The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Path to Honour, by Sydney C. Grier


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Title: The Path to Honour


Author: Sydney C. Grier



Release Date: February 6, 2008  [eBook #24535]

Language: English

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***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATH TO HONOUR***


E-text prepared by Al Haines



Transcriber's note:

   The name "Lena" appears several times in this book.
   In the original book, the "e" in "Lena" was e-macron.





THE PATH TO HONOUR

by

SYDNEY C. GRIER

Author of
  'The Power of the Keys,' 'A Young Man Married,'
  Etc., Etc.







William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1909


      *      *      *      *      *      *


NOVELS by SYDNEY C. GRIER


Modern East Series.

  The Advanced Guard
  His Excellency's English Governess
  Peace with Honour
  The Warden of the Marches


Balkan Series.

  An Uncrowned King
  A Crowned Queen
  The Kings of the East
  The Prince of Captivity


Indian Historical Series.

  In Furthest Ind
  Like Another Helen
  The Great Proconsul


Balkan Series. II.

  The Heir
  The Heritage


The Power of the Keys


A Young Man Married



Edited by Sydney C. Grier

The Letters of Warren Hastings to his Wife.

      *      *      *      *      *      *



CONTENTS.


CHAP.

     I. "IF IT BE A SIN TO COVET HONOUR----"
    II. HER SIDE OF THE CASE
   III. THE OLD ORDER AND THE NEW
    IV. "A-HUNTING WE WILL GO"
     V. GERRARD FINDS FAVOUR
    VI. THE CROWNING PROOF
   VII. ON GUARD
  VIII. THE SUPERFLUOUS CHARTERIS
    IX. IN SLIPPERY PLACES
     X. THE DOOR IS SHUT
    XI. MURDER MOST FOUL
   XII. THE ONE WHO WAS TAKEN
  XIII. THE ONE WHO WAS LEFT
   XIV. THE IDEAL AND THE REAL
    XV. MUTTERINGS OF THE STORM
   XVI. THE MILD CONCERNS OF ORDINARY LIFE
  XVII. THE ISSUES OF AN AWFUL MOMENT
 XVIII. THE CAMPAIGN OF VENGEANCE
   XIX. AS OTHERS SEE US
    XX. A DAY OF VICTORY
   XXI. FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY
  XXII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE DEAD
 XXIII. RUN TO EARTH
  XXIV. HONOUR AND HONOURS




THE PATH TO HONOUR.


CHAPTER I.

"IF IT BE A SIN TO COVET HONOUR----"

The time was towards the close of the 'forties of the nineteenth
century, and the place the city of Ranjitgarh, capital of the great
native state of Granthistan, which was not yet a British possession,
but well on the way to becoming one.  This ultimate destiny was
entirely undesired by the powers that were, who had just appointed
Colonel Edmund Antony--a fanatical upholder of native rights, according
to his enemies--as British Resident and protector of the infant prince
occupying the uneasy throne.  The task of regenerating Granthi society
from the top, much against its will, and welding its discordant
elements into a peaceful, prosperous, and contented buffer state (the
thing was known, though not as yet the name) against encroaching
Ethiopia on the north, promised to be no easy one, but Colonel Antony
was undertaking it confidently, with the support of two or three of his
brothers and a picked band of assistants drawn from the army and Civil
Service.  That moral suasion might be duly backed up by physical force,
ten thousand British and Indian troops, under the command of a
Peninsular veteran, General Sir Arthur Cinnamond, were garrisoning the
citadel of Ranjitgarh and holding the lines of Tej Singh in the
suburbs.  The city thus overawed Colonel Antony was wont to call the
wickedest place in Asia, in blissful ignorance of the sins not only of
distant Gamara, but of towns much nearer home.  Its streets were filled
with a swaggering disbanded soldiery that had faced the might of
England and the Company in four pitched battles during the last decade,
shameless women peered from its every lattice, and its defence of
religion took the form of frequent bloodthirsty "cow rows," but he saw
in its wickedness no insuperable bar to the success of his policy.  In
twelve years or so the British would retire, leaving a reformed nation
to govern itself.  Meanwhile, in order to emphasise the transient
nature of the occupation, a Mohammedan tomb served as the English
church, and a single house of moderate size was made to accommodate the
Resident and all his assistants, becoming the scene of as much hard
work and high endeavour as might have sufficed to redeem an empire.

