THE ATONEMENT
When Honor's letter of warning was received by Mrs. Dalton, she was
greatly disturbed in mind at the apparent gravity of its purport.
On being awakened, she had carried the letter to the table, raised the
light, and read all that Honor had to say, after which she felt
undecided how to act. The lateness of the hour made it certain that her
husband was sound asleep after his fatiguing day, and to rouse him for
the purpose of passing on a caution which he had previously disregarded,
would be, she thought, both inconsiderate and tactless. Besides, no good
could be gained by disturbing him, as no action could possibly be taken
at the moment, even presuming that he were disposed to move in the
matter. It seemed, therefore, wisest to allow the letter to stand over
till the morning. Attempts had been made on his life, but Mrs. Dalton
had understood that the enmity and ill feeling in the District had
practically died down. Yet, here it was shown to be smouldering
dangerously and an imminent menace to her husband, sleeping or waking.
Though she was not passionately fond of him, and was unlikely ever to
be,--having grown weary of strenuous emotions and the disappointments of
life,--she valued the legal tie that bound them together as her sheet
anchor in a life of vicissitudes. The unwonted ease she enjoyed in
Dalton's home made it a haven of rest after her many storms. Under the
shelter of his protection, she looked forward to regaining, at least,
her good name and standing, if not the place she had rightly forfeited
in his esteem. She had a glimmer of hope that the future held some
promise through Honor's intervention on her behalf.
Honor had done an inconceivable thing. In Mrs. Dalton's view it was
incomprehensible. Her reverence for the Divine Law had caused her to
renounce the man she loved, and to plead with him for the woman who had
lost all moral claim to his regard or consideration. She was wonderful!
and Mrs. Dalton was filled with admiration and respect.
At dinner that evening she had gleaned the first-fruits of Honor's
sacrifice, for he had been less taciturn, and had even responded to his
wife's efforts to engage him in ordinary conversation. Instead of
sitting in silence throughout the meal, or exchanging banal remarks
about the food or the weather, they had discussed the war and all that
India was going to do to prove her loyalty to the Crown. He had spoken
of the advance in science and surgery, bound to result from the lessons
of the war; and had told her of his wishes and intentions regarding
herself should he be suddenly called upon to start for Europe. The
generosity and consideration shown in his arrangement for her, had
touched her deeply, and she had been only too willing to express her
concurrence. It was the first time she had known the sensation of a
genuine and impersonal interest in an intellectual man's conversation;
and she was happier than she had been for many a day. She lay down
again, but sleep would not come to her eyes, and her thoughts were busy
with the subject of Honor's letter. She reasoned with herself to no
purpose, for the stillness of the night bred new fears and intensified
the lurking danger.
What should she do? waken her husband?--or wait till the morning?
Would it not be best to watch over him silently while he slept? It might
move him to gratitude when he should learn of the sacrifice of her
night's rest!
The weather was warm and muggy in spite of the _punkha_ waving in the
room, pulled by the uncertain hand of a coolie half-asleep in the
verandah. There was another waving in like manner, she knew, in her
husband's room at the extreme end of the bungalow; and in both
apartments were windows thrown wide open to the night air--as was
customary in the plains--with short curtains of lawn to screen the
interior from public view. Outside, the shrill chirping of crickets
vibrated in the air, and the occasional croak of a bull-frog from a pond
in the garden, could be heard. Otherwise, the silence of the night was
oppressive and ominous.
Open windows not far from the ground offered an easy opportunity for
entrance into the house of evil characters bent on mischief, and even
the drowsy _punkha_ coolie in the verandah would be none the wiser.
The thought was disquieting and banished sleep from her eyes.
Impelled almost against her inclinations by an inward force too urgent
to resist, Mrs. Dalton slipped on her kimona, and with her feet in
slippers, went forth to satisfy herself, personally, that all was well
with her husband. He did not desire her interest; he had no wish that
she should sacrifice her rest, nevertheless, a sense of undefined
apprehension made it impossible for her return to her bed and sleep.
On her way to his bedchamber through the rooms that intervened, she
could hear the squeak of the ungreased _punkha_ wheel as the rope passed
to and fro over it. It was proof positive that he was asleep, or he
could not have tolerated the noise for a moment. Suddenly, however, it
ceased, and Mrs. Dalton, comprehending the reason of its stoppage,
smiled to herself, appreciating the frailty of the _punkha wallah_.
Arriving on the spot with the intention of stirring up the slumbering
coolie, she was surprised to find that he had deserted his post after
the manner of new hands unaccustomed to the task. This one, she
remembered, had been engaged that very day. The rope hung idly against
the wall under the wheel, and Mrs. Dalton was in momentary expectation
of a curse from within as the mosquitoes settled on the sleeper.
