THE MISSION
Life at a small station like Muktiarbad would have been a dull affair
for any young girl not constituted like Honor Bright. Being endowed with
plenty of common sense and sincerity of purpose, she found a great deal
to occupy her in her restricted circle by throwing herself into the
business of the moment, heart and soul. If it were an early morning
ride, she enjoyed every yard of it, and all there was to see and do.
Even the flat countryside with its endless fields of paddy and mustard
were good to view because Muktiarbad was "home" to her.
"Define the word 'home,'" she was once asked when very young. "Where
Mother is," was her ready reply. "Where Love is," would be her later and
more comprehensive amendment.
When she played tennis she played to win, and her enthusiasm infected
others, till the game was worth the energy, however great the heat. If
house-duties were imposed on her, they were accomplished thoroughly and
cheerfully. Honor striding across the back-yard to examine the horses in
their stalls, the condition of their bedding, and to see them fed; or to
inspect the chicken run; or visiting the kitchen to view pots and pans
which were arranged at a particular hour, bottom up, in a row, to prove
how perfectly aluminium could be made to shine, was a refreshing sight;
and the grace of her gait, the freedom of her movements, and the
brightness of her looks, brought sunshine to hearts on the darkest days.
In spite of Mrs. Bright's confidence in her faithful Kareem Majid, she
never neglected to supervise those details of housekeeping in India that
make all the difference between sickness and health, economy and
extravagance. "For, however wonderful the dear servants are, they do
want watching," she would explain to inquiring friends. "You simply have
to see what they are up to, or run terrible risks of microbes in the
kitchen, horses falling ill, and eggs getting beautifully less. They are
without the remotest idea of sanitation for man or beast, and revel in
dirt if you let them, poor things! And honesty is not their strong
point; they have to be checked on all accounts, or they will sell
vegetables from your kitchen garden to your neighbours who have none; or
sell you your own hens' eggs, and do heaps of other iniquitous things
you could hardly dream of!" So Honor was carefully instructed in the
ways of housekeeping from the moment of her return to the East, and was
an able lieutenant to her mother.
"Besides, it is only right and proper, since, one of these days you will
have a house of your own and ought to know how to run it, or I pity the
unfortunate man you marry!" Mrs. Bright remarked when introducing her
daughter to further mysteries in the art of housekeeping. "Which puts me
in mind of Tommy Deare," she continued, eyeing Honor gravely. "What do
you mean to do with him?"
"I don't mean to do anything with him," laughed the girl.
"You know he is in love with you--any one can see that."
"I know, because he won't let me forget it," Honor said ruefully.
"Yet you are often about with him, riding and playing tennis--is it fair
to fan his hopes?"
"He knows perfectly how I feel towards him. Short of putting him in
Coventry I can do nothing less than I am doing."
"But the worst of it is that he keeps others off!" Mrs. Bright
exclaimed. "There's Jack Darling who lives with him--such a nice boy and
a very excellent suitor from every point of view----"
"He is not a suitor, by any means," interrupted her daughter.
"He might have been if his friend were not over head and ears in love
with you!"
"I should not have encouraged him. Jack does not appeal to me. He is
very dear and charming, but not the sort of man I should lose my heart
to. He is weak--and I love strength."
"But, dear, surely you are not favouring Tommy?--he will never be
anything great in our Service. You have the example of your own father
who has come to the end of his prospects on an income that would have
been hopelessly inadequate had there been boys to educate and start in
life! That's what our Service is worth! While Jack--!" words failed her
to express her estimation of the Indian Civil Service of which Jack was
a promising member.
"But dear Mother, I am not going to marry a Service!" laughed Honor.
"When I fall in love with a Man it won't much matter what job he is in,
or what prospects he has. And if he is in love with me, and wants me,
why"--she left the obvious conclusion to her mother's imagination. "But
rest assured, whoever he may be, he will never be Tommy!" she added by
way of consolation.
The morning after the dinner-party was typical of late October in the
plains of Bengal, with its dewy freshness of atmosphere and a nip in the
north wind that was an earnest of approaching winter--if the season of
cold weather might be so termed, when fires were never a necessity, and
frost was rare. It was, however, a time of pleasant drought when the
state of the weather could be depended upon for weeks ahead, with blue
skies, a kinder sun, and dead leaves carpeting the earth without
denuding the trees of their wealth of foliage.