On an inner courtyard of the Residency there looked out a number of
small rooms, each of which was shared by two young men, who had much
ado to bestow themselves and their possessions in the limited space and
the section of verandah that appertained to it.  One room was much like
another, with its camp-beds and table, and its miscellaneous assortment
of camel-trunks and tin cases piled up at the back or serving as seats;
and each verandah was graced by two long chairs, usually to be found in
sociable proximity, with a view to the better enjoyment of the
occupants' brief periods of leisure.  On one particular verandah,
however, the chairs were placed as far apart as space would permit, and
turned away from each other, so that Lieutenant Robert Charteris and
Lieutenant Henry Gerrard, of the Bengal Fusiliers and the Company's
Engineers respectively, might each delude himself into the thought that
he was alone in his glory.  This arrangement was of the newest, but it
was already causing keen delight in the circles which had known the two
young men as inseparable friends.  Born no farther apart than the
Rectory and Hall of a country village, they had learnt together under
Gerrard's father, the Rector, entered Addiscombe together, and passed
out at the same time, Gerrard with an array of medals which secured him
one of the coveted commissions in the Engineers, and Charteris,
undistinguished save by proficiency in games and universal popularity,
slipping contentedly into the Infantry.  Appointed to the same station,
they had seen a certain amount of active service in company, and
continuing to gain the good opinion of those in high places, Gerrard as
a promising scientific soldier and Charteris as a born leader of men,
had both enjoyed the distinction of being selected by Colonel Antony as
his assistants at Ranjitgarh.  But here discord stepped between them in
the fair form of Miss Honour Cinnamond, the youngest daughter of the
General commanding the Division, and after edifying the station for
some time by their ardent rivalry, Charteris and Gerrard were no longer
on speaking terms.  The station regarded it as an excellent joke, but
to Colonel Antony, who took life seriously, it was a scandal and a sin,
to be ended at once and peremptorily.  Knowing his man, he had on this
particular day announced his ultimatum to Gerrard.

"When is this foolishness going to end?" he asked impatiently, after
the two young men had passed each other in his presence without a sign
of recognition--"this breach between you and Charteris, I mean?"

"I don't know, sir.  Perhaps when we get to our districts----"

"I would advise you not to reckon upon that.  I am thinking strongly of
sending Charteris back to his regiment."

"But the disgrace, sir!"  Gerrard was thunder-struck.  "You said
yourself that he was so well fitted for this work.  It suits him too,
and no mistake."

Colonel Antony frowned at the slang.  "Is it possible that you perceive
any good in him?" he asked coldly.

"Why, sir,"--Gerrard was too much perturbed in mind to attempt to
answer the question,--"he could never go back contentedly to ordinary
subaltern's work after this.  He will do something desperate--perhaps
even get transferred to the Bombay side, and volunteer for Khemistan."

He spoke with bated breath, for to the Antony brothers and all their
circle the neighbouring province of Khemistan was a region of outer
darkness, ruled by two fallen angels bearing the names of General Sir
Henry Lennox and Major St George Keeling.  It was a point of honour to
assist their labours by harrying them with a constant dropping fire of
minutes and remonstrances, with an occasional round-shot in the shape
of interference on the part of the Supreme Government, deftly
engineered from Ranjitgarh.  And the pity of it was that the men thus
thwarted with the purest possible motives were carrying on a similar
work, and in the same spirit, as their opponents, but--and here came
the line of cleavage--on different methods.  Colonel Antony's grave
dark face was immovable.

"It is for you to save him if you choose, Gerrard.  What! do you think
that I will allow the work here--the regeneration of the Granthi
state--to be endangered by petty, miserable squabbles between my
assistants?  I have seen too much of support withheld at critical
moments because one man had a grudge against another.  Here we are all
brothers.  If Charteris intends to keep up this enmity, he must go."

"But if he is to blame, sir, so am I," confessed Gerrard reluctantly.

"I am glad to hear you say so.  There can be no difficulty, then, in
your admitting as much to him.  I own I had thought that since you were
more likely to be soon in a position to marry, he was probably the
trespasser on your ground.  The young lady favours him, then?"

"No, sir, neither of us."  Gerrard spoke bitterly, but Colonel Antony
brought his fist down upon the table with a resounding thud.

"What! you stand on the same footing, neither has cause for jealousy of
the other, and yet this miserable alienation continues?  You are indeed
to blame, Gerrard.  Go and ask your comrade's pardon, appeal to the
memories of your youth and his, engage with him to bear this common
disappointment as gentlemen, as Christians!  No man living has more
cause to be grateful for the blessing of a good wife than I, but I
trust I should have been granted sufficient resolution to live solitary
for ever had I perceived that my happiness was likely to mean a
brother's misery, and imperil the hopes of a nation.  You are not
called even to make such a renunciation, since the matter is taken out
of your hands--merely to acquiesce in a decision not your own."

"But if I am to blame, sir, so must Charteris be," protested Gerrard,
feeling, as the Resident's associates not infrequently did, that
Colonel Antony's standard was too high for this wicked world.

"That is quite possible.  He believes that you have injured him?"

"I suppose so, sir."

"And he is conscious that he has injured you?"

"I can't say, sir.  How should I know?"

"Then your duty is clear.  Whether his conscience is awakened or not is
uncertain, but you feel that you have, though unwittingly, done him an
injury.  Go and repair it, leaving him to find out his part in the
matter for himself."