The culprit being nowhere in sight, she applied her eye to the edge of
the curtain and looked towards the bed. Her husband lay, as she
expected, fast asleep, tired out thoroughly, and unconscious of
externals. Suddenly, as she peered at him, she became aware of a dark
form moving between her vision and the sleeper.
Paralysed with fear and incapable of uttering a sound, she saw the
figure of an Indian clothed only in a narrow loin-cloth, creeping
stealthily towards the bed.
Who was he? and what was he trying to do?
Mrs. Dalton was rooted to the spot and dumb with terror.
Something gleamed in his hand--a steel blade had caught the reflection
of the lowered flame of a lamp hanging on the wall. The man's purpose
was plain, for thieves do not usually carry knives. He was there to
commit murder. Oh, God!
What was she to do?--She was powerless to move. Fear made her a coward,
a helpless, nerveless creature. Like one in a horrible dream, her tongue
refused to utter a warning, or her constricted throat to produce a
sound.
And there was not a moment to lose as the figure was stealthily nearing
the sleeper. Thoughts flashed through her brain with lightning rapidity.
If the man were not stopped, somehow, and at any cost, in another moment
she would see Honor's fears justified and Brian killed while asleep in
his bed. How was it possible for her to witness such a deed and not
raise a finger to save him?
But she was defenceless!
The man raised his right arm, and the sight of the knife fully exposed,
gave the impetus needed to galvanise Mrs. Dalton's nerves into sudden
and fierce activity. Without a thought for her own danger, she sprang
into the room and flung herself upon the Indian, clasping him round the
waist and holding him back as in a vice.
"Brian!" she shrieked in strangled tones, finding her voice at last.
"Brian! Help! Murder!"
A fierce struggle ensued. The native tried to free himself in vain; her
arms tightened about him as he flung himself from side to side, and did
not loose their hold even when he struck at her with his knife over his
shoulder, once, twice, thrice, burying the blade deep every time.
Only one idea obsessed Mrs. Dalton, and that was to hold on till the
assassin could be secured. He should not escape to remain a menace to
her husband's life!
Her cries aroused Dalton from his profound sleep. He had long been in
the habit of placing a loaded revolver under his pillow at night for
self-protection from possible attempts on his life, and instantly
realising the situation, leaped out of bed, and fired point blank at the
Indian's head as the knife descended once more on his poor doomed wife.
As the man dropped dead, Mrs. Dalton fell into her husband's arms, an
unforgettable sight.
Dalton carried her to his bed and laid her in it, a dying woman, while
the terror-stricken servants crowded into the room. He gave them his
orders and they sped in various directions--one to inform the police,
another to rouse Mr. Bright. Someone took the car for the assistant
surgeon, while others brought in more lamps and fetched and carried all
that was necessary for the work of First Aid.
With her life ebbing fast, Mrs. Dalton made a pitiful attempt to explain
the reason of her presence on her husband's side of the house, afraid
that he would misunderstand her motive; and he was filled with sorrow
and self-reproach. "I came to see that you were safe--I only wanted to
watch over you, for I had been warned that you were in danger. Miss
Bright wrote--her letter is on my table, read it."
"I understand," he said with the utmost gentleness, "and I cannot find
words to tell you how I honour your wonderful courage and sacrifice."
"It was the only thing to do. I could not call out--I had no voice! I
was so dreadfully afraid!"
"Afraid for me!--and not for yourself!"
"I had no time to think of that."
"It was heroism! You did a thing which, in battle, would have won you
the Victoria Cross!"
"Thank God I was able!" she panted.
"I do not deserve it. Will you forgive me?" he asked brokenly.
"It is I who have to ask that!"
"The past is all wiped out today, so far as I am concerned. God bless
you!"
"Ah, thank you for that!--May God forgive me for the mistakes and the
folly--the wrong-doing! It is too late now to retrieve them! Ah, those
words, 'too late'!--on how many graves?... the words, 'too late'!...
Yet--Honor would say it is never too late while there is breath in which
to call on--the name of the Lord."
"God is very merciful to all sinners who repent," said Dalton. "I, too,
am a sinner. I have been a Pharisee and hypocrite all my life; may I,
too, be forgiven!"
"Perhaps this will be taken into the account--my atonement," she sighed
feebly.
"You have done what few women in your place would have had the courage
to do. I shall remember it all the days of my life with gratitude and
remorse."
For a while they were silent as he did all he could to ease her
suffering.
"This is death!" she whispered, searching for his face with glazing
eyes. "Tell Honor--I wish her the happiness she deserves.... You will
love her as you could never have loved me. It is for the best...!"
Dalton stooped low and kissed her on the forehead and as he straightened
himself he saw that she was dead.
* * * * *
When Honor arrived in the verandah and heard the story of the tragedy,
her heart bounded with a very human relief at the thought that a most
precious life had been spared. For a moment she had room for no other
thought in her mind. "Thank God, Brian is safe!" she cried to her soul.
