Part 29 (1/2)

”Strange! I happen to know that the partners of Trueloves' always have an ample table--covers for anybody who may turn up. In fact they're reckoned most hospitable,” said Mr. Melford, deciding that things had evidently not turned out as his guest had expected. Conversation began to flag, then Mr. Rayner remembered that he had letters to attend to.

”No, thanks,” he said, declining his host's invitation to the smoking room. ”I've indulged in too many exciting cheroots to-day already”; and with a light laugh he withdrew to his own room.

”Rayner's not in good form to-night,” remarked his host.

”Oh, Jack, I can't suffer him! He's all 'form,' it seems to me. He doesn't look a true man. I'm very sorry for his wife. Is he quite, quite English, do you think? Did you notice his fingers, and there is surely something oriental in those eyes of his, they're fine, but there's something--I only noticed it since he came in to-night.”

”Oh, well, he was born in this country. I have thought once or twice he may have dark blood in him, but dear me, even if he has. There are many excellent Eurasians! Much more sterling characters among them than he seems to be turning out. He used to be a clever, amusing fellow, but it strikes me from what Tresham said he's been spending too much, and that demoralises a man, of course. Perhaps his wife is a b.u.t.terfly--fond of show!”

”Ah, there you are, the poor wife always gets the blame! Remember Mr.

Tresham said she was very charming and good. The same can't be said of her husband, I fear,” said Mrs. Melford, looking at her lord and master with a glance of satisfaction.

Next morning Mrs. Melford could not help feeling a sense of relief when her guest announced that he found he must at once return home--that more than one case in the High Court claimed his presence.

That evening Alfred Rayner sailed down the Hoogly carrying his secret with him on his way back to Madras.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

On the morning of his return from Madras, as the train was sweeping into the station at Puranapore, Mark Cheveril noticed among the pa.s.sengers gathered on the platform for the up train the Mahomedan, Zynool Sahib.

He had never exchanged words with him since the morning at the Kutchery, of which he retained an unpleasant recollection. His feeling was evidently reciprocated by the Mussulman, for a scowl was distinctly visible on his ruddy brown face as soon as he caught sight of the a.s.sistant-Collector.

”That man suggests the hatching of evil plots every time I set eyes on him,” said Mark to himself, as he watched the heavy form lurching into one of the carriages for Madras. ”Fortunately we give each other a wide berth!”

Mark stepped into his waiting bandy and was driven towards the cantonment, as it was still called though bereft of its military element. When about half-way to his bungalow, he perceived, under the shade of a spreading neem tree, two men apparently engaged in earnest conversation. Without difficulty he recognised one of them as Moideen, the Collector's trusted butler. His companion was surely none other than Zynool, though he had certainly seen his legs disappearing into a railway carriage some minutes ago and knew that he must now be on his way to the city. This then must be his double! Height, gestures, features, and the dense black beard, all seemed an exact facsimile of the Puranapore magnate. Mark, however, soon became preoccupied by other thoughts, and the incident faded from his memory for the time being.

He found the Collector busy in his office preparing for his intended tour on the following morning.

”I want to hear all your news presently, Cheveril,” said Mr. Worsley, glancing up from his papers with kindly greeting. ”How did the meeting go off--and your speech? Was your ideal Eurasian up to the mark? That isn't meant to be a pun, by the way, though it might be mistaken for one! And how is that charming friend of yours--Hester--hate to call her by her husband's name! You saw her too, eh? Well, come and tell me all about her to-night at dinner. I'll warn Moideen to excel himself in the menu!”

The Collector settled himself to his files again, and Mark to his yesterday's arrears.

When they met at dinner, Mr. Worsley was in his happiest mood and encouraged his guest to give a detailed account of all his doings in Madras. He seemed really interested in the opening of the new hall and reading-room in Vepery, for the benefit of which he had gladdened Mr.

Morpeth's heart by sending a handsome donation. He was also eager to hear the latest accounts of Hester, to whom he always referred in a tone of warmest admiration mingled with pity. The incident at the close of the ball at Government House still rankled.

”The worst of it is that the fellow scored--actually scored,” he said, describing the scene to Mark. ”That sweet girl was punished for my having angered her husband by a chilly att.i.tude when we were introduced earlier in the evening. I simply sat dumfounded on that sofa after the wretch had, one might say, dragged her off! What a life she is bound to have--what a vista of misery!” There was a sorrowful light in the Collector's eyes as he spoke, and he went on: ”I declare it's more deadly for a woman to be tied to a bad husband than for a man to be mated to a selfish, unprincipled wife! In the latter case one can sometimes keep the seas between as a protecting barrier; but for that poor child I can only foresee a cruel future. How different things might have been--should have been,” he added, darting a keen glance at his companion, whose face looked grave and troubled.

”Well, the sea does protect her just at this moment,” returned Mark, rousing himself. ”Rayner has taken himself off to Calcutta on a visit to some acquaintance there. But even about that, according to Colonel Fellowes whom I chanced to meet at the station, he behaved badly. The trip was first meant to include Hester, and she was looking forward to it, when Rayner is said to have stumbled on an undesirable acquaintance who persuaded him to go to Bombay and have what he called a 'good time'

there.”

”And so his poor wife was thrown overboard! Well, she's better without him, anyhow!”

”I was glad to see her looking so well and happy. She was evidently enjoying her visit to the Fellowes.”

”I'm truly glad to hear it,” said Mr. Worsley warmly. ”She needs a respite from that thraldom. Yes, Mrs. Fellowes looks good, and her husband is an excellent fellow, quite the best type of sepoy officer, and has a splendid record. Did very well at the Mutiny.”

The dinner was now over, and the soft-footed servants having arranged the fruit and wine, had retired. When Mark saw Moideen's retreating figure, he was reminded of the incident of the morning.