It was this conversation that Gerrard was uncomfortably turning over in
his mind on the verandah.  The natural man in him rebelled, very
naturally, against humbling himself to Charteris, who was at least as
much to blame as he was, and had made his resentment offensively
evident.  But it was Charteris who would suffer if a reconciliation was
not effected in some way.  The argument was conclusive, as Colonel
Antony had foreseen it would be.  Gerrard looked round the corner of
his chair, and rather sheepishly said, "Bob!"

There was no answer from Charteris, but his legs, the only part of him
that was visible, seemed to take on an air of indignant protest.
Gerrard tried again.  "Bob, look here!  I want to tell you something."

This time Charteris sat up, exhibiting an angry countenance and a rough
head.  "Don't want to hear it," he growled.  "Hang it! can't a man be
left in peace in his own quarters?"

"No, but--I say, Bob," repeated Gerrard, feverishly anxious to
anticipate the impending move, "the Colonel has been speaking to
me--pitched it uncommon strong, he did.  Do wait and hear what I have
to say!  Why should we go on making asses of ourselves over a girl who
hasn't a civil word for either of us?"

"What?" cried Charteris, pausing on the edge of the verandah.  "She's
given you a _pucka jawab_[1] too?"

"Last night," said Gerrard laconically.  Charteris came a step nearer.

"Will you kindly tell me," he said, addressing creation generally,
"exactly what that girl wants?  Hal, I could have sworn it was you when
she refused me."

"And until she refused me, I could have sworn it was you.  Pretty clear
she don't want either of us, ain't it?  In fact, I may as well tell
you, as she doesn't seem to have done it, that she said she had no
intention of marrying at all."

"Fudge!" cried Charteris, quite in the vein of the immortal Mr
Burchell.  "Then she's here on false pretences.  What does a spin. come
out for but to get a husband?  No, you mark my words, my boy; she's
waiting for a bachelor Governor-General!"

Gerrard opened his lips to protest, but not feeling called upon to
repeat the whole of his conversation with Miss Cinnamond, closed them
again.  "Anyhow," he said at last, rather awkwardly, "as we're in the
same boat, don't you think we might come to an agreement of some sort,
and do people out of a little of the fun they're having over us?  'Our
Mr James' told the Colonel to-day that we wanted our heads knocking
together."

"James Antony is a coarse brute, and I should uncommonly like to see
him try it!" said Charteris, with concentrated fury.  Then he came and
stood over Gerrard, and looked at him curiously.  "Were you going to
suggest that we should come to an agreement to give up all thoughts of
her?" he asked with extreme calmness.

"No, not for a moment."

"I'm glad to hear that, because I shouldn't think of doing it.  I mean
to go on asking her, over and over again, until she accepts me."

"And so do I," cried Gerrard, starting up, stung out of his usual
quietness of manner.  They glared at each other angrily for a moment,
then Charteris laughed rather unsteadily.

"Basis for an agreement is rather wanting, ain't it?  I regard you as a
person of ordinary sanity, so I don't imagine you were going to propose
either that I should nobly resign her in your favour, or you in mine.
Then what on earth is there left to do?"

"We have to think of her as well as ourselves," said Gerrard, trying to
steady his voice.  "She may not marry at all, as she said"--Charteris
snorted--"or she may marry some one else, neither of us.  And I am sure
we should both rather see her married to some one else, and happy, than
marry her ourselves and know that she wasn't happy."

The construction of the sentence was involved, but its meaning was
clear.  Charteris flung up his head contemptuously.  "You're wrong
there," he said.  "Speak for yourself.  I want to see her married to
me, and I'd undertake to make her happy.  I shall be an uncommon good
husband, I can tell you.  What are you laughing at, pray?"

"I'm not laughing--at least, not exactly," gasped Gerrard, restraining
himself with difficulty.  "Forgive me, old fellow.  It was the picture
of you saying to the future Mrs Charteris, 'Be happy, or I'll know the
reason why,' that overcame me."

Charteris looked deeply offended, but after a moment joined in the
laugh.  "Of course I know I can't put it pretty, as you could," he
admitted grudgingly.  "But I mean to marry her, and make her happy too."

"And so do I," said Gerrard again.  "But it's quite clear she can't
marry both of us, and mayn't marry either of us, ain't it?   Well, what
I say is, let us carry the affair through decently, so that the best
man may win, if either of us wins at all.  That appeals to you, doesn't
it?"

"Not a bit," said Charteris promptly.  "You are the best man."

