to the end of my days," she
returned miserably. "It is trying at every turn to rob me of my little
baby."
Meredith winced almost as though he had been struck. It was not the
first time that she had expressed disgust for her life in India, which
gave them their living, and every time her words gained in feeling.
Early in the summer he had sent her to the hills because of an episode
with a snake that had unnerved her and imperilled her condition as an
expectant mother. He had not forgotten that her first arrival at the
Station had synchronised with an outbreak of cholera, so virulent, that
half the community of Europeans among whom she was to live were
demoralised. It was a crying shame that Life should be so perverse. He
yearned for her to settle down and take kindly to Station ways and
doings, but fate eternally intervened. Muktiarbad was a merry little
station, full of friendly souls eager to accept the youthful bride as a
social leader for her husband's sake, he being the most popular of men.
Meredith was aware of his own popularity and enjoyed it as a
healthy-minded individual usually does when success has crowned his
efforts to govern a large District with sympathy and tact. But already
the young wife and mother was pining for "home," and was declaring that
the India he loved was a "cruel country," which she would hate to the
end of her days. How should he be able to pin her down to his side in a
land she detested and feared? She was too young and uninformed to
appreciate his position in the Government and her possibilities as a
_Bara Memsahib_; and too delicately nurtured to endure the rough and
tumble of life far from towns and cities, where money could not buy
immunity from inconvenience and climatic ills.
He had expected, as many another husband of a very young wife, to mould
her ideas to fit his own; instead, his peace of mind was being steadily
whittled away.
"There is not even any ice to be had in this God-forsaken spot!" his
wife's voice was saying helplessly.
"Damnation!" he swore under his breath, enraged that the servants should
have supplied him at the cost of the child; for he recalled the very
acceptable iced beer he had drunk in the jungles after a dangerous
exploit that had exhausted his energies and reduced him to a perspiring
rag of humanity, even though it was autumn.
The urgent need to find a scapegoat to suffer for this miserable muddle
sent him outside with a stride and malignant intentions at heart. Never
again while he toured with his family would he drink iced stimulants,
however damnably hot it was in the sun.
"What can I say?" whined the _bearer_ in indignant sympathy, cleverly
averting the storm he saw ready to descend on the head of the guilty.
"Such unusual heat for this time of the year, and that swine, the
carter, who is now many miles distant, left the ice-box on the sunny
side of the tent! Without sense is he, and possessed of a mind equal
only to that of a sheep. So much shade to be had, yet of a perversity
must he commit this brainless act! What can I do? Had this pair of hands
not been incessantly occupied in performing urgent tasks for the comfort
of the Memsahib, I might have cast eyes on the packing-case earlier, and
myself have removed it to safety. But alas! how much can one poor
servant do among so many who are idle and indifferent? So there it lay
out of sight and the water running freely through the joins till there
was one tank, and my bedding beside it, floating! Tonight I am without
bedding, but what of that? With the child ill, will any one care to
sleep?" He cast a triumphant eye around on a semicircle of admiring
fellow-servants who were envying him his resourcefulness and powers of
invention.
"Who sent ice with me into the jungles?" Meredith asked fiercely.
"Who, indeed, Image-of-God? Such an act of folly while the tender babe
lay sick is not to be forgiven. Peradventure, it was the mate-boy of the
cook who is of an imbecility past understanding, owing to his extreme
youth. Not even the intellect of a cow has he. _Urre bap!_ Did he not
leave at the Rest Bungalow----"
"Be silent, you talk too much," said Meredith. "Go and chastise him for
his interference. If I strike him I shall break every bone in his body.
Never again let ice be sent anywhere with me if it is likely to run
short at the camp, remember that," he said, impressing the fact on the
_bearer_, as he knew full well that, in the native mind, very little
importance is attached to a woman's needs in comparison with her
lord's,--the superiority of the masculine sex being unchallenged. When
ice travelled by rail some hundreds of miles three times a week to
Muktiarbad, it invariably fell short when the servants were careless or
assisted to make it vanish. Every silent witness of the colloquy knew
that the Sahib's _bearer_ considered an iced whisky-and-soda his
perquisite at the close of a strenuous day, and would continue to have
it as long as ice came from Calcutta for the alleviation of sufferers
from the climate.
"Buck up, darling," said Meredith comfortingly, "you'll have the doctor
here in no time. Dalton is a clever fellow and prompt. They say he will
make a name for himself some day, he's such an able physician and
surgeon. What he doesn't understand concerning the ills that flesh is
heir to is not worth knowing, so we are jolly lucky to have him in such
a potty little station as ours. What got him sent here is a mystery;
usually we get fossils of the Uncovenanted service at Muktiarbad,
whereas Dalton is--" "Sorry," interrupting himself as his wife put her
hands to her head. "You've a headache, sweetheart, and it's not to be
wondered at."
