Part 17 (1/2)

Poor little thing,” she added in quick self-reproach. ”Anyhow it seemed beautiful to them--it is the first--the first that has lived, I mean.”

She pulled up short, wondering what possessed her to be so confidential with this strange young man.

”So Am-ma told me,” said Lance. ”He called you the Life-bringer. It is a nice name.”

She fought against the tenderness in his tone. ”And you are the Death-bringer,” she retorted lightly, pointing to the painted beauty in his hand. ”So you and I are at opposite poles, Mr. Carlyon.”

He stood looking at her for a moment with a smile. ”I don't know, Miss Shepherd. '_Death and Birth are the pivots of the Wheel of Life_.' I remember reading that, in Sanskrit, when I went up for my higher; for I've pa.s.sed it, you know. I'm really not bad at languages when I try.”

It was the first time she had ever heard him claim credit for anything, and the fact touched her more than she cared to own. Touched her so closely that she sought instantly for cover.

”I wish I were,” she said, moving on, though, as she had known he would, he moved on also. ”I'm afraid I shall find it a great trouble having to learn a new one.”

”A new one,” he echoed quickly, in response to something in her voice.

”Are you going to leave Eshwara--soon?”

She paused for a moment ere replying. ”Sooner than I expected, Mr.

Carlyon; most likely in a day or two. I don't know whether you have heard,” she continued, looking him in the face, ”but I am engaged to be married to my cousin--Dr. Campbell's son--David Campbell. He is a missionary--as I am--and--” she hesitated. ”He is at home,--or was. We did not expect him back for two months, but he has had a good offer of a splendid place where there is any amount of work to be done. The letter telling us this came yesterday--by the same mail as--as he did.

He is travelling up country now; and then--”

”And then?” said Lance, quietly. With his gun over his shoulder, he looked what he was, a soldier; and since she began to speak, he had, insensibly, pulled himself together and fallen into a disciplined ordered tread.

”My aunt wants the wedding to be from the mission station in the low hills where they go every summer,” went on the girl. She was trying not to look at her companion, not out of pity, but from dread of her own admiration. ”So as David”--she felt better after the semi-appropriation of the Christian name--”is in a hurry to start, she thought of going there as soon as the camp leaves--in a day or two. So--so--we shall not see very much more of each other, Mr. Carlyon; shall we?”

He gave her his first look of reproach, being unable, in his absolutely honest humility, to conceive of the vague regret which forced her to the useless appeal.

”I--I hope you will be very happy,” he said, quite simply. ”Take care, please; that bit is boggier than you think.” For the second time in their short acquaintance she felt his hand, not as a friend's, but as a helper, a protector. This time the blood left her face pale.

”I hope so, Mr. Carlyon,” she replied, and her hands clasped themselves tightly as if to hold some resolve. ”It is what I have always hoped for, thought of.” Then suddenly she smiled at him almost appealingly.

”I am a bit of a soldier too, you know--I love the fighting.”

”You are in the thick of it here, anyhow,” he interrupted, pausing.

They had climbed by a flight of steps through the city wall into the small courtyard on which the mission house, which had once been an outpost of the Fort, opened on its inner side. The outer, with its wide overhanging verandah, forming part of the actual city wall. But the remainder of the courtyard was set round by a perfect congeries of small temples, each rearing its upright stone spire--the stone of Baal wors.h.i.+p--about the central tank which occupied the middle of the square. It was quite a small tank, and absolutely dry; so that you could see the four or five worn stone steps which led down to the patch of earth, not six feet square, at the bottom. A dozen or more children, boys and girls of the streets, were playing a sort of hop-scotch on these steps, and as Lance looked, one of them slipped and fell into that patch of earth. In a second the others had quitted their game, and fallen pell-mell, too, struggling, kicking, shouting, screaming with laughter.

”Is it a game?” he asked, looking at his companion, amused.

”Yes!” she said, suddenly, her face stern as he had seen it that first time he met her. ”It is the game of Life and Death! That is the 'Pool of Immortality,' Mr. Carlyon! The pilgrims come here to bathe--there must be a secret siphon somewhere, for the water only comes when it is wanted. Three years ago the barriers put up to prevent accidents gave way--it was no one's fault. The crowd got in--a man slipped--and--and when the police managed to clear the crush--the--the tank was full up with dead bodies! The children _play_ at it now!”

But they had spied more amus.e.m.e.nt, and in another second were hanging round Erda's skirts.

”Sing to us, Miss-_sahiba_,--sing to us before you go in.”

She looked apologetically at Lance. ”I generally do,” she began.

He raised his cap, almost obediently, with a brief ”Certainly,” and pa.s.sed on; but as he left the court on his way to the Fort, the first note of her voice made him turn, for a second, to look.