"Oh, don't be an ass.  What do medals for mathematics matter here?  You
are bigger than I am, and heaps better to look at.  In fact, my dear
Bob, I might even say of you that you were the least little bit showy."
Gerrard was falling back insensibly into the old chaffing tone, but a
look on his friend's face warned him that the time was not yet quite
ripe for this, and he went on hastily.  "At any rate, each of us has
advantages on his side, we'll say.  Then let us fight fair.  You
weren't thinking of proposing again every time you see her?  In that
case, it would soon be _darwaza band_[2] when you called, I'm afraid.
Let us agree not to make any move, either of us, for a year--or six
months, if you insist upon it," as he read protest in Charteris's eye,
"and then draw lots which shall speak first.  If she accepts that one,
the matter is settled--it's the fortune of war; if not, then the other
has his turn.  If she refuses both, then ditto ditto at the end of
another six months."

Charteris, leaning against a pillar of the verandah, looked down at him
and laughed.  "If I didn't know you for a cunning old weasel, I should
put you down as jolly green, Hal.  Suppose she should meanwhile
intimate, in the most unimaginably proper and delicate way, a
preference for either of us?"

"For the present one or the absent one?" asked Gerrard drily.  "Well,
in either case, I think the present one ought to let the absent one
know, before taking any action.  But don't look so blue.  You forget
that we shall both be in our districts, at a safe distance from
Ranjitgarh, for six months at least."

"And in the meantime she may marry some one else."

"Then we shan't have lost our friendship as well as her."

Charteris clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.  "I believe you, my
boy!  You don't know what a bore it has been this last fortnight,
remembering what was between us whenever I wanted to tell you anything.
Done with you, then, subject to necessary modifications to be agreed
upon from time to time by mutual consent, and to the approval of the
lady."

"But you wouldn't tell her?" cried Gerrard, aghast.

"Wouldn't I, just?  Why, how is she to keep our joint memory green
against the assaults of eligible subcommissioners and fat Commissariat
colonels, unless she has this to remember us by?  Hang suffering in
silence!  Let her know what fine fellows she has got waiting on her
nod."

"Well, you can tell her," unwillingly.

"Not I.  Be carried away into proposing again, and lose my turn? no,
thank you.  We will tell her together, my young friend, and keep a
jolly keen eye on each other the whole time.  And we'll do it at the
ball.  Come, this is something like life!"

"But she may not choose to grant us an opportunity."

Charteris winked in the most vulgar manner.  "What'll you take on it?
Do you think she don't know she has set you and me by the ears?  If
not, old Mother Jardine will soon enlighten her.  And then--oh, my
revered Hal, can you doubt what her first move will be?  To reconcile
us, my boy, as if we were two dirty little snivelling urchins in her
village school at home!  Will she make us shake hands?  Oh, ain't it
glorious!"

He dropped into his chair, helpless with laughter, while Gerrard
surveyed him with distaste.  It was some consolation to feel that Bob
could not possibly be properly in love, if he could thus contemplate
the likelihood of the object of his affections making herself
ridiculous.  But as if he had read his friend's thoughts, Charteris sat
up suddenly, and spoke with perfect gravity.

"Mind you, Hal, all this don't signify that I forgive you in the least
for coming between her and me.  I'm willing to call a truce because
falling out is horrid inconvenient, and looks silly.  But your
intrusive existence has turned love's young dream into a farce, and
this suggestion of yours can only make things worse.  I never bargained
for being a sort of Siamese twin, but that's how it comes out.  The
unfortunate girl will never be able to think of one of us without the
other.  If she is dwelling affectionately on your modest merit, what
you call, I believe, my swaggering dare-devilry will force itself into
her mind, and if any of my encounters with tigers or dacoits should
reach her ears, they will only recall your powers of discussing
theology or reeling off poetry by the yard.  Make no mistake.  You
intrude, sir; and I resent it."

"And words can't express the depth of my resentment that you should
have poked your nose into my affairs," returned Gerrard heartily.



[1] Definite refusal.

[2] Not at home, lit. the door is shut.




CHAPTER II.

HER SIDE OF THE CASE.

"I feared so much that you might consider me intrusive," said Mrs
Jardine.

"On the contrary, I consider you most kind," replied Lady Cinnamond.
She sat very erect, a beautiful woman still, with her dark eyes and
white hair.  Mrs Jardine was not an imaginative person, but the
outlines of the Cinnamonds' family history had reached her, and her
thoughts wandered involuntarily to the storming of Badajoz and the
beautiful Spanish girl who had sought refuge in the British camp, and
she found excuse for that infatuation on Sir Arthur Cinnamond's part
which she had denounced bitterly when she first heard that "the new
General's" wife was a foreigner.  Not that she felt as yet quite at her
ease with Lady Cinnamond.  There was something that seemed to baffle
her, a kind of regal willingness to hear all she had to say with
courtesy, but with no promise to follow her advice.

"You see, dear Lady Cinnamond," she went on, "how I am placed.  As the
chaplain's wife one has a real duty--one can't doubt it, can one?--to
promote peace, and one is so sorry to see what dear Colonel Antony
calls his noble band of brothers disturbed by strife.  And you
being--may I say it?--a stranger here, and your sweet girl so young----"

"I have other daughters, and they have not been entirely without
lovers."  There was a slight quiver of amusement about the lips of the
General's wife.

