Part 51 (2/2)

”Of a surety, if the Princess Farkhoonda desires it! Yet would Mirza Abool-Bukr still like to know wherefore he is not received?”

His tone sent a thrill of terror through her, his use of the name he hated warned her that his temper was rising--the devil awakening.

”Canst not see, dear,” she pleaded, trying to keep the hands he would have drawn from hers--”folk have evil minds.”

He gave an ugly laugh. ”Since when hast thou begun to think of thy good name, like other women, Newasi? But if it be so, if all my virtue--and G.o.d knows 'tis ill-got--is to go for naught, let it end.”

She heard him, felt him turn, and a wild despair surged up in her.

Which was worst? To let him go in anger beyond the reach of her controlling hand mayhap--go to unknown evils--or chance this one?

Since--since at the worst death might be concealed. G.o.d and His Prophet! What a thought! No! she would plead again--she would stoop--she would keep him at any price.

”Listen!” she whispered pa.s.sionately, leaning toward him in the dark, ”dost ask since when I have feared for my good name? Canst not guess?--Abool! what--what does a woman, as I am, fear--save herself--save her own love----”

There was an instant's silence, and then his reckless jeering laugh jarred loud.

”So it has come at last! and there is another woman for kisses. That is an end indeed! Did I not tell thee we should quarrel over it some day? Well, be it so, Princess! I will take my virtue elsewhere.”

She stood as if turned to stone, listening to his retreating steps, listening to his nonchalant humming of the old refrain as he pa.s.sed through the courtyard into the alley. Then, without a word, but quivering with pa.s.sion, she turned to where Kate cowered, and dragged her by main force to the stairs where, a minute before; she had sacrificed everything for her. No! not for her, for him!

”Go,” she said bitterly. ”Go! and my curse go with you.”

Kate fled before the anger she saw but did not understand. Yet as she flew down the steep stairs she paused involuntarily to listen to the sound--a sound which needed no interpreter as the liquid Persian had done--of a woman sobbing as if her heart would break.

She had no time, however, even for wonder, and the next instant she was out in the alley, turning to the right. For the knowledge that it was the Princess Farkhoonda who had helped her, gave the clew to her position. But the house, the stair? How could she know it? She must try them one after another; since she would know the landing, the door she had so often opened and shut. Still it was perilously near dawn ere she found what she was sure was the right one; but it was padlocked.

They must have gone; gone and left her alone!

For the first time, ghastly, unreasoning fear seized on her; she could have beaten at the door and screamed her claim to be let in. And even when, the rush of terror pa.s.sed, she sat stupidly on the step, not even wondering what to do next, till suddenly she remembered that she had keys in her pocket. That of the inner padlock, certainly; perhaps of the outer one, also, since Tara had given up using her duplicate altogether.

She had; and five minutes after, having satisfied herself that the roof remained as it was--that it was merely empty for a time--she tried to feel grateful. But the loneliness, the dimness, were too much for her fatigue, her excitement. So once more the sound which needs no interpreter rose on the warm soft night.

It was two days after this that Tiddu held a secret consultation with Soma and Tara. The Agha-sahib, he said, was getting desperate. He was losing his head, as the Huzoors did over women-folk, and he must be got out of the city. It was not as if he did any good by staying in it. The mem was either dead, or safely concealed. There was no alternative, unless, indeed, she had already been pa.s.sed out to the Ridge. There was talk of that sort among Hodson's spies, and he was going to utilize the fact and persuade the Huzoor to creep out to the camp and see. Soma could pa.s.s him out, and would not pa.s.s him in again; which was fortunate. Since folk in addition to protecting masters had to make money, when every other corn-carrier in the place was coining it by smuggling gold and silver out of the city for the rich merchants. Tara, with a sudden fierce exultation in her somber eyes, agreed. Let the Huzoor go back to his own life, she said; let him go to safety, and leave her free. As for the mem, the master had done enough for her. And Soma, sulky and lowering with the dull glow of opium in his brain--for the drug was his only solace now--swore that Tiddu was right. Delhi was no place for the master. And once out of it, the fighting would keep him: he knew him of old. As for the mem, he would not harm her, as Tara had once suggested he should. That dream was over. The Huzoors were the true masters; they had men who could lead men. Not Princes in Cashmere shawls who couldn't understand a word of what you said, and mere _soubadars_ c.o.c.ked up, but real _Colonels_ and _Generals_.

The result of this being that on the night of the 11th, between midnight and dawn, Jim Douglas, with that elation which came to him always at the prospect of action, prepared to slip out of the sally-port by the Magazine, disguised as a sepoy. This was to please Soma. To please Tiddu, however, he wore underneath this disguise the old staff uniform from the theatrical properties. It reminded him of Alice Gissing, making him whisper another ”bravo” to the memory of the woman whom he had buried under the orange-trees in the crimson-netted shroud made of an officer's scarf.

But Tiddu's remark, that an English uniform would be the safest, once he was beyond the city, sent sadness flying, in its frank admission that the tide had turned.

Turned, indeed! The certainty came with a great throb of fierce joy as, half an hour afterward, slipping past the gardens of Ludlow Castle, he found himself in the thick of English bayonets, and felt grateful for the foresight of the old staff uniform. They were on their way to surprise and take the picket; not to defend but to attack.

The opportunity was too good to be lost. There was no hurry. He had arranged to remain three days on the Ridge--he might not have another opportunity of a free fair fight.

He had forgotten every woman in the world, everything save the welcome silence before him as he turned and stole through the trees also, sword in hand.

By all that was lucky and well-planned! the picket must be asleep! Not a sound save the faint crackle of stealthy feet almost lost in the insistent quiver of the cicalas. No! there was a challenge at last within a foot or two.

”Who--k.u.m--dar?”

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