Outside the Bara Koti a light haze was visible through the branches of
the trees, lying like a thin veil on the distant horizon; and, overhead,
light fleecy clouds drifted imperceptibly across the blue sky. It was
the hour popularly believed to be the best in the twenty-four, which
accounted for Mrs. Meredith's ayah wheeling the baby through the dusty
lanes, in a magnificent perambulator, "to eat the air."
"_Hawa khane_," translated Honor Bright critically, as she drew rein and
moved her pony aside to make way. She was riding, in company with Tommy
Deare, to Sombari that she might learn the latest news of Elsie Meek, a
girl of her own age and one for whom she had much sympathy. Elsie had
been undergoing the training necessary to fit her for becoming a
missionary, irrespective of her talents in other directions; and Honor
had often thought of her with sympathy. But Mr. Meek had his own ideas
respecting his daughter's career, and Mrs. Meek had long since ceased to
voice her own. "_Hawa khane!_--how queerly the natives express
themselves!" Her remark had followed the ayah's explanation of her
appearance with the child. "Mother says it is a mistake for delicate
children to be out before sunrise to 'eat the air.'"
"Eat microbes, I should suggest," corrected Tommy. "A case of 'The Early
Babe catches the Germ.'"
"How smart of you!--how do you do it so early in the morning?"
"Inherent wit," said Tommy complacently. "You press a button and out
comes an epigram, or something brilliant."
"You've missed your vocation, it seems. I am sure you might have made a
fortune as another George Robey!"
While Tommy affected to collapse under the lash of her satire, she leapt
from the saddle to imprint a kiss on the rose-leaf skin of the infant's
cheek. "What a perfect doll it is--did any one see any thing half so
adorable!"
"It seems to me like all other babies," Tommy remarked indifferently.
"When it isn't asleep it is bawling; when it isn't bawling it's asleep.
I have yet to understand why a girl can never pass a pram without
stopping to kiss the baby in it!" Nevertheless, he thought it a pleasing
habit with which he was not inclined to quarrel, but for the delay it
occasioned in the ride.
"I would like you to tell Mrs. Meredith that the Squawk is like all
other babies in the world and hear what she has to say!" Honor said
indignantly. "This one is angelic!"
Tommy dismounted with the air of a martyr and peered at the bundle
containing a human atom almost smothered in silk and laces. "Hallo! its
eyes are actually open! It is the first time I have seen the miracle.
Peep-bo!" he squeaked, bobbing his head at the apparition and crooking a
finger up and down a few inches from the infant's nose.
"Tommy, you are a silly!" Honor exploded with laughter. "As if it can
understand. You might be a tree for all it knows!"
"Then all I can say is, I have no use for kids until they develop some
intellect." He assisted her to remount and they continued their way to
Sombari. Soon, the last of the bungalows was left behind and they were
cantering side by side along the main road which divided paddy fields
still containing stagnant rain water and the decaying stalks of the
harvested corn. At intervals on the road pipal trees afforded shelter to
travellers by the wayside. In the distance, across rough country
overgrown with scrub and coarse, thatching grass, could be seen the
minarets of an ancient ruin--Muktiarbad's one and only show-place for
sightseers--too familiar to the inhabitants to excite even passing
notice.
In the meantime Honor soliloquised aloud--"I do so wish we could get
Mrs. Meredith more reconciled to India," she sighed. "She has only one
point of view at present, and that is a mother's. If she could only be
made to see her husband's point of view and realise also her duties as a
wife, she would be perfect, for Joyce Meredith is very lovable and good.
I never knew any one so pretty and so free from personal vanity. But she
is too sure of her husband. Too certain that he will go on worshipping
her no matter what she does or how she treats him; and, after all, I
suppose even love can die for want of sustenance. It seems to me she
gives all she has to give to the baby, and her husband is left to pick
up the crumbs that fall from her table!"
"It will end as all such marriages end," said Tommy. "She is only half
awake to life, and too pretty for every-day use. Meredith should awaken
her by flirting with Mrs. Fox; otherwise someone else will do it by
flirting with his wife. I wouldn't put it beyond the doctor."
Honor stiffened visibly. "Why do you say that?" she asked coldly.
"Well, he is given every opportunity. Last night, for instance, on our
way home from your place, Smart and I saw his motor in the avenue of the
Bara Koti. It was under the trees with a shaft of moonlight full on the
steering wheel. If he had wanted to make it invisible, he ought to have
reckoned on the hour and the moon. We thought he had gone to Sombari,
but he was singing to Mrs. Meredith."
"Is that true?" Honor asked in low tones of pained surprise.
