TWO GOOD SAMARITANS.
In all her life, the youngest Miss Gordon had never felt so utterly
solitary or forsaken as now, when she stood alone on the line of the
Great Indian Peninsular Railway. Before her the party of natives, with
their twinkling lanterns, were gradually reaching vanishing point;
behind her was a long, still procession of trucks and waggons, that
looked like some dreadful black monster waiting for its prey; on either
hand stretched the greyish unknown mysterious landscape, from which
strange unfamiliar sounds, in the shape of croakings and cries, were
audible. Oh! when would her nameless companion return? She glanced
anxiously towards the hut, it was beyond the gate, and down a steep
bank, away from the road; animated figures seemed to pass to and fro
against the lighted open door. Ah! here came one of them, her escort,
who had in point of fact been only absent five minutes, and not, as she
imagined, half an hour.
“It is a stoker who has been cut about the head and badly scalded,”
he explained breathlessly. “They are waiting for an apothecary from
Okara, and meanwhile they are trying a native herb and a charm. They
don’t seem to do the poor chap much good. I think I might be able to do
something better for him, though I have no experience, beyond seeing
accidents at football and out hunting; but I cannot leave you here like
this, and yet I cannot well ask you inside the hut, the heat is like
a furnace--and--altogether--it--it would be too much for you, but if
you would not mind waiting outside just for a few minutes, I’d get you
something to sit on.”
“Thank you, but I would rather go in--I have attended an ambulance
class--‘first aid,’ you know, and perhaps I may be of some little use;
there is sticking-plaster, eau-de-Cologne, and a pair of scissors in my
bag.”
“Well, mind; you must brace up your nerves,” he answered, as he pushed
open the gate, and led her down the crumbling sandy incline.
The heat within the hut was almost suffocating; as the girl, following
her guide, entered, every eye was instantly fixed upon her in wide
surprise.
By the light of a small earthen lamp, which smoked horribly, she
distinguished the figure of a man crouching on the edge of a charpoy;
he was breathing in hard hoarse gasps, and bleeding from a great gash
above his eye.
A Eurasian, in a checked cotton suit, stood by, talking
incessantly--but doing nothing else. There were also present, besides
the old woman--a veritable shrivelled-up hag--two native men, possibly
the “bhai-bands,” or chums of the sufferer; in a corner, a large black
pariah sat watching everything, with a pair of unwinking yellow eyes;
and on another charpoy lay a still figure, covered with a sheet. A few
earthen chatties, a mat, a huka, and some gaudy English prints--for
the most part nailed upside down--completed the picture. Hitherto the
travelling companions had been to each other merely the embodiment of
an undefined figure and a voice; the light of the little mud lamp,
whose curling smoke threw outlines of dancing black devils on the
walls, now introduced them for the first time face to face. To Honor
Gordon stood revealed an unexpectedly good-looking young man, slight
and well built, with severely cut features, and a pair of handsome
hazel eyes, which were surveying her gravely. A gentleman, not merely
in his speech and actions, but in his bearing.
He, on his part, was not in the least surprised to behold a pale but
decidedly pretty girl; by means of some mysterious instinct he had
long made up his mind that the owner of such a delicate hand and sweet
clear voice could not be otherwise than fair to see.
“The apothecary cannot be here for one hour!” exclaimed the Eurasian,
glibly. “He,” pointing to the patient, “is very bad. We have put some
herbs to his arm, and the back of his head; but I, myself, think that
he will _die_!” he concluded with an air of melancholy importance.
Some kind of a bandage was the first thing Honor asked for, and asked
for in vain; she then quickly unwound the puggaree from her topee, and
tore it into three parts.
Then she bathed and bandaged the man’s head, with quick and sympathetic
fingers, whilst Jervis held the lamp, offered suggestions, and looked
on, no less impressed than amazed; he had hitherto had an idea that
girls always screamed and shrank away from the sight of blood and
horrors.
