Part 21 (2/2)
”You see, don't you?” said Mrs. Gissing, with bright reckless eyes, when they were alone once more. ”She doesn't mind. She has forgotten all the years between, forgotten everything. And I--I don't know why--but there! What is the use of asking questions? I never can answer even for myself. So we had better leave it alone for the present. We needn't settle yet a while, and there is always a chance of something happening.”
”But you said your husband would be back----” he began.
”In a month--but we may all be dead and buried in a month,” she interrupted. ”I only told you now, because I thought you ought to know soon, so as not to be hurried at the last. It means a lot, you see, for a man to give up his profession for a woman; and it isn't like England, you know----” She paused, then continued in an odd half-anxious voice, her eyes fixed on him inquiringly as he stood beside her. ”I shouldn't be angry, remember, Herbert, if--if you didn't.”
”Allie! What do you mean? Do you mean that you don't care?” His tone was full of pained surprise, his hand scarcely a willing agent as she drew it close to caress it with her cheek.
”Care? of course I care. You are very good to me, Herbert, far nicer to me than you are to other people. And I can't say 'no' if you decide on giving up for me. I _can't_ now. I see that. Only don't let us be in a hurry. As that big fat man in the tight satin trousers said to the Resident to-day, when he was asked what the people in the city thought of the fuss down country, '_Delhi dur ust_.'”
”_Delhi dur ust?_ What the devil does that mean?” asked the Major, his brief doubt soothed by the touch of her soft cheek. ”You are such a clever little cat, Allie! You know a deuced sight more than I do. How you pick it up I can't think.”
She gave one of her inconsequent laughs. ”Don't have so many men anxious to explain things to you as I have, I expect, sir! But if you ever spoke to a native here--which you don't--you'd know _that_. Even my old Mai says it--they all say it when they don't want to tell the truth, or be hurried, and that is generally. 'Delhi is far,' they say.
Dr. Macintyre translates it as 'It's a far cry to Lochawe'; but I don't understand that; for it was an old King of Delhi who said it first. People came and told him an enemy had crossed his border.
'_Delhi dur ust_,' says he. Can't you see him, Herbert? An old Turk of a thing with those tight satin trousers! Then they told him the enemy was in sight. '_Delhi dur ust_,' said he. And he said it when they were at the gate--he said it when their swords----” the dramatic instinct in her was strong, and roused her into springing to her feet and mimicking the thrust. ”_Delhi dur ust_.”
Her gay mocking voice rang loud. Then she laid her hand lightly on his arm. ”Let us say it too, dear,” she said almost sharply. ”I won't think--yet. '_Delhi dur ust_.'”
The memory of the phrase went with him when he had said good-by, and was pacing his charger toward the Post Office. But it only convinced him that the Delhi of his decision was reached; he would chuck everything for Allie.
It was by this time growing dusk, but he could see two figures standing in the veranda of the Press Office, and one of them called him by name. He turned in at the gate to find Captain Morecombe reading a proof-sheet by the light of a swinging lamp; for Jim Douglas drew back into unrecognizable shadow as he approached. He had purposely kept out of Major Erlton's way during his occasional returns to Delhi, and as he stepped back now he asked himself if he hated the big man most for his own sake, or for Kate's, or for that other little woman's. Not that it mattered a jot, since he hated him cordially on all three scores.
”Bad news from Barrackpore, Erlton,” said the Captain, ”and as I have to drive Mrs. Erlton home I thought you might take it round to the Brigadier's. At least if you have no objection, Douglas?”
”None. The telegram is all through the bazaar by now. You can't help it if you employ natives.”
”'Through the medium of a private telegram,'” read Captain Morecombe, ”'the following startling news has reached our office. On Sunday (the 29th of March) about 4.30 P. M., a Brahmin sepoy of the 34th N.