"Oh, dear Lady Cinnamond, how could you imagine that I would suggest
such a thing?  We all know how well you have married your girls, down
to dear Mrs Cowper herself.  And of course, if you are satisfied, I
have _nothing_ more to say.  Only it seemed that as a true friend, if I
may say so----"

"Indeed I should be very grieved if you might not.  But perhaps I ought
to tell you that Sir Arthur and I have a great idea of leaving young
people to settle their own affairs as much as possible.  It has always
answered well hitherto, but Honour is, as you say, very young, and she
has been brought up differently from the rest----"

"Yes?" said Mrs Jardine, with such breathless interest that her hostess
had not the heart to baulk her curiosity.

"We were living at Boulogne before my husband was sent to the Cape,"
she said, choosing her words with care--"for the advantages of
education, of course, and--well, dear Mrs Jardine, you know what
half-pay means as well as I do, and I need not apologize, need I?  Two
elderly cousins of Sir Arthur's happened to pass through, and we were
able to offer them hospitality when the packet was prevented crossing
by a storm.  They took the greatest fancy to little Honour, and wished
to adopt her, but we refused.  Then came the Cape appointment--to the
Eastern Province, where the climate is so dangerous to young children
born elsewhere, and they renewed their offer.  And we consented to let
them have Honour until she was seventeen.  They were most kind to her,
I am sure."

"Yes?" breathed Mrs Jardine softly again.

"Really, there is little more to say.  Naturally your child becomes
something of a stranger when you do not see her for fifteen years.  But
pray don't imagine that I blame the Miss Cinnamonds.  Honour has been
well educated, and taught to be a companion to her elders--rather too
much so, perhaps.  She has visited the poor, and taught a class in the
village school, and practised all the good works which Sir Arthur says
are new in England since his day, and I believe her aunts hoped to see
her married to the curate.  But unfortunately he went over to Rome."

"How truly terrible!" cried Mrs Jardine, then stopped in pitiable
confusion, remembering that the lady before her had been almost
certainly born and bred a Roman Catholic, though she now attended the
tomb-church Sunday by Sunday with Sir Arthur, and betrayed far less
impatience than he did when Mr Jardine's discourses exceeded the
regulation length.

"It might have been much worse," said Lady Cinnamond innocently.  "I
cannot discover that Honour's heart was at all touched.  But as you may
imagine, her aunts were much distressed, and it was almost a relief to
them to send her out to us as soon as an escort could be found."

"Yes?" said Mrs Jardine for the third time, but as it was evident no
further information was forthcoming, she covered her disappointment
with a little gush of friendly interest.  "And do tell me, dear Lady
Cinnamond, what is the dear girl's real name?  As I said to Mr Jardine
only two days ago, 'You may take my word for it, Samuel, Miss Cinnamond
was baptized Honora or Honoria.  Honour is merely a sweet little family
name.'"

"I suppose it may sound foolish to strangers," said Lady Cinnamond,
with a calmness that suggested she did not care whether it did or not.
"It was a kind of joke of Sir Arthur's.  I was playing with her one day
when she was a baby, and calling her in Spanish the dearest thing in
the world, and he pounced on me at once.  'I thought honour was the
dearest thing in the world?' he said--I had told him so long
before--and after that he would not hear of calling the baby anything
but Honour."

She paused--with a definiteness which suggested that Mrs Jardine's call
had lasted long enough, but the visitor was by this time aware that she
had been guided dexterously away from her main object, and was
determined to repair the omission.

"Then you are satisfied that nothing dreadful will occur at the ball
to-night, dear Lady Cinnamond?" she asked anxiously.  "Young men are so
uncontrolled nowadays, you know, and Mr Charteris, I believe, is
extremely passionate.  I have heard that he makes use of the most
frightful language to his servants----"

The slightest possible gesture from the great lady stopped her.

"I have no fear whatever that either my daughter or any gentleman who
may be among the guests will transgress the laws of propriety," said
Lady Cinnamond icily.

"Oh, I am so glad you think all will be well.  I may tell my husband
so?  He was so troubled about it, and I ventured to take the liberty of
calling upon you, just that I might relieve his mind.  You _must_ know
best, of course."

"But what course were you intending to propose?" asked the hostess,
with natural curiosity.

Mrs Jardine looked, as she felt, confused.  "Oh, well," she murmured,
"if Miss Cinnamond had remained away this evening----?"

"But would not that have been a little marked?  I think we have all
been making too much of a rather foolish affair, Mrs Jardine.  After
all, now that Honour has refused both of the young men, there is no
reason----"

"Refused them both?" cried the visitor incredulously.

