Part 6 (1/2)

”I only wished you could have been there to enjoy it with me,” she wrote, and pa.s.sed on to a glowing description of the Hills amidst which they had travelled, all grandly beautiful and many capped with the eternal snows. She told of the River Jhelum, swift and splendid, that flowed beside the way, of the flowers that bloomed in dazzling profusion on every side--wild roses such as she had never dreamed of, purple acacias, jessamine yellow and white, maiden-hair ferns that hung in sprays of living green over the rus.h.i.+ng waterfalls, and the vivid, scarlet pomegranate blossom that grew like a spreading fire.

And the air that blew through the mountains was as the very breath of life. Physically, she declared, she had never felt so well; but she did not speak of happiness, and again Tommy's brow contracted as he read.

For all its enthusiasm, there was to him something wanting in that letter--a lack that hurt him subtly. Why did she say so little of her companion in the wilderness? No casual reader would have dreamed that the narrative had been written by a bride upon her honeymoon.

He read on, read of their journey up the river to Srinagar, punted by native boatmen, and again, as she spoke of their sad, droning chant, she compared it all to a dream. ”I wonder if I am really asleep, Tommy,” she wrote, ”if I shall wake up in the middle of a dark night and find that I have never left England after all. That is what I feel like sometimes--almost as if life had been suspended for awhile. This strange existence cannot be real. I am sure that at the heart of me I must be asleep.”

At Srinagar, a native _fete_ had been in progress, and the howling of men and din of _tom-toms_ had somewhat marred the harmony of their arrival. But it was all interesting, like an absorbing fairy-tale, she said, but quite unreal. She felt sure it couldn't be true. Ralph had been disgusted with the hubbub and confusion. He compared the place to an asylum of filthy lunatics, and they had left it without delay. And so at last they had come to their present abiding-place in the heart of the wilderness with coolies, pack-horses, and tents, and were camped beside a rus.h.i.+ng stream that filled the air with its crystal music day and night. ”And this is Heaven,” wrote Stella; ”but it is the Heaven of the Orient, and I am not sure that I have any part or lot in it. I believe I shall feel myself an interloper for all time. I dread to turn each corner lest I should meet the Angel with the Flaming Sword and be driven forth into the desert. If only you were here, Tommy, it would be more real to me. But Ralph is just a part of the dream. He is almost like an Eastern potentate himself with his endless cigarettes and his wonderful capacity for doing nothing all day long without being bored. Of course, I am not bored, but then no one ever feels bored in a dream. The lazy well-being of it all has the effect of a narcotic so far as I am concerned. I cannot imagine ever feeling active in this lulling atmosphere. Perhaps there is too much champagne in the air and I am never wholly sober. Perhaps it is only in the desert that any one ever lives to the utmost. The endless singing of the stream is hus.h.i.+ng me into a sweet drowsiness even as I write. By the way, I wonder if I have written sense. If not, forgive me! But I am much too lazy to read it through. I think I must have eaten of the lotus. Good-bye, Tommy dear!

Write when you can and tell me that all is well with you, as I think it must be--though I cannot tell--with your always loving, though for the moment strangely bewitched, sister, Stella.”

Tommy put down the letter and lay still, peering forth under frowning brows. He could hear Monck's footsteps coming through the gate of the compound, but he was not paying any attention to Monck for once. His troubled mind scarcely even registered the coming of his friend.

Only when the latter mounted the steps on to the verandah and began to move along it, did he turn his head and realize his presence. Monck came to a stand beside him.

”Well, Tommy,” he said, ”isn't it time to turn in?”

Tommy sat up. ”Oh, I suppose so. Infernally hot, isn't it? I've been reading Stella's letter.”

Monck lodged his shoulder against the window-frame. ”I hope she is all right,” he said formally.

His voice sounded pre-occupied. It did not convey to Tommy the idea that he was greatly interested in his reply.

He answered with something of an effort. ”I believe she is. She doesn't really say. I wish they had been content to stay at Bhulwana. I could have got leave to go over and see her there.”

”Where exactly are they now?” asked Monck.

Tommy explained to the best of his ability. ”Srinagar seems their nearest point of civilization. They are camping in the wilderness, but they will have to move before long. Dacre's leave will be up, and they must allow time to get back. Stella talks as if they are fixed there for ever and ever.”

”She is enjoying it then?” Monck's voice still sounded as if he were thinking of something else.

Tommy made grudging reply. ”I suppose she is, after a fas.h.i.+on. I'm pretty sure of one thing.” He spoke with abrupt force. ”She'd enjoy it a deal more if I were with her instead of Dacre.”

Monck laughed, a curt, dry laugh. ”Jealous, eh?”

”No, I'm not such a fool.” The boy spoke recklessly. ”But I know--I can't help knowing--that she doesn't care twopence about the man. What woman with any brains could?”

”There's no accounting for women's tastes or actions at any time,” said Monck. ”She liked him well enough to marry him.”

Tommy made an indignant sound. ”She was in a mood to marry any one.

She'd probably have married you if you'd asked her.”

Monck made an abrupt movement as if he had lost his balance, but he returned to his former position immediately. ”Think so?” he said in a voice that sounded very ironical. ”Then possibly she has had a lucky escape. I might have been moved to ask her if she had remained free much longer.”

”I wish to Heaven you had!” said Tommy bluntly.

And again Monck uttered his short, sardonic laugh. ”Thank you, Tommy,”

he said.

There fell a silence between them, and a hot draught eddied up through the parched compound and rattled the scorched twigs of the creeping rose on the verandah with a desolate sound, as if skeleton hands were feeling along the trellis-work. Tommy suppressed a shudder and got to his feet.