"We both pulled up outside the cactus hedge till the song was finished.
He was singing _Temple Bells_!"
So he had not gone to Sombari after all! It had only been an excuse for
him to get away from the party. He was evidently not above lying,
and--Joyce Meredith was so beautiful!
And Joyce had been alone!
Honor flushed hot and cold with sudden emotion which she could hardly
understand because it was so new to her: passionate resentment towards
Joyce Meredith for the impropriety of receiving a visit from Captain
Dalton at that late hour. Her position as a married woman did not cover
such indiscretion. How would Ray Meredith feel if he heard that his
adored wife was entertaining the doctor at midnight, and alone? It
sounded abominable, even if innocent in intention.
It was not right! it was _not_ right!...
At the same moment, pride rose in arms to crush her resentment. What
business was it of hers what Joyce Meredith did, or Captain Dalton,
either? They were not answerable to her for their conduct--or
misconduct....
Captain Dalton might please himself as far as she was concerned. He was
hardly a friend. Why should she be so deeply affected by his acts? Yet
her heart was wrung with pain at the mere thought that he had spent the
rest of the evening entertaining Joyce Meredith who was as beautiful and
as foolish as a little child. Any man might be excused for losing his
head when treated to her innocent familiarities.
They were innocent. Of that she was sure, for Joyce coquetted with
either sex impartially and unconsciously.
All through her silent brooding Tommy talked incessantly. He had passed
from the subject of the doctor and Joyce Meredith to Bobby Smart who had
obtained a transfer to a distant station on the railway, and was
rejoiced that he would soon see the last of Mrs. Fox with whom he was
"fed up."
"I don't admire him for talking about her, or you for listening," said
Honor, paying scant attention to the subject of Bobby Smart.
"I didn't. I had to shut him up rather rudely; but Bobby is
thick-skinned and, like some fellows one meets, a dangerous gossip, and
the last man a woman should trust."
"I wonder much why women are so blind. They are fools to care for, or
trust men," Honor said gloomily, and looking depressed.
"You must never say things like that to me," Tommy blurted out,
offended. "You must discriminate between those who are honest and those
who are the other thing. You might trust me with your life--and
more----"
"I dare say all you men say that!"
"And all don't mean it as I do. _I_ am discriminating; consequently,
there is only one girl in the world for me...." He choked unable to
proceed, and looked the rest into her clear eyes.
"Don't, Tommy!--this is why I hesitate to come out with you," she said,
looking annoyed.
"I can't help caring for you," he answered defiantly. "It's an
unalterable fact, and you may as well face it. I have cared ever since
school-days. It has been my one hope that you too would care--in the
same way."
"And I have tried to show you in a hundred ways that it is of no use,"
she said kindly. "Can't you be content to be--just pals?"
"No. So long as you remain unmarried I shall keep on hoping."
"And I cannot do more than tell you it is of no earthly use." She
avoided looking at him again for the knowledge that his face betrayed
the depth of his disappointment. "Perhaps it would be better if we gave
up riding and tennis together, and you tried to take up some other
interest?" she suggested.
But Tommy laughed unboyishly with a cracked sound in his throat. "I
won't say anything more about it, if it annoys you, Honey, but don't for
God's sake give me the push. I'm coming to the Club just the same for
tennis with you, and shall call to take you out riding when I may--like
this. You need not worry about what I have said. I dare say I'll get
along--somehow ... so long as you are not keen on someone else," he
added. It seemed he would never be able to stand that!
"I am not keen on--any one else," she said, lifting her head with a
resolute air. "But I do want you to know that I am not the marrying
sort. I love the idea of being an old maid and having crowds of
friends--and perhaps a special pal--that's you, if you like, old boy,"
she added graciously holding out her hand which he gripped with energy.
"So that's all right, eh?"
While he made the expected reply, which was naturally insincere,
considering the state of his sore heart, both observed a cloud of dust
moving rapidly towards them which quickly resolved itself into a rider
galloping at full speed.
When he was nearer his pace slackened from exhaustion, and Honor
recognized one of the pastors of the Mission, an Eurasian, his face pale
and stricken and dripping with sweat.
A chill of foreboding struck at her heart as she asked for news of the
sick girl, Elsie Meek.
"She is dead," came the blunt reply. "I am now on my way to the doctor
who should have seen her last night, but he never came." He rode on
without waiting to hear Tommy exclaim, "Good God!" and Honor give an
inarticulate cry of surprise and sorrow.
"I thought she was going on all right," said Tommy gravely.