Afterwards she could afford to dwell on the miracle of Mrs. Dalton's
sacrifice. Who would have thought her capable of such an act of heroism?
Truly, one never knows how much of good there is in human nature,
howsoever perverted! Poor Mrs. Dalton! She had, indeed, atoned. She had
given her all--her very life for the man she had wronged, and whose
pride she had lowered in the dust. It was a magnificent act, the memory
of which would wipe out every wrong she had done, and silence every
tongue that spoke ill of her.
"Is she still living?" Honor asked one of the servants, fearfully.
"She died but a moment ago," said the _bearer_, "for the Sahib has
retired into another room and all is silent."
Elsewhere, too, all was still. In the presence of death, voices were
hushed, as the servants hung about waiting for the coming of those who
had been called.
"It is a terrible sight," Honor heard one say to another; "the body of
that _punkha_ coolie lying just where he fell. Some _domes_[22] must be
fetched to remove him."
[Footnote 22: Low-caste Hindus.]
"The Sahib says, let no one lay a hand on him till the police arrive;
such is the custom when an inquiry has to beheld."
Seeing that her presence was unnecessary, Honor passed out into the
darkness and ran swiftly home.
* * * * *
It was discovered later, at the inquest, that the discharge of a
_punkha_ coolie had given Dalton's watchful enemies the opportunity they
had been seeking to carry out their plan of revenge; and that the man
who had been engaged to fill the vacant post was a marked character,
living in the village of Panipara, who was well known to the police.
Doubtless he had been heavily bribed for the perpetration of the
intended crime which had so strangely miscarried. The instigators
pointed to their own complicity by disappearing from the District, and
the vain search for them occupied Mr. Bright and his staff for many
months. As well might one look for a needle in a stack of hay, as expect
to find fugitive criminals among the numerous villages of Bengal.
* * * * *
Captain Dalton left for Europe soon after his wife's funeral, his
services having been placed at the disposal of the War Office, and Honor
treasured in her memory his brief words spoken in farewell as he held
her hands in his. "We have both a great deal to do while the War lasts.
Will you follow me, and let us work together?" In the moment of parting,
it was not possible to keep out of his eyes all his lips could not say,
and Honor promised.
EPILOGUE
ALL'S WELL
It was something more than four years later, when the Armistice was
signed amid world-wide rejoicings of the Allied Nations, that a young
soldier, bronzed and upright, rang the bell of a beautiful flat in
Brighton, over-looking the sea. Above his breast pocket, on the left,
were two ribbons, the D.S.O. and the M.C., the sight of which had won
him glances of approval and soft looks of admiration, all the way along.
Those bits of ribbon told wordlessly of self-sacrifice and devotion to
duty; valour and endurance;--they suggested to the subconscious mind,
danger, bodily discomfort, and endurance to the limit of human
suffering, so that this brisk little freckled officer of very ordinary
looks, was marked for all time, by those who knew, as one of the many
special heroes of the most terrible war the world has ever known.
He was shown into the drawing-room, and, in a moment, a gracious lady
swept in with welcome in her eyes and both hands extended.
"Oh, Tommy!--how good it is to see you safe!"
"And to see you looking so fit, Honey--dear old girl!"
"I was beginning to feel quite anxious, as you had not written for a
month!"
"There was so much doing. Besides, I was reserving it all for our
meeting."
They had much to talk about; he, of his vicissitudes in Mesopotamia, and
she, of her husband and his work in the war-hospital in Brighton to
which he was attached. Last of all, Tommy asked to see his god-son to
whom he had yet to be introduced.
"He is such a perfect darling!" said Honor beaming upon her visitor
happily; "the very image of Brian." Pressing a bell, she gave her orders
which were promptly obeyed by a nurse who entered with the baby, a lusty
boy with grey-green eyes, and lips firmly locked in a cupid's bow.
"Hullo!" said Tommy, "shake hands with 'Uncle'!"
"Say, 'How do'?" said Honor, kissing the velvet cheek.
"'Ow do!" said Baby staring at the pretty coloured ribbons on the khaki
tunic.
"This is the age at which I like them best," said Tommy admiringly.
"He's 'some' kid! Do you remember trying to interest me in the Meredith
infant when it was a glorified dummy in long clothes?"
"Yes, and you wasted your energies trying to fix its attention when it
did not know you from a mango tree!" They laughed heartily at the
recollection.
"Where are the Merediths, by the way?"
"They are stationed at Darjeeling, which suits the baby very
well--perhaps you don't know that there is another baby?"
"I believe Jack wrote something of the sort, some little time back."
"A baby girl this time, and getting on splendidly."
"Where is the first?--still with the grandparents?"
"Yes. I saw him not long ago--such a beautiful boy and so independent!