This girl, though undeniably white, was as cool and self-possessed, as
firm, yet gentle, as any capable professional nurse.
The scalded arm and hand--a shocking spectacle--were attended to by
both. The great thing was to exclude the air, and give the sufferer at
least temporary relief. With some native flour, a bandage was deftly
applied, the arm placed in a sling, and the patient’s head was bathed
with water and eau-de-Cologne. Fanned assiduously by the girl’s fan, he
began to feel restored, he had been given heart, he had been assured
that his hurts were not mortal, and presently he languidly declared
himself better.
The natives who stood round, whilst the sahib and Miss Sahib ministered
so quickly and effectually to their friend, now changed their
lamentations to loud ejaculations of wonder and praise. Miss Gordon was
amazed to hear her companion giving directions to these spectators in
fluent and sonorous Hindustani, and still more astounded when, as she
took up her topee, preparatory to departure, the Eurasian turned to
him, and said in an impressive squeak--
“Sir, your wife is a saint--an angel of goodness”--and then, as an
hasty afterthought, he added, “and beauty!”
Before Jervis could collect his wits and speak, she had replied--
“I am not this gentleman’s wife; we are only fellow-passengers. Why
should you think so?” she demanded sharply.
“Because--oh, _please_ do not be angry--you looked so suitable,” he
answered with disarming candour. “Truly, I hope you may be married
_yet_, and I wish you both riches, long life, and great happiness,” he
added, bowing very low, lamp in hand.
Honor passed out of the hut, with her head held extraordinarily high,
scrambled up the bank, and proceeded along the line at a headlong pace
in indignant silence.
She now maintained a considerable distance between herself and her
escort; no doubt her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light,
and at any rate there was that in her air which prevented him offering
either arm or hand. In spite of the recent scene in which they had
both been actors, where he had clipped hair and cut plaster, and she
had applied bandages and scanty remedies to the same “case,” they were
not drawn closer together; on the contrary, they were much further
apart than during the first portion of their walk, and the young lady’s
confidences had now entirely ceased. She confined herself exclusively
to a few bald remarks about the patient, and the climate, remarks
issued at intervals of ten minutes, and her answers to his observations
were confined to “Yes” and “No.” At last Okara station was reached;
and, to tell the truth, neither of them were sorry to bring their
_tête-à-tête_ to a conclusion. The dazzling lights on the platform made
their eyes blink, as they threaded their way to the general refreshment
room, discovering it readily enough by sounds of many and merry voices,
who were evidently availing themselves of its somewhat limited
resources.
It was not a very large apartment, but it was full. The table was
covered with a thin native tablecloth, two large lamps with punkah
tops, and two cruet-stands and an American ice-pitcher were placed at
formal intervals down the middle. It was surrounded with people, who
were eating, drinking, and talking. At the further end sat Captain
Waring, supported on either hand by his two fair companions, three
men--young and noisy, whom they evidently knew--and a prim, elderly
woman, who looked inexpressibly shocked at the company, and had
pointedly fenced herself off from Mrs. Bellett with a teapot and a
wine-card. Captain Waring’s friends had not partaken of tea (as the
champagne-bottle testified). The tongue, cake, and fruit had also
evidently received distinguished marks of their esteem. Mrs. Bellett
put up her long eyeglass, and surveyed exhaustively the pair who now
entered.
“Hullo, Mark! What ages you have been!” exclaimed his cousin. “We can
make room at this corner--come along, old man.”
Mark and his companion found themselves posted at the two corners at
the end of the table, and were for the moment the cynosure of all eyes.
In a few seconds, as soon as the newcomers had been looked after
and given the scraps, the party continued their interrupted
conversation with redoubled animation. They all appeared to know one
another intimately. Captain Waring had evidently fallen among old
friends. They discussed people and places--to which the others were
strangers--and Mrs. Bellett was particularly animated, and laughed
incessantly--chiefly at her own remarks.