"I had no idea she was so bad!" said Honor. Both had pulled up uncertain
what to do. "Poor, poor Mrs. Meek!" said Honor, thinking of the lonely
woman who struggled to live her life happily in surroundings which had
failed to prove congenial, and whose one compensation was the
companionship of her daughter,--the one being in the world she loved and
lived for. She thought of the unsympathetic husband whose Christianity
savoured of narrow prejudices and exacting codes, and she pitied the
bereaved mother from the bottom of her heart. "I feel so guilty to think
that we had the doctor to dinner last night when he might have spent
that time at Sombari!" Honor cried regretfully.
"That was for him to judge. At any rate, he need not have finished the
evening at the Bara Koti singing love-songs to Mrs. Meredith."
"Poor little Elsie!" Honor sighed, ignoring the allusion to Joyce. She
was guiltless of blame as she did not know. "Tommy, you had better
return and tell Mother. I am going straight on. There is now more reason
for my calling on Mrs. Meek."
"It will be a painful visit--can't you postpone it?"
"I would rather not. I feel someone should be with her. Mother will go
later, I know; but I must go at once."
Very reluctantly, Tommy turned his horse's head homeward, and lifting
his _topi_ in acknowledgment of her parting gesture, rode swiftly away
leaving her to continue her road to the Mission.
The settlement came into view beyond a straggling village which had
given the Mission its name, and was composed of bungalows grouped about
a wide "compound": chiefly schoolhouses of lath and plaster, with
innumerable sheds and outhouses for dormitories and technical
instruction. As Honor approached, she was conscious of a great stillness
broken only by the sound of intermittent blows of a hammer. When she
passed into the grounds through a gate in a neatly kept fence of split
bamboos, she saw through the open window of a shed, a carpenter busily
engaged on the grim task of preparing a coffin out of a deal
packing-case. In India burial follows on the heels of death with almost
indecent haste, and the sight of a rude coffin in the making, sent no
thrill of horror through the young girl. It was something to be expected
in a place where no professional assistance of that sort could be
reckoned upon in circumstances as sudden as these. Instead, a great
sadness came over her, and tears filled her eyes to overflowing, for it
was not so very long ago that Elsie Meek, a young girl like herself had
come out to India full of life and laughter, yearning to give her
energies scope, and trying for the sake of her gentle mother, to appear
contented with the meagre life afforded by her surroundings. Honor
suffered a pang of regret that she had not spared more time from her own
pleasures to help Elsie to a little happiness. She had so appreciated
visits from the Brights, and had been so keenly interested in the doings
of the Station people, with whom she was rarely allowed to associate.
What a futile life! Poor little Elsie Meek!
At the Mission bungalow where Honor dismounted, a group of missionaries
were sombrely discussing in whispers the necessary details connected
with the funeral. Mr. Meek sat apart, bowed with depression, his face
lined and haggard with grief. This was the man's world--Sombari
Settlement--the child of his creation; yet how hollow were his interests
and ambitions today!
Many years ago he had been financed by zealous Methodists and sent out
to India to establish a mission in rural Bengal. After careful search he
had chosen Sombari on the outskirts of Muktiarbad for the field of his
labours. By degrees, his untiring efforts had prospered and Sombari was
now a large community of pastors and converts, and he, himself, an
Honorary Magistrate of second-class powers, in recognition of his
influence among the people. Mr. Meek had a reputation for converting the
heathen with a Bible in one hand and a cane in the other, and his
methods were justified by the results seen in the confidence he inspired
in his followers. He was a strong man, popularly credited with being
just, if unmerciful, and was respected by the natives for miles around
as hard men are, in the East; and they rarely appealed against his
judgments.
The same spirit had ruled Mr. Meek's domestic life and had reduced his
wife and daughter to the position of appendages of the Mission. It was
nothing to him that they professed no vocation for the life; the
discipline was wholesome for unregenerate human nature which is prone to
crave for what is worldly and unprofitable. He was responsible for the
souls in his care; and he conceived it his duty to protect them
according to _his_ lights--not _theirs_. Having safeguarded them from
the snares and temptations of Station life which represented the World,
the Flesh, and the Devil, he was filled with righteous satisfaction
concerning their safety hereafter, and ceased to trouble himself with
their yearnings in the present.
