Part 20 (1/2)

So as he sat waiting, watching, the light faded, the faint smell of incense grew fainter, the stream of wors.h.i.+pers coming to take the holy water in which the G.o.d had been washed slackened. Then by twos and threes the Brahmins and _yogis_--the Dean and Chapter, as it were--pa.s.sed out clinking half-pennies, and carrying the offertory in kind, tied up in handkerchiefs.

The service was over, and Tara must therefore live in a lodging reached from within. And now, when the coast was clearing, he might still have opportunity of tracing her. So he rose and walked in boldly, disappointed to find the courtyard was almost empty already.

There were only a few stragglers, mostly women, and they in the white shroud of widows; but even in the gloom and shadow he could see the tall figure he sought was not among them, and he was about to slip away when, following their looks, he caught sight of another figure crouching on the topmost step of the plinth, right in front of the sanctuary door, so that it stood faintly outlined against the glimmer of the single cresset, which, raised on the heap of half-dead flowers within, showed them and nothing more--nothing but the shadows.

He drew back hastily into the empty arcade, and waited for the widows'

lingering bare feet--scarcely heard even on those echoing stones--to pa.s.s out and leave him and Tara alone. For it was Tara. That he knew though her face was turned from him.

The feet lingered on, making him fear lest some of the mendicants who must lodge in these arcades should return, after almsgiving time, and find him there. And as they lingered he thought how he had best make himself known to the devotee, the saint. It must be something dramatic, something to tie her tongue at once, something to bring home to her his hold upon her. The locket! He slipped it from his neck and stood ready. Then, as the last flutter of white disappeared, he stepped noiselessly across the court.

And so, suddenly, between the rapt face and the dim light on which its eyes were fixed, hung a dangling gold oval, and the Englishman, bending over the woman's shoulder from behind, could see the amaze flash to the face. And his other hand was ready with the clutch of command, his tongue with a swift threat; but she was too quick for him. She was round at his feet in an instant, clasping them.

”Master! Master!”

Jim Douglas recoiled from that touch once more; but with a half-shamed surprise, regret, almost remorse. He had meant to threaten this woman, and now----

She was up again, eager, excited. ”Quick! The Huzoor is not safe here.

They may return any moment. Quick! Quick! Huzoor, follow me.”

And as, blindly, he obeyed, pa.s.sing rapidly through a low doorway and so up a dark staircase, he slipped the locket back to its place with a sort of groan. Here was another woman to be reckoned with, and though the discovery suited his purpose, and though he knew himself to be as safe as her woman's wit could make him, he wondered irritably if there was anything in the world into which this eternal question of s.e.x did not intrude. And then, suddenly, he seemed to feel Alice Gissing's heart beat beneath his hand; there had been no womanhood in that touch.

So he pa.s.sed on. And next morning he was on his way southward. Tara had told him what he wanted to know.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE RESIDENCY.

”Strawberries! Oh, how delightful!”

Kate Erlton looked with real emotion at a plate of strawberries and cream which Captain Morecombe had just handed to her. ”They are the first I have ever seen in India,” she went on in almost pathetic explanation of her apparent greed. ”Where could Sir Theophilus have got them?”

”Meerut,” replied her cavalier with a kindly smile. ”They grow up-country. But they put one in mind of home, don't they?” He turned away, almost embarra.s.sed, from the look in her eyes; and added, as if to change the subject, ”The Resident does it splendidly, does not he?”

There could be no two opinions as to that. The park-like grounds were kept like an English garden, the house was crammed from floor to ceiling with works of art, the broad verandas were full of rare plants, and really valuable statuary. That toward the river, on the brink of which Metcalfe House stood, gave on a bal.u.s.traded terrace which was in reality the roof of a lower story excavated, for the sake of coolness, in the bank itself. Here, among others, was the billiard room, from the balcony of which you could see along the curved stone embankment of the river to the Koodsia garden, which lay between Metcalfe Park and the rose-red wall of the city. It was an old pleasure-ground of the Moghuls, and a ruined palace, half-hidden in creepers, half lost in sheer luxuriance of blossom, still stood in its wilderness of forest trees and scented shrubs; a very different style of garden from that over which Kate Erlton looked, as it undulated away in lawns and drives between the Ridge and the river.

”Yes!” she said, ”it always reminds me of England; but for that----”

She pointed to the dome of a Mohammedan tomb which curved boldly into the blue sky close to the house.

”Yet that is the original owner,” replied her companion. ”There is rather an odd story about that tomb, Mrs. Erlton. It is the burial place of the great Akhbar's foster-brother. Most likely he was a cowherd by caste, for their women often go out as nurses, and the land about here all belonged to these Goojers, as they are called. But when we occupied Delhi, a civilian--one Blake--fancied the tomb as a house, added to it, and removed the good gentleman's grave-stone to make room for his dining-table--a hospitable man, no doubt, as the Resident is now. But the Goojers objected, appealed to the Government agent. In vain. Curiously enough both those men were, shortly afterward, a.s.sa.s.sinated.”

”You don't mean to connect----” began Kate in a tone of remonstrance.

Captain Morecombe laughed. ”In India, Mrs. Erlton, it is foolish to try and settle which comes first, the owl or the egg. You can't differentiate cause and effect when both are incomprehensible. But if I were Resident I should insure myself and my house against the act of G.o.d and the Queen's enemies.”

”But this house?” she protested.

”Is built on the site of a Goojer village, and they were most unwilling to sell. One could hardly believe it now, could one? Come and see the river terrace. It is the prettiest place in Delhi at this time of the year.”

He was right; for the last days of March, the first ones of April are the crown and glory of a Northern Indian garden. Perhaps because there is already that faint hint of decay which makes beauty more precious.

Another short week and the flower-lover going the evening round will find many a sun-weary head in the garden. But on this glorious afternoon, when the Resident was entertaining Delhi in right residential fas.h.i.+on, there was not a leaf out of place, a blade of gra.s.s untrimmed. Long lines of English annuals in pots bordered the broad walks evenly, the scentless gardenia festooned the rows of cypress in disciplined freedom, the roses had not a fallen petal, though the palms swept their long fringes above them boldly, and strange perfumed creepers leaped to the branches of the forest trees.