Part 5 (1/2)

And, after all, the introduction of the dimpled brown child in a little white night-s.h.i.+ft, who leant shyly against Elflida's blue beads, seemed to help the conversation. So much so that after coffee and cigarettes had been served in the verandah, old Iman felt as if success must crown his efforts--if only there were time! But how could there be time when the possible husband had arranged, since the motor bicycle refused to be mended with the appliances at his disposal, to have it conveyed by country cart overnight to the nearest railway station, five miles off, whither he must tramp it, he supposed? next morning, to catch the mail train.

It was when, pleasantly, yet still carelessly, Alec Alexander was saying good-bye to the blue eyes and the blue beads, with the brown baby cuddled up comfortably in the girl's slender arms, that Iman, with a sinking heart, played his last card by saying that there was no need for the Huzoor to tramp. The Miss-_Sahiba_ and Lily-_baba_ invariably took a carriage airing before breakfast, and could quite easily drop the Huzoor at the railway station.

”Yes! I could drop you quite easily at that place. It would be more better than the walk,” a.s.sented Elflida Norma, with a Sphinx-like smile. Her heart was beating faster than usual. She was beginning to be amused with the tinsel glitter and the general pretence.

It was like playing a game. Still she slept soundly; and so did the young engineer, and Lily-_baba_, and the boys gorged with as-a-rule-prohibited native dainties. Even the smith slept, and the anatomy had already reverted to reality, his transient dignity vanis.h.i.+ng into thin air. So that in that wide ruined serai, built by dead kings, all were at rest save the Great Artificer, Iman, who sate among the ruins of his dinner, satisfied, yet still conscious of failure. Something was lacking, which once more only G.o.d could create--only a miraculous car could bring.

In truth, if any vehicle might from outward appearance claim miraculous powers, it was the extraordinary sort of four-wheeled dogcart which, in the cool morning air, appeared as Iman's last card. He had, indeed, not wandered from the truth in telling Alec Alexander that carriages were not to be hired in that sahib-forsaken spot, and it had been only with extreme difficulty that he had raised these four wheels of varying colours and a body painted with festoons of grapes, all tied together with ropes.

Still, it held the party. Iman, with Lily-_baba_ in his arms, on the box by the driver, Elflida and the young engineer disposed on the back seat. The horse, it is true, showed signs of never having been in harness before, but this was not so evident to those behind, and Iman held tight and set his teeth, knowing that success has sometimes to be bought dearly.

Still, it was with no small measure of relief when they were close on their destination, and the beast settled down to the two hundred yards of collar work leading up to the small station level with the high embankment of the permanent way, that he turned round to peep at progress on the back seat.

Had anything happened? His heart sank at the cool, collected air with which the possible husband took his ticket; but it rose again, when, after saying good-bye to Lily-_baba_ and tipping the coachman, the young man went off to the platform with Elflida, as if it were a matter of course she should see him off. In truth, that is exactly what he did feel concerning this distinctly pretty and rather jolly little girl with a bad temper.

And Elflida? Her world seemed to have had a fresh start in growth, it held greater possibilities than before, that was all.

So everything had been in vain, even Iman's sense of duty towards the white blood he had served so long.

”Good-bye!” He could not hear the words, but he saw the young hands meet to unclasp again, as with a whistle the mail train rushed out from behind a dense mango clump, and the Westinghouse brakes brought a sudden grinding rattle to the quiet morning air.

”All was over!” thought Iman sadly, as still sitting on the box with Lily-_baba_, he watched. Surely it had not been his fault. He had done all--only the cheese _soufflee_ had failed, and that happened sometimes even in the house of Lat-Sahibs. Yet it was over.

It was, indeed. Almost including the miraculous car, as deprived of its driver, who was spending part of his tip in the sweet stall, the horse, frightened at the train, reared, bounded forward, and then, finding its progress barred in front by a railing, swerved on its track, and came past the station again, heading for that downward incline with the steep banks falling away on either side.

Elflida grasped the position first, and with a cry of ”Lily! Lily!” was at the horse's head as it pa.s.sed. The possible husband was not far behind--just far enough to make the off rein as convenient to his pursuing feet as the near one, to which she clung, half dragged, helpless, half in wild determination to keep pace with the terrified beast.

”Let go!” he shouted. ”He'll get you down, and then--let go, I say!”

She did not answer. In truth, she had no breath for words. And, besides, her mind was not clear enough to grasp his order, though it grasped something else--namely, that relief from her dead weight on one side must bring a swerve to the other. And that must not be till the embankment was pa.s.sed, or the man holding to the off rein must go under.

”Let go!” he shouted, again and again, as he, in his turn, grasped her purpose; but he might as well have shouted to the dead.

”I believe--I hope--she has fainted,” said Alec Alexander, with a catch in his voice not all due to breathlessness, as, the runaway safe held by other captors, he stooped over the girl who lay in the dust, her hands still clenched over a broken rein. Then he lifted her tenderly and carried her back to the station whence the mail train, careless of such trivialities as miraculous cart, had departed.

And if on his way he kissed the closed blue eyes and the blue beads round the childish throat, who shall blame him?

Anyhow, the hot dry nights of May were not over before old Iman's voice rose once more in declamation over the unforgettable story of the white blood.

But this time sleep did not come to the black-and-tan tribe gathered in the light of the floating oil wick. For the boys were watching something they had never seen before--the icing of a wedding cake.

And so the long-deferred personal climax came at last.