Mrs. Meek, who had once been a governess in a private family, was of a
mild, easy-going nature, incapable of resisting tyranny. Since her
marriage, her naturally submissive mind had become an echo of her
husband's, although she was not always in agreement with his opinions;
yet it was the line of least resistance, and "anything for a peaceful
life" was her motto. Her greatest comfort had come with the birth of her
daughter, who, later, was reared by her maternal relatives in England.
They had means, while the Meeks had barely enough for their own needs,
so Elsie had received a good education of which her relatives had borne
the cost, and at the finish, came out to her home at Sombari under the
protection of missionary friends travelling to India.
Though Mrs. Meek had not seen her daughter for the best years of her
childhood, her love for her had become the absorbing passion of her
life. For years she had carried about a heart aching with longing for
this treasure of her own flesh and blood, so that their reunion altered
her whole life. So long as she had her child's companionship and
affection, she was blessed among women; even the little world of Sombari
was glorified.
But, alas! on that morning of Honor Bright's visit, death had robbed
Mrs. Meek of all that life held for her. Honor understood how completely
she was bereft, and her own heart overflowed with sympathy. Her one ewe
lamb had been taken, and in her grief, the foundations of the mother's
faith were shaken.
She turned her face to the wall and cried out against her Maker. "From
him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath!" was the
burden of her sorrowful cry.
"What had I to make life worth the living! My child was all in all to
me, and she has been snatched from me! Of what use is religion since
even my prayers could not avail? It is comfortless. God is cruel. He
tramples on our hearts. He has no pity." Such were the outbursts of the
poor, stricken heart.
She was the picture of abandonment in the comfortless room, ascetic in
its lack of dainty feminine accessories. The floor was covered with
coarse bamboo matting such as the Brights used in their pantry and
bathrooms. Cretonne _pardars_[11] hung in the doorways; the furniture
was rough and country-made; the bed-linen and coverings were from the
mills of Cawnpur. "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth," had
been Mr. Meek's justification for confining his expenditure to the
barest necessaries of life. But, on the other hand, he indulged himself
in his hobby for raising prize cattle for the local _Melas_[12]. Prize
cattle had their use and did not come under the head of extravagance as
did furnishing according to taste and fancy; so Mrs. Meek and her
daughter had to suffer the lack of the refinements of life to the
mortification of their spirits and the discomfort of their bodies, in
order that their souls might be purged of the vanities and lusts of the
flesh.
[Footnote 11: Curtains.]
[Footnote 12: Fairs.]
"You must not fight against the decrees of the Almighty," said the nurse
reproachfully, as Honor knelt beside the bed and embraced the unhappy
mother.
"Don't talk all that clap-trap to one in torment," said the girl
contemptuously. "People are too ready to put all the blame on God when
they are bereaved."
If a thunderbolt had fallen in the room it could not have had a more
startling effect than this outburst of Honor's. The nurse recoiled in
horror thinking she was in the presence of a free-thinker who is first
cousin to an atheist, and Mrs. Meek choked back her sobs to stare
wide-eyed at her visitor who had dared to voice such heresy under a
missionary's roof.
"Isn't it God's will when one is afflicted? That is what we are taught,"
said the nurse indignantly.
"We are taught a lot of stuff which is not true," said Honor firmly. "It
isn't sense to impute to a loving God acts of wanton cruelty, and we
dishonour Him by so doing." She kissed Mrs. Meek's cheek and spoke
tenderly to her of her sympathy and sorrow.
"But, Miss Bright, are not life and death in God's hands?" the bereaved
lady asked astonished.
"Indeed, yes--with our co-operation. God needs our help as we need His.
I could never believe that our dear ones are taken from us by God's
will. He could not will us unhappiness. We have got to suffer as the
result of ignorance and neglect, and a thousand other reasons which are
Cause and Effect. Where we fail God, we must suffer."
"How did we fail God? We did all we could!"
"Yes--we always shut the stable door after the steed is stolen. God did
not give your child the germ of enteric which constitutionally she was
unfitted to cope with. It happened through some misfortune that God had
nothing to do with, and, simply, she hadn't enough fight in her. There
are times when we cannot understand why some things should be,
especially if we feel that by stretching out His arm God can save us;
yet He does not do so," continued Honor. "I prefer to believe that God
fights for the life of our dear one along with us, and we both fail, we
and God, because of some lack on our side that has hindered." Honor was
not accustomed to holding forth on the subject of her views and would
have said no more, but Mrs. Meek was roused to a new interest and
persisted in drawing from her all she felt regarding the matter.