I.'--that's the missionary fellow's regiment, of course--'went amuck, and rus.h.i.+ng to the quarter-guard with his musket, ordered the bugler to sound the a.s.sembly to all who desired to keep the faith of their fathers. The guard, ordered to arrest him, refused. The whole regiment being, it is said, in alarm at the arrival that morning of the first detachment of British troops, detailed to keep order during the approaching disbandment of the 19th for mutiny; rumor having it that all sepoys then refusing to become Christians would be shot down at once. The mutineer, who had been drinking hemp, actually fired at Sergeant-major Hewson, providentially missing him; subsequently he fired at the Adjutant, who, after a hand-to-hand scuffle with the madman, in which Hewson joined, only escaped with his life through the aid of a faithful Mohammedan orderly. Until, and, indeed, after Colonel Wheler the Commandant arrived on the parade ground, the mutineer marched up and down in front of the guard, flouris.h.i.+ng his musket and calling for his comrades to join him. The Colonel therefore ordered the guard to advance and shoot the man down. The men made show of obedience, but after a few steps they refused to go on, unless accompanied by a British officer. On this, Colonel Wheler, considering the risk needless with an unreliable guard already half-mutinous, rode off to report his failure to the Brigadier, who had halted on the further side of the parade ground. At this juncture (about 5.30 P. M.) matters looked most serious. The 43d N. I. had turned out, and were barely restrained from rus.h.i.+ng their bells of arms by the entreaties of their native officers. The 34th, beyond control altogether, were watching the mutineer's unchecked defiance with growing sympathy.
Fortunately at this moment General Hea.r.s.ey, commanding the Division, rode up, followed by his two sons as _aides_. Hearing what had occurred from the group of officers awaiting further developments, he galloped over to the guard, ordered them to follow him, and made straight for the mutineer; shouting back, ”D----n his musket, sir!” to an officer who warned him it was loaded. But seeing the man kneel to take aim he called to his son, ”If I fall, John, rush in and put him to death somehow.” The precaution was, providentially, unnecessary, for the mutineer, seeing the remaining officers join in this resolute advance, turned his musket on himself. He is not expected to live.
Adjutant Baugh, a most promising young officer, is, we regret to say, dangerously wounded.'”
”Treacherous black devils! I'd shoot 'em down like dogs--the lot of them,” said Major Erlton savagely. He had slipped from his horse and now stood in the veranda overlooking the proof, his back to Jim Douglas. Perhaps it was the closer sight of his enemy's face which roused the latter's temper. Anyhow he broke into the conversation with that nameless challenge in his voice which makes a third person nervous.
”It is a pity you were not at Barrackpore. They seem to have been in need of a good pot-shot--even of an officer to be potted at--till Hea.r.s.ey came to the front.”
Captain Morecombe turned quickly to put up his sword as it were. ”By the way, Erlton,” he said hastily, ”I don't think you know Douglas, though you tried to see him at Nujjufghur after he saved Mrs. Gissing from that snake.”
But Jim Douglas' temper grew, partly at his own fatuity in risking the now inevitable encounter; and he had a vile, uncontrollable temper when he was in the wrong.
”Major Erlton and I have met before,” he interrupted, turning to go; ”but I doubt if he will recognize me. Possibly his horse may.”
He paused as he spoke before the Arab which stood waiting. It whinnied instantly, stretching its head toward its old master. Major Erlton muttered a startled exclamation, but regained his self-possession instantly. ”I beg your pardon--Mr.--er--Douglas, I think you said, Morecombe; but I did not recognize you.”
The pause was aggressive to the last degree.
”Under that name, you mean,” finished Jim Douglas, white with anger at being so obviously at a disadvantage. ”The fact is, Captain Morecombe, that as the late King of Oude's trainer I called myself James Greyman. I sold that Arab to Major Erlton under that name, and under--well--rather peculiar circ.u.mstances. I am quite ready to tell them if Major Erlton thinks them likely to interest the general public.”
His eyes met his enemy's, fiercely getting back now full measure of sheer, wild, vicious temper. Everything else had gone to the winds, and they would have been at each other's throats gladly; scarcely remembering the cause of quarrel, and forgetting it utterly with the first grip, as men will do to the end of time.
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