Part 25 (2/2)

It cast a ruddy glow over the withered trunk of a huge fallen pine that lay athwart the open, and then fell in long rainbow-hued shafts on the uneasy mists that filled the valley, and stole up the mountain side in soft-rolling billows of purple, of grey, and of silver-white.

The pine trunk was not ten paces from me, and walking up to it I took out the pistols from the courier-bag and placed them on the rough bark, and from their resting-place the polished barrels glinted brightly in the evening light. I knew I was near my man, and if ever there was an excuse for doing what I meant to do, I had that defence.

As I stood there, one hand on the tree trunk and still as a stone, a red tragopan crept out from the yellow-berried bramble at the edge of the steep. For a moment we looked at one another, and then he dropped his blue-wattled head an was off like a flash, and at the same instant there was a scream and a rush of wings, as a homing eagle dropped like a falling stone over the pines, and whizzing past me was lost to view.

I walked to the edge of the precipice over which he had flown to his eyrie on the face of the cliffs below; I could see nothing but that heaving swell of billows, and now some one laughed--a sweet, melodious laugh like the tinkling of a silver bell. I turned sharply, and Rani stood before me. It could be none other than she. Bhootea, savage, Mongol--whatever she was, she was of those whom G.o.d had dowered with beauty, and she stood before me a lithe, supple elf of the woods. The rounded outlines of her form were clear through the single garment she wore, clasped by an embroidered zone at the waist, and holding forth a pitcher with a shapely arm, she offered me some spring water to drink.

I shook my head, and she laughed again like the song of a bird, and asked in English, speaking slowly:

”You want--my--man?”

Before I could answer, the door of the hut opened and Mazarion and I had met again.

”You--you!” and he paled beneath his sunburnt cheeks.

”Even I.” And we stared at each other, my temples throbbing and my hands clenched. He was dressed as a native of the hills, in a long loose gabardine, with a cloth wound round his waist. His fair hair hung in an unkempt tangle to his neck, and he had a beard of many weeks' growth. All the beauty had gone from his face, and sin had set the mark of the beast on him; he had become a savage; he had gone back five thousand years, to the time when his cave-dwelling ancestors hunted the aurochs and the sabre-toothed tiger. There was that in our gaze which stilled the laughter in Rani's eyes, and she crept closer to him, standing as if to cover him. His head drooped slowly forwards, and the fingers of his hands opened and shut; he was fighting something within himself.

”Send the woman away,” I said. ”You know why I have come,” and I pointed to the pistols on the fallen tree trunk.

Rani saw the gesture. Her glance s.h.i.+fted uneasily from one to the other of us, and then rested on the weapons, and now, trembling with an unknown fear, she clung to her man.

”Send her away. You hear.” My own voice came to me as from a far distance.

He put her aside gently, where she stood s.h.i.+vering in every limb, and came forwards a step.

”I cannot,” he said thickly, and speaking with an effort; ”I cannot--not with you----”

”I will force you to.” I spoke calmly enough, but there was a red mist before my eyes and a drumming in my ears. Fool that I was to think that G.o.d would give His vengeance to my hands! And then I struck him where he stood, struck him twice across the face, and with a cry like that of a mad beast he was on me.

We were both strong men, and he was fighting for his life; but I--I had the strength of ten then; all the pent-up rage of years was roaring within me, and there was a pitiless hate in my heart. I would kill him like the unclean thing he was should be killed. With all my force I struck him again and again, and I felt as if something crashed under the blow. We fell together and rose again, and with a mighty effort I flung him from me. He staggered to his feet, his face white and bleeding, his blue lips hissing curses. He was then facing me, his back but a yard from the edge of the abyss, against which the mists were beating like a grey sea. He read the meaning in my look, and made one last straggle, one last rush for safety, but I hit him fair on the forehead, and he threw up his arms with a gasp, staggered back a pace, and was gone. Far below there sounded something like a dull thud and a cry, and then all was still. Nelly was avenged.

It was all over. I could see nothing as I peered into the mist before me, and then I was brought to myself by the sound of sudden sobbing, and there was Rani stretched on the gra.s.s and plucking at the turf like a mad thing. She was a woman after all, and, poor, wild waif of the jungles, hers was no sin and no wrong. But her sobs and the agony on her face brought on a sudden revulsion and a horror at my deed. It was as sudden, as swift, as the tumult of pa.s.sions which had driven me to kill the man, and now the blackness of night had settled on my soul. I made no attempt at speech with the woman, but silently took up the pistols, gave one last s.h.i.+vering glance at the deep and at the prostrate figure of Rani, and then fled through the forest, my one thought to put miles between me and my deed. By the time I had found the pony and mounted him I was able to reflect a little, and it was with a guilty start that I realized there was a witness, and--and--But the place was a lonely one. And Rani--would her word count against mine? Never! And then I laughed shrilly and galloped on.

I reached the club just in time to dress for dinner. Strange! I could not bear the thought of being alone--I who had lived for a year at a time a solitary. I dressed in haste, and as I came out my servant handed me my letters--the English mail had just come in, he said. I would have flung them from me, but that the first letter in my hand was in Mrs. Carstairs' writing. With a vague presentiment of evil I opened and read. Nelly was ill, Nelly was dying. Some fool had told her of John Mazarion, and had killed her as surely as with the stroke of a knife. As I read, the lines blurred one into the other, and something seemed to give way in my brain. I rose and staggered as one drunken, and then--and then, strong man as I was, I fainted and remember no more.

It was a long illness. I do not know what the doctors called it; but they pulled me through, as they thought. It was another thing, however, that cured me. I remember how, when my brain first righted itself, the awful memory of Mazarion's end came back again and sat over me like a dreadful vampire. Each whispered word of the nurses in attendance on me, each noise I heard, seemed to presage the announcement that my guilt was known. One day I asked the nurse whether I had been delirious, and what I had said.

She flushed a little. She was a good woman, and an untruth was hateful to her. Then she fenced:

”Oh, one always says strange things in delirium; but you're getting quite strong now, and Captain Paget is coming to see you to-day. It was he who found you insensible, and he has been as good as any ten of us----”

”Paget--Paget found me?”

She put her finger to her lips and a cool hand on my eyes, and I seemed to fall asleep.

How long I slept I cannot quite say, but I became conscious of whispering voices in the room.

”There's no doubt about it, and it's his only chance, I think. Just give him the news quietly when he awakes. Yes, he may have a gla.s.s of port before.”

I lay still, but trembling under my covers. It had come at last. Oh, the shame of it! the sin of it!--I a common murderer. It was too much, and I tried to start up, but fell back weakly, and saw Paget sitting by the bed, smiling kindly at me.

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