"Of course.  I thought you would have been sure to know," said Lady
Cinnamond sweetly.  She rose as she spoke, and Mrs Jardine found it
well to take her leave.  Her hostess watched her depart, with a rather
worried little smile, and then passed along the verandah to the
dressing-room where her two daughters were arranging their dresses for
the evening.  Marian, the elder, had married her father's aide-de-camp
soon after the move to Ranjitgarh, and the return from the honeymoon
was the occasion for the ball to be given by the army in their honour.
Vivid scarlet geraniums were to loop up Mrs Cowper's pale amber
draperies, blush-roses to nestle in the airy folds of Honour's white
tarlatan, and the bride claimed her mother's attention at once.

"Dear Mamma, I want your opinion.  You have such excellent taste.
Where ought this spray to go?  Honour says _here_, and I say _here_,"
illustrating each position with the aid of a pin.

"Here," said Lady Cinnamond without hesitation, indicating a third
place, and both girls cried out in admiration.  That was just right.
They knew it went awkwardly before, but they could not quite see where
it should be.  Their mother threw herself into their occupation,
altering a fold here and pulling out a puff there, apparently engrossed
in what she was doing, but conscious, through all Marian's
light-hearted chatter, of the shade on Honour's brow.  Her heart ached
to see it, but she would not force the girl's confidence.  There was
not between her and her youngest-born the sympathy which had made those
other handsome, capable daughters, whose married homes were landmarks
of the wanderings of Sir Arthur and his wife, regard their mother
almost in the light of an elder sister--only fifteen years older,
indeed, than Charlotte, the eldest--and bring their joys and sorrows
naturally to her.  Honour was disappointed in her parents, her mother
felt; it might almost be said that she disapproved of them, and though
the feeling was not new to Lady Cinnamond in her own case, since she
was obliged in every new station to live down the disadvantage of being
a foreigner, it raised in her a tumult of indignation that any one, and
most of all his own daughter, should presume to disapprove of Sir
Arthur.  But Honour was very young, and even if time did not soften her
views, closer acquaintance must.

"Come to my room when you are dressed, Honour, and I will lend you my
pearl necklace," said Lady Cinnamond, laying her hand on the girl's
shoulder.  Honour's response was drowned in the noise of horse-hoofs
and clanking that announced an arrival in front of the bungalow.

"Dear Papa and Charles returned already!" cried Mrs Cowper, peering
through the Venetians.  "Fly, Mamma!  Charley, Charley, come and see
whether you approve of my gown!"

Lady Cinnamond fled, in answer to the sonorous shout of "Rosa!  Rosita!
Sita!" which pealed through the house, and Captain Cowper entered from
the verandah.

"Stunning!" he breathed fervently.  "Horrid shame to waste it all on a
handful of politicals up in No Man's Land instead of exhibiting it at
Government House.  You wear this fallal on your head, I suppose?"

"Oh, Charley, you careless fellow!"  Mrs Cowper rescued the broad strip
of lace with indignation.  "My beautiful berthe!  It goes on the
bodice--_so_, don't you know?  On my head, indeed!"

"But it would look ravishing wherever you wore it," averred her
husband, dodging the geranium-spray she threw at him, and there
followed a brisk engagement with the flowers left in the box, to which
Honour listened with some secret contempt but considerable interest, as
she sewed on her roses where her mother had pinned them.  Honour was
learning lessons which ran counter to every maxim that had influenced
her hitherto, and baffled all her efforts to reconstruct her vanished
world.  Those were the days when phrenology was considered an
indispensable aid to instructors of youth, and a professor of the
science had duly felt Honour's bumps, and recorded, for the guidance of
her cousins, his mature opinion that, "though this young lady will not
find it easy to apply herself to fresh subjects of study, yet she will
never lose what she has once mastered."  But in this case the mastering
was the difficulty.  To her, life had hitherto meant a round of
recurring duties, to be performed conscientiously as they came, and
love a blinding illumination revealing to a humble worshipper the form
of a hero and a saint, but ending preferably in renunciation--if
voluntary and wholly unnecessary so much the nobler and better.  To
think of love in connection with an ordinary, average man was something
very like sacrilege, and poor Honour fairly shuddered when Mrs Jardine,
who bore her a grudge for unsettling Mr Jardine's mind with the new
views she had brought from home, broke to her the horrible fact that
she had made two ordinary young men fall in love with her.  It was of a
piece with the disturbing discovery that whereas she had come out, as
she understood, to soothe the declining years of her aged parents,
those parents, though grey-haired, were disconcertingly hale and
hearty, and asked only that she would be happy and make herself
agreeable--two tasks of which Honour found the first impossible, and
the second extremely difficult.

Her daughters took a very secondary place in Lady Cinnamond's mind when
her husband was in question, and it was seldom that Sir Arthur had to
complain of his wife's not being present to receive him when he
returned from his duties.  She ran into his snuggery now like a girl,
and broke into the liquid Spanish which formed such an effective
defence against the ears of aides-de-camp or English-speaking servants.