The old people are so proud of him. Do you know that Jack and Kitty are
at home?"
"No! When did they come? I did not know that women were allowed
passages?"
"They managed to 'wangle' it, somehow. Jack had malaria and was ordered
home by the doctors. It was a most exciting voyage, from all accounts,
for their boat was chased by a submarine in the Bay of Biscay and
escaped two torpedoes by a miracle."
"Horrible!"
"Kitty says she would not have missed the experience for anything; but
Jack declares the anxiety has taken ten years off his life."
"Dear old Jack! Where are they? I shall look them up."
"Staying with his people. They are in love with Kitty and can't make
enough of her."
"And what are your plans now that the war is over?"
"Brian expects to return to India, in which case, we go with him."
"You'll take the baby?"
"Most assuredly! Master Tommy is not going to be left behind by his
Mummy--not on any account!"
"But the climate? I thought it does not agree with babies?"
"It agrees quite well; at least for the first few years. I am not so
sure about it later on, but, 'sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof.' We'll begin to think about sending him home when he turns
seven. You see, we have the hills, and life is too short for unnecessary
partings."
"I am with you there! How are Mr. and Mrs. Bright?"
"As usual, thank you. Father retires after the New Year, and they will
live in Edinburgh. And what of your plans, Tommy?"
"I dare say I shall be back in the Police again, before long."
"And have you not found any one yet as a life-partner, to make India
worth while?" she asked kindly.
Tommy smiled. "I am in no hurry, being difficult to please. I shall have
to find the lady whose price, according to old Solomon, is 'far above
rubies,' or remain in single blessedness all my days."
"You'll find her right enough if you _know where_ to look, and _how_!"
said Honor laughing. "Her natural element is the country home."
THE END.
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
The Reproof of Chance
The Blind Alley
The Daughter-in-Law
Baba and the Black Sheep
Sinners All
Mistress of Herself
_A Selection from the Catalogue of_
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Blue Aloes
By Cynthia Stockley
Author of "Poppy," "The Claw," "Wild Honey," etc.
No writer can so unfailingly summons and materialize the spirit of the
weird, mysterious South Africa as can Cynthia Stockley. She is a favored
medium through whom the great Dark Continent its tales unfolds.
A strange story is this, of a Karoo farm,--a hedge of Blue Aloes, a
cactus of fantastic beauty, which shelters a myriad of creeping
things,--a whisper and a summons in the dead of the night,--an odor of
death and the old.
There are three other stories in the book, stories throbbing with the
sudden, intense passion and the mystic atmosphere of the Veldt.
* * * * *
Unconquered
By Maud Diver
Author of "Captain Desmond, V.C.," "Desmond's Daughter," "The Great
Amulet," etc.
In this book, Maud Diver proves that she needs no Indian background
against which to work a powerful and emotional drama. This novel is
called by the author, "an episode of 1914," and is the story of a
vigorous out-of-doors man who, severely wounded, is brought home in the
early days of the war, and of the girl who is repelled by the physical
imperfections of her one-time handsome and sturdy lover. The other sort
of girl is also in this tale, the slacker and the pacifist. It is a
strong story, admirably told by a master novelist.
* * * * *
Desmond's Daughter
By
Maud Diver
"_Desmond's Daughter_ is an Anglo-Indian novel of much more than
ordinary importance. As a study of a complex character it has
remarkable power.... Mrs. Diver understands the English officer
thoroughly and does not spare his weaknesses; but that she
appreciates his good points is shown in her true and vivid story of
the Tirah Campaign. It is this which gives the book the right to be
regarded as an historical novel of first importance; and there is
no more striking illustration of our methods of governing and
holding our Indian Empire than this stimulating and convincing
story."--_Aberdeen Free Press._
"The present War is not mentioned in these pages; yet the spirit of
England at war is in them, the spirit of those clean-cut young
Englishmen, who know so well how to die.... There is more than
entertainment in Mrs. Diver's books; more than serious interest,
though they have much of both. In them speaks England's faith in
her sons and daughters; in the qualities which have made her race
great and powerful and fit to endure." _New York Tribune._
* * * * *
GREATHEART
By Ethel M. Dell
There were two of them--as unlike as two men could be. Sir Eustace, big,
domineering, haughty, used to sweeping all before him with the power of
his personality.
The other was Stumpy, small, insignificant, quiet, with a little limp.
They clashed over the greatest question that may come to men--the love
of a girl.
She took Sir Eustace just because she could not help herself--and was
swept ahead on the tide of his passion.
And then, when she needed help most--on the day before the
wedding--Stumpy saved her--and the quiet flame of his eyes was more than
the brute power of his brother.
How did it all come out? Did she choose wisely? Is Greatheart more to be
desired than great riches? The answer is the most vivid and charming
story that Ethel M. Dell has written in a long time.