"If you put your foot on a cobra and you are bitten, and no immediate
remedies are at hand, you will certainly die. If you prayed your hardest
to be saved and did nothing, you would certainly be disappointed. God
has given us the means of saving life--science and medicine are His way
of helping us through doctors--even then we fail if the patient has no
strength to battle with disease. That is how I feel," she added loyally.
"We don't blame those we love--so don't blame God unjustly."
"Doctor Dalton said Elsie's heart was weak," moaned Mrs. Meek. "Perhaps
had he come last night he would have noticed the change in her and done
something to have helped her to live! Oh! Miss Bright, I feel it is
owing to the doctor's neglect that I have lost my child. Why didn't he
come last night?"
Honor's eyes fell before the anguish in hers. "He was at dinner with us,
and left us early intending to come on here. I don't know why he changed
his mind," she murmured, feeling again the rush of wild resentment
against Joyce Meredith for her beauty and allurement.
"How strangely you talk!" Mrs. Meek went on as Honor relapsed into
silence. "I never heard any one speak or think like this."
"I have always felt that nothing harsh or bad can come from God," said
Honor gravely. "He does not treat us cruelly just to make us turn to
Him. It would have the opposite effect, I should imagine, and He knows
that as he knows us. It is presumptuous of me to say anything at all,
but it seems to me, we are responsible for much of our own sorrows, or
it is the way of life since the Fall. Humanity has foiled the designs of
God from the time of Adam, and has had to bear the consequences. But,
always, God's goodness and mercy triumph, and we are helped through the
heaviest of tribulation till our sorrows are healed. Pity and Love are
from God, never agony and bereavement!"
"Yet my husband says that the _cross is from God_, a 'burden imposed for
the hardness of our hearts'!"
"So that to punish you, God is supposed to have caused an innocent one
all that suffering, and has snatched her from the simple joys of her
life! Is that your husband's conception of a loving God? If I believed
that, I would become a heathen, preferably."
"It doesn't seem to fit in with such attributes as Mercy and Love!"
cried Mrs. Meek, relapsing again into a flood of grief; for, after all,
there was poor consolation for her in any theory since nothing could
restore to her her beloved child.
"Tell me," said Honor to the nurse who had led her to the adjoining room
to take her last look at her dead friend, "wasn't her death rather
sudden and unexpected?"
"The doctor should have been here last night," said the nurse looking
scared and uncomfortable. "She was so wild and restless and kept
exciting herself in her delirium. Her heart was bad and nothing seemed
to have effect. He should have been here, and not left her to me for so
many hours, since early morning!"
"When did the change set in?--could no one have gone for the doctor?"
"It is a great misfortune that there was no one capable of relieving
me," said the nurse looking distressed. "There was only the ayah, and
she was supposed to be watching, yet allowed the patient to sit up in
bed in her delirium when to lift an arm had been forbidden. All she
could do was to cry aloud and remonstrate, which woke me and before I
could do anything, the poor girl was--gone! Simply fell back dead. It
was terrible! I fear I shall get into trouble, but the Meeks could not
afford more than one nurse and Mrs. Meek and I were both worn out. I
knew the ayah would blame me, as I blame her; but, humanly speaking, it
would have happened in any case--even had her mother been in the room.
It was truly most unfortunate. If the doctor had only been here he might
have seen the necessity for a sedative or something!"
It was the same cry: "If the doctor had only been here!" From all she
could gather, Elsie had passed a restless night and had died of heart
failure in the morning. An overtaxed heart had given out by the exertion
of suddenly rising in bed.
Honor doubted if Captain Dalton could have done anything by visiting his
patient at night, yet his not having done so would always leave a
reproach against him. She felt it and, yet, strangely enough, wanted to
combat every argument that would have held him to blame.
When she was leaving the bungalow she came face to face with Captain
Dalton descending from his car; and so moved was she for the moment,
that she would not trust herself to do more than bow stiffly as she
passed, her face white in its repression, her eyes cold and distant. At
sight of him her agony returned in force; her heart for a moment stood
still. Why had he lied to them about visiting Sombari when it was Joyce
Meredith he had meant to see? Joyce with her lovely face and winning,
childish ways? Everyone must love Joyce because of her ingenuousness and
extraordinary beauty. The doctor had nursed her in camp under intimate
conditions ... and he had stolen a visit to her when duty had required
him in an opposite direction.
How was it possible to feel the same friendliness towards him with that
wild resentment raging at her heart? So Honor ran out to her pony,
sprang nimbly into the saddle, and rode rapidly away, feeling his
searching eyes upon her till she was out of sight.