"You are tired, my Arturo.  The sitting has been very long.  Were the
Durbar open to reason?"

"My dearest, they have no thought but to procrastinate and obstruct
business, and our excellent Colonel indulges them far too tenderly.
Every form of ceremony must be observed, and all the long-drawn
compliments duly inserted, until a whole morning is wasted over one
small matter."

"And my poor Arturo must sit and listen to it?"

"For his sins he must."  Sir Arthur smiled whimsically at his wife.
"Judge for yourself how contentedly he did it to-day, my sweet one.
The Durbar knew that the home mail had come in, and scented a glorious
opportunity.  Every man had to be satisfied of the health of her
Majesty, Prince Albert, all the little princes and princesses, the Duke
of Wellington, and the Chairman of the Court of Directors.  When the
memory or ingenuity of one failed, his neighbour took up the tale.
Then some genius remembered a precious piece of _gup_, and asked with
all solemnity whether it was true that a new Governor-General had been
appointed, which led to a canvass of the merits of all possible
candidates.  There sits poor Antony with agony in his eyes, seeing his
time wasted to no purpose, and all the business left undone, while he
can't bring himself to check the Sirdars in their loquacity.  I saw
James Antony fuming behind him.  Rose of my heart, your Arthur will be
indiscreet enough to confide to you a profound secret.  If the Resident
goes up to the hills, and his brother takes his place, the Sirdars will
be taught the meaning of despatch."

"So much the better for the conduct of business, then.  But they will
not love him as they do the Colonel."

Sir Arthur laughed.  "I fancy James can dispense with their affection
if he secures their obedience.  The Colonel desired his compliments to
you, my love, and begged that you would not consider his absence this
evening in any way a slight, since his principles demand it of him.
The furbelows all ready, eh?"

"Nearly.  But, Arturo, I have been entertaining Mrs Jardine the greater
part of the morning."

"Some nice new piece of scandal, eh?  What was the 'real duty' that
brought her out in the heat?"

"An earnest desire to promote peace.  She thought it might be better if
Honour did not appear to-night.  No, my Arturo,"--as Sir Arthur moved
explosively,--"it was a warning given out of pure kindness to me, a
foreigner.  I told her what had happened, and she went away, I trust,
satisfied.  She thought me cold, I fear, for I restrained both voice
and words."

"Better, much better.  But that a woman of that kind should have it in
her power to----  That Honour should contrive to get herself talked
about!"

"She is so young, Arturo; she did not understand.  And it was not all
her fault."

"Which means that it was her father's.  Well, but how was I to know
that a daughter of yours and mine would turn out a fool?  When she
overwhelms me with a cool proposal to set up schools and I don't know
what for the European women and children, what could I do but tell her
it was the chaplain's business?  You won't say that I ought to have
encouraged her?  Think of all the unpleasantness it would have caused
in the regiments!  And surely it was only natural to turn aside the
matter by pointing out a sphere where her efforts would be more
acceptable?  Why, if I had said such a thing to Charlotte, or Eliza, or
Marian, they would have blushed prettily and said, 'Oh, Papa!' and
Marian might have giggled, but would any of them ever have thought of
actually carrying it out?"

For this was the unfortunate result of Sir Arthur's ill-timed
jocularity in advising his daughter to turn her enthusiasm for humanity
to account in reforming some of Colonel Antony's assistants, instancing
Gerrard and Charteris as standing in special need of her services.
Young ladies were scarce, Honour was handsome and had inherited a touch
of her mother's dignity, and when she unbent and displayed a flattering
interest in the moral and spiritual welfare of each young man, the
mischief was done.

"And then, to improve matters, she refuses both of them!" went on Sir
Arthur despairingly.  "What does she want?  No one seems to please her."

"If we were in Spain, it would be very simple," mused Lady Cinnamond.
"She would go into religion."

Sir Arthur bristled up at once.  "What, ma'am! a convent for my
daughter?  I'd have you remember----"

His wife laughed, and patted his hand.  "Calm yourself, my Arturo.  No
well-regulated convent would keep a daughter of yours within its walls
for a day, nor would she care to stay there.  Even Honour's romance
would not survive the actual experience.  But since we are not in
Spain, we cannot hope to cure her fancies so quickly.  Still----"

"Aye, romance--all romance!" growled Sir Arthur.  "For your sake and
mine, my dear, I trust it may wear off soon, but I doubt it.  What hope
is there of a girl who wears King Charles the First's hair in a locket?"