“And so Lalla Paske is going to her Aunt Ida? I thought Ida Langrishe
_hated_ girls. I wonder if she will be able to manage her niece, and
what sort of a chaperon she will make?”
“A splendid one, I should say,” responded a man in a suit like a
five-barred gate--“on the principle of set a thief to catch a thief.”
“And old Mother Brande, up at Shirani, is expecting a niece too. What
fun it will be! What rivalry between her and Ida! What husband-hunting,
and scheming, and match-making! It will be as good as one of Oscar
Wilde’s plays. I am rather sorry that I shall not be there to see. I
shall get people to write to me--you for one, Captain Waring,” and she
nodded at him graciously.
Mark noticed his companion, who had been drinking water (deluded
girl--railway station water), put down her glass hastily, and fix her
eyes on Mrs. Bellett. No one could call her pale _now_.
“I wonder what Mrs. Brande’s niece will be like?” drawled her sister.
“I wonder if she, like her aunt, has been in domestic service. He, he,
he!” she giggled affectedly.
There was a general laugh, in the midst of which a clear treble voice
was heard--
“If you particularly wish to know, I can answer _that_ question.” It
was the pale girl who was speaking.
Mrs. Coote simply glared, too astounded to utter a syllable.
“I was not aware that my aunt had ever been in domestic service; but I
can relieve you at once of all anxiety about myself. I have never been
in any situation, and _this_ is the nearest approach I have ever made
to the servants’ hall!”
If the lamp in front of them had suddenly exploded, there could
scarcely have been more general consternation. Mrs. Bellett gasped like
a newly-landed fish; Captain Waring, purple with suppressed laughter,
was vainly cudgelling his brain for some suitable and soothing remark,
when the door was flung back by the guard, bawling--
“Take your seats--take your seats, please, passengers by the Cawnpore
mail.”
Undoubtedly the train had never arrived at a more propitious moment.
The company rose with one consent, thrust back their chairs, snatched
up their parcels, and hurried precipitately out of the room, leaving
Honor and her escort _vis-à-vis_ and all alone.
“If those are specimens of Englishwomen in India,” she exclaimed,
“give _me_ the society of the natives; that dear old creature in the
hut was far more of a lady.”
“Oh, you must not judge by Mrs. Bellett! I am sure she must be unique.
I have never seen any one like her, so far,” he remarked consolingly.
“I told you,” becoming calmer, and rising as she spoke, “that I could
not hold my tongue. I can _not_ keep quiet. You see I have lost no
time--I have begun already. Of course, the proper thing for me to
have done would have been to sit still and make no remark, instead of
hurling a bombshell into the enemy’s camp. I have disgraced myself and
you; they will say, ‘Evil communications corrupt good manners.’ I can
easily find a carriage. Ah, here is my treasure of a chuprassi. You
have been extremely kind; but your friends are waiting for you, and
really you had better not be seen with me any longer.”
She was very tall; and when she drew herself up their eyes were nearly
on a level. She looked straight at him, and held out her hand with a
somewhat forced smile.
He smiled also as he replied, “I consider it an honour to be seen
with you, under any circumstances, and I shall certainly see you off.
Our train is not leaving for five minutes. A ladies’ compartment, I
presume, and _not_ with Mrs. Bellett?”
They walked slowly along the platform, past the carriage in which Mrs.
Bellett and her sister were arranging their animals and parcels with
much shrill hilarity.
Miss Gordon was so fortunate as to secure a compartment to herself--the
imbecile chuprassi gibbering and gesticulating, whilst the sahib
handed in her slender stock of belongings. As the train moved away, she
leant out of the window and nodded a smiling farewell.
How good-looking he was as he stood under the lamp with his hat off!
How nice he had been to her--exactly like a brother! She drew back with
a long breath, that was almost a sigh, as she said to herself, “Of
course I shall never see him again.”