"Is there nothing you can suggest for Baby in the meantime?" she
questioned.
"I shouldn't like to experiment, knowing nothing of kids--infants, I
mean," he replied with irritating cheerfulness. "Had it been a horse or
a dog"--he discreetly ceased and made tender love to her instead, for
his darling girl was sobbing piteously. "Don't worry," he advised with
masculine lack of understanding of maternal feelings, "babies are
marvellous creatures; like sponges, my dear. Squeeze them dry and they
swell out again. See how the youngsters swarm in the bazaars and
villages. Nothing seems to kill them," he asserted ignorantly. "They get
over almost any illness without a hundredth part of the care you lavish
on our little scallywag. Keep his head cool and you'll see, he'll be as
right as rain in the morning."
"Cool without ice!" she said witheringly.
"Cold water on the head with a dash of vinegar in it will do to carry
along with till the ice comes."
Somehow he was less concerned with the child's case than his wife's. Her
distress, the added reason for her abhorrence of India, cut him to the
heart and made him a coward of consequences. It was the child, that
insignificant atom of indefinite humanity, that had intruded itself
between them and was daily usurping his place in his wife's thoughts. At
first he had been fool enough to imagine that it was going to be the
link that would bind them closer together, instead of which it was the
wedge that was surely driving them asunder. For its sake she was ready
to put the seas and continents between them, and treat him as if he were
of secondary importance in her life--the being who had to provide the
wherewithal on which the human idol might be suitably reared. His own
personal need of her was viewed as masculine self-indulgence and lack of
spirituality.
"I don't think you half realise what a wonderful thing has happened,"
she had once said in the midst of her baby-worship. "Here is a miracle
straight from God. A man-child who, if properly cared for, will become a
useful citizen of the Empire; and he is my VERY OWN--yours, too," she
condescended to add with her exquisite smile.
"But where do I come in? I, who am already a useful citizen of the
Empire?" he had delicately insinuated. "With due regard to nature and
the multiplication table----"
She had considered him coarse and had refused to smile. The matter of a
family was entirely in God's hands and not to be treated with levity. He
could have added a rider to that, but refrained; she was only a little
girl of nineteen lacking the logical sense in the usual, adorable,
feminine way. He was not hankering considerably after a family in the
plural sense when in imagination he could see an intensification of the
present situation which was forcing him into the background of domestic
life. The baby, waking and sleeping, and all its multifarious concerns
occupied its mother's time to the exclusion of all else, and it was no
wonder that the father was feeling injured and a trifle lonely.
Yet, in her childish way, she was fond of him, while unconsciously
learning from him that, after all, men were truly long-suffering and
unselfish creatures, patient, and forgiving.
So he possessed his soul in patience, never tired of recalling the
supreme episode of their married life, when, after the birth of their
son, she had embraced him with a new affection, spontaneous and sincere.
She had been so utterly ill that for a day and a night her life had hung
in the balance, while he, like a maniac, had paced the footpath in mist
and rain, praying as he had never prayed before for her restoration. It
was in Darjeeling where he had gone hurriedly on receipt of a telegram,
and never should he forget the anxieties of that journey. He had been
ready to register any vow under the sun that he might ensure her
recovery; and when he had crept with broken nerve and sobbing breath to
her bedside, she had clung to his neck with blessed demonstrativeness
kissing him of her own accord on the lips. Generally, he had kissed her.
"You love me still, my precious?" he had asked fearfully. Mark the
"still," for by her agony he was ready to believe he had forfeited the
right to her love.
"Aren't you my baby's Daddy?" she had replied happily with shining eyes
and quivering mouth. "Of course I shall love you better now than ever."
She loved him only through the child! However, Meredith did not quarrel
with the process, so long as the fact was full of promise. It had always
been a calm and unemotional affection, not in the least of the quality
he craved, but his love and patience were equal to the demand made upon
them, his mind having realised the unawakened condition of hers. "All
things come to those who know how to wait," and he was learning
patience, for his life was wrapped up in the person of his girl-wife.
She was so infinitely lovable even when least comprehending his man's
nature and holding herself aloof. Again, her charm was indescribable
when, with adorable grace, she offered compensation, sorry for her
uncomprehending selfishness; and he eternally rejoiced that, by the law
of marriage, she was irrevocably his till death should them part, a
bondage which he endeavoured to make her Eden, as it was his.