Sir Arthur's pessimism did not keep him from paying Honour a fatherly
compliment on her appearance that evening--a compliment accompanied,
however, as the jam by the powder, with the reminder that she might be
thankful if she ever arrived within measurable distance of her mother
in looks.  Lady Cinnamond, in pink satin, with a black lace shawl
depending from a high jewelled comb at the back of her head in a manner
reminiscent of the mantilla of her youth, laughed at the assurance, and
hurried her party out to the elephant which was in waiting.  The bridal
pair were inclined to be pensive, privately lamenting the waste of a
whole evening in public which might have been spent in a sweet
_solitude � deux_ on the verandah.  Ostensibly out of consideration for
the ladies' dresses, Captain Cowper had suggested that he and his wife
should follow on a second elephant, but this was vetoed by his
father-in-law, who declared that they would, in pure absence of mind,
go for a moonlight ride through the city, and never arrive at the ball.
Thus, with jests and counter-jests, they reached the great _shamiana_,
erected for the occasion, and were swallowed up in an overwhelming
flood of scarlet and dark blue uniforms.  When Honour took off her
wrap, her mother observed with vexation that they had both forgotten
the pearl necklace, but it did not occur to her that the girl's absence
of mind was due to the fact that she was nerving herself to a desperate
deed.

With the laudable idea of discouraging gossip by behaving as if nothing
unpleasant had happened, Gerrard secured a dance, and sheer pity for
his embarrassed partner impelled him to make conversation while they
waited for the music to begin.  Colonel Antony disapproved of dancing,
especially in India, on account of the effect on the natives, but his
brother James had just passed them, with Marian Cowper, a radiant
vision, on his arm, and Gerrard ventured a remark on the contrast
between the stern-featured civilian and his partner.  Receiving nothing
but an almost inaudible murmur of assent, he observed how well and
happy Mrs Cowper was looking.

"Oh yes.  Of course, she likes India."  The sigh which accompanied the
words told more than Honour had intended, and she went on hastily.
"She has a sort of natural connection with it, you know, for Mrs
Hastings was her godmother."

"Mrs Hastings?  Not----?"

"Yes, the widow of Warren Hastings.  Doesn't it carry one back into
history?"  Honour had forgotten her embarrassment, for things of this
kind had a way of making links between Gerrard and herself.

"I should have thought it was impossible."

"Oh, she only died about ten years ago--yes, the year the Queen came to
the throne.  So I am not making poor Marian out to be terribly old."

The minds of both were wandering back to Westminster Hall filled with
serried rows of faces, with all eyes turned upon a small pale man in
the midst, when they were suddenly recalled to the present by the
indignant approach of Bob Charteris.

"Pardon me--my dance, I think?" he said, glaring at Gerrard.

"No, excuse me--my dance," returned Gerrard, maintaining his position,
and suspecting his friend unjustly of having supped early and too well.

"I really must appeal to Miss Cinnamond," said Charteris, with barely
veiled hostility.  "You promised me this dance, didn't you?"

"I was under the impression that Miss Cinnamond had promised it to me,"
said Gerrard, more sternly than he realised.

"Oh, please," stammered Honour, not at all in the dignified way in
which the beautiful and stately ladies of her favourite German stories
were wont to intervene between knights contending for their favours--"I
am afraid I have behaved very badly again.  I--I wanted to speak to you
both, and--and I did not know how to do it except by giving you the
same dance."

"We are only too much honoured," said Gerrard, with overwhelming
courtesy.  He was inwardly furious, but the girl looked ready to cry,
and a burst of tears in public was above all things to be avoided in
the circumstances.  "You find the tent too crowded?  Let us look for a
quieter place, then.  If you could get hold of a shawl or something,
Bob?"

Charteris obeyed, with exemplary outward meekness, and joined them
immediately in a smaller tent arranged as a card-room, but not yet put
to its intended use.  Disregarding Gerrard's movement, he put the shawl
round Honour himself, and they stood waiting her pleasure in silence,
while she gripped her fan so hard in both hands that it broke in two.
She raised a crimson face at last.

"I wanted to speak to you together," she began again.  "You both think
I have treated you badly, but indeed I did not mean it.  But that was
not what I wished to say.  I hear--some one--a friend--tells me that
you are angry with one another on my account.  It makes me so unhappy,
and I don't see why----"

Her voice failed, and Charteris and Gerrard remained awkwardly silent,
each intensely conscious of the extreme superfluity of the other's
presence.  Alone, either might have made shift to say something, but
with his rival there, whatever was said would only make things worse.
Looking up despairingly, Honour saw in their faces what made her cry
out in terror.

"Oh, you wouldn't! you wouldn't!  Don't make me feel that I have done
such a dreadful thing!  If you fought a duel about me I should die.
There is no need.  I will promise never to marry any one--ever.  I will
do it willingly, gladly.  Isn't that enough?  What more can I do?  Only
tell me, and don't do such a wicked, unchristian thing."

"For pity's sake, Hal--you have the gift of the gab," growled Charteris
in Gerrard's ear, as she turned agonized eyes upon them.

"Play up to me, then," muttered Gerrard in response, and spoke aloud
and cheerfully.  "My dear Miss Cinnamond, pray don't distress yourself.
My friend Charteris and I have no intention whatever of fighting a
duel.  There has been a--a temporary misunderstanding between us, