Part 20 (1/2)

”Ah-a-a!” Barlow exclaimed in disgust--”that's India; the fever-bird, the koel, harbinger of the hot-spell, of burning sun and stifling dust, and throbbing head.”

He cursed the koel, for the gentle mood had slipped from Elizabeth. He had hoped that she would have spoken of yesterday, give him a shamed solace for the hurt she had given him. Of course Hodson would have told her all about the Gulab. But while that, the service, was sufficient for the Resident, Elizabeth would consider the fact that Barlow knew Bootea well enough to have this service rendered; it would touch her caste--also her exacting nature.

Something like this was floating through his mind as he groped mentally for an explanation of Elizabeth's att.i.tude, the effect of which was neutral; nothing to draw him toward her in a way of moral sustaining, but also, nothing to antagonise him.

She must know that he was leaving on a dangerous mission; but she did not bring it up. Perhaps with her usual diffident reserve she felt that it was his province to speak of that.

At any rate she called to a hovering bearer telling him to give his master Captain Barlow's salaams. Then with the flowers she pa.s.sed into the bungalow. She had quite a proppy, military stride, bred of much riding.

Barlow gazed after Elizabeth ruefully, wis.h.i.+ng she had thrown him a life belt. However, it did not matter; it was up to him to act in a sane manner, men of the Service were taught to rely on themselves. And in Barlow was the something of breeding that held him to the true thing, to the pole; the breeding might be compared to the elusive thing in the magnetic needle. It did not matter, he would probably marry Elizabeth--it seemed the proper thing to do. Devilish few of the chaps he knew babbled much about love and being batty over a girl--that is, the girls they married.

Then the bearer brought Hodson's salaams to the Captain.

And Hodson was a Civil Servant in excelsis. He took to bed with him his Form D and Form C--even the ”D. O.”, the Demi Official business, and worried over it when he should have slept or read himself to sleep.

Duty to him was a more exacting G.o.d than the black Kali to the Brahmins; it had dried up his blood--atrophied his nerves of enjoyment.

And now he was depressed though he strove to greet Barlow cheerily.

”It's a devilish s.h.i.+ndy, this killing of our two chaps,” he burst forth with; ”I've pondered over it, I've worried over it; the only solace in the thing is, that the arm of the law is long.”

”I think you've got it, sir,” Barlow encouraged. ”When we've smashed Sindhia--and we will--we'll demand these murderers, hang a few of them, and send the rest to the Andamans.”

”Yes, it has simply got to wait; to stir up things now would only let the Peshwa know what you are going to do--we'd show him our hand. And I don't mind telling you, Captain, that he is an absolute traitor; and I believe that it's that d.a.m.n Nana Sahib who's influencing him.”

”There's no doubt about it, sir.”

”No, there is not!” the Resident declared gloomily. ”The two dead _sowars_ must be considered as sacrifice, just as though they had fallen in battle; it's for the good of the Raj. If I get hauled over the coals for this I don't give a d.a.m.n. I've pondered over it, almost prayed over it, and it's the only way. There's talk of a big loot of jewellery by these decoits, and the killing of the merchant and his men, but I've got nothing to do with that. The one wonderful thing is, that we saved the papers. That little native woman that brought them to you must be rewarded later. By the way, Barlow, I took the liberty of explaining all that to Elizabeth, and I think she's pretty badly cut up over the way she acted. But you understand, don't you, Captain? I believe that if it had been my case I'd have, well, I'd have known that it was because the girl cared. Elizabeth is undemonstrative--too much so, in fact; but I fancy--well, never mind: it's so long ago that I took notice of these things that I find I'm trying to speak in an unknown tongue.”

The little man rose and bustled about, pulling out drawers from the cabinet and shoving them back again, venting little asthmatic coughs of sheer nervousness. Then coming up to Barlow he held out his hand saying: ”My dear boy, G.o.d be with you; but don't take chances--will you?”

At that instant Elizabeth appeared at the doorway: ”Captain Barlow will have breakfast with us, won't he, father--it's all ready, and Boodha says he has a chop-and-kidney curry that is a dream?”

”Jupiter!” Hodson exclaimed; ”fancy I'm getting India head; was sending Barlow off without a word about breakfast. Of course he'll stay--thanks, Elizabeth.”

The tired drawn parchment face of the Resident became revivified, it was the face of a happy boy; the grey eyes blued to youth. Inwardly he murmured: ”Elizabeth is wonderful! I knew it; good girl!”

It was a curious breakfast--mentally. Elizabeth was the Elizabeth of the verandah. Perhaps it was the pa.s.sionate beating of the pillow the day before, when she had realised for the first time what Barlow meant to her, that now cast her into defence; encased her in an armour of protection; caused her to a.s.sume a casualness. She would give worlds to not have said what she had said the day before, but the Captain must know that she had been roused by a knowledge of his intimacy with the Gulab. Just what had occurred did not matter--not in the least; it was his place to explain it. That was Elizabeth's way--it was her manner of thought; a subservience of impulse to propriety, to cla.s.s. In the light of her feeling when she had lain, wet-eyed, beating the pillow, she knew that if he had put his arms about her and said just even stupid words--”I'm sorry, Beth, you know I love you”--she would have capitulated, perhaps even in the capitulation have said a Bethism: ”It doesn't matter--we'll never mention it again.”

But Barlow, very much of a boy, couldn't feel this elusive thing, and rode away after breakfast from the bungalow muttering: ”By gad!

Elizabeth should have said something over roasting me. Fancy she doesn't care a hang. Anyway--I'll give her credit for that--she doesn't hunt with the hounds and run with the hare. If it's the prospect of sharing a t.i.tle with me, a rotter would have eaten the leek. Yes, Elizabeth is cla.s.s.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Dewan Sewlal was in a s.h.i.+ver of apprehension over the killing of the two sepoys; there would be trouble over this if the Resident came to know of it.

But Hunsa had a.s.sured him that the soldiers and their saddles had been buried in the pit with the others, and that n.o.body but the decoits knew of their advent.

Then when he learned that Ajeet Singh had been to the Resident he was in a panic. But as that British official made no move, said nothing about the decoity, he fancied that perhaps Ajeet had not mentioned this, in fact he had no proof that he had made a confession at all.