Part 8 (2/2)

”Mah Se hath a dower of roses, Mah Kit hath a dower of pelf; And I sigh for the scent of the roses, But die for the gleam of the pelf.”

”But die for the gleam of the pelf,” echoed the priest sonorously.

”Mah Se hath the grace of an angel, Mah Kit she is crooked and old.”

Crack! went the sharp report of a police carbine, and a bullet whistled harmlessly over the singer's head.

”May h.e.l.l burn those fools!” shouted Serferez. ”Come on!” and almost before the words had left him he was on the dacoits. The Boh sprang straight at him, and aimed a terrible cut at Serferez. He parried this, but it s.h.i.+vered his sword to splinters, and would have killed him on the spot but for the folds of his turban. It bore him on his knees, however, and had Bah Hmoay been allowed a moment's more time Serferez would have slept in paradise. But the opportunity was not to be lost; without a second's hesitation the dacoit chief sprang off, and, cutting down another man with a back-handed sweep of his long dah, dashed into the jungle and was lost. Not so Moung Sen. The minstrel was overpowered at the outset, and was now sitting like a trussed fowl securely bound with the long coils of a couple of turbans. Serferez had regained his feet, and shouted out, ”Who fired that shot?” One of the men explained that his rifle had gone off by accident--caught in a twig.

”You are a liar, Bullen, son of Bishen!” said the inspector; ”and that shot of yours has cost us a thousand rupees. Still, one remains in the net.--Ho, Moung Sen! Red Diamond! Do you remember me? I have come to pay back the debt I owe you.”

Moung Sen made no answer, but strained at the bandages that bound him until the muscles of his arms swelled out like knotted ropes.

”He will be very heavy to carry to the boat, will he not, my children?” said Serferez. ”And the law is uncertain--he may not hang.”

”And nine men from the Doab died that day at Yeo,” said one.

”We get no more for his head than for the rest of him,” added another.

”And he attempts to escape,” said a third, pointing to the man, who strained desperately to free himself.

In the dusk of the evening seven men of the Sikh police rolled out something from a cloth at the feet of Phipson.

”May it please the Feeder of the Poor,” said Serferez, ”the base born attempted to escape as the other did, and there was no way but this,”

and he held the grinning head of Moung Sen out at arm's length before him.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN OVERREACH.

Saddle me straight the red roan mare, She of the Waziri breed; The wings of death are beating the air, Hola! the Waziri steed!

The wings of death are fleet and strong, But we win the race, though the race be long.

_Lays of the Punjab_.

”Ruys, would you like to go home?”

”Home! This is my home, is it not?”

”You know what I mean,” said Habakkuk. ”This is getting too much for you,” and he stopped in a hesitating sort of way. A sad little smile lit up his wife's face--a face that had grown stronger and braver with the soul struggle of the past year. It was changed, too; the old brightness, the old vivacity had gone, but there was a serious light in the eyes that told of battle fought and victory won. And Habakkuk missed that old brightness and saw not the struggle. He was always dull, even if he knew how to suffer and be strong. But he thought that his wife was dying for freedom, and he vowed in his heart that, in so far as he could give her freedom, she should be free. Home--yes, home was the best place for her. He would never see it again, but she would be uncaged. He was not rich in the world's goods, and what he had he gave freely to the cause for which he laboured; but he held his hand back now, and during the past year the cause had suffered in this respect. But this little wrong was necessary to lighten a stricken heart. And while he thus laboured his wife saw it all with a woman's quickness, and inch by inch he was gaining ground, unknown at first to herself and through all utterly unguessed by him. At last the summer madness of the past drifted away, at last she began to realize, and just as she had done so this blundering fool asked her to go. It was too bad! After all, she had her woman's rights. Why did he not try to win her back with soft words? A new softness, a new mistrust of herself had come over her, and she could not speak. And then she dissembled and evaded the question. ”I am very well,” she said; ”there is nothing the matter with me.”

Smalley made no answer, and his wife, rising, went to the door and then stopped. For a moment the thought flashed upon her that she would ask him to come with her as far as the schoolhouse of Dagon. But he saw nothing in her hesitation. Finally she left him and went to her daily duties; but as she walked down the gra.s.sy lane that led to the school she thought to herself that if he had made any advance, ever so little a one, that she would have spoken. After all, this was part of her punishment, and she should bear it, her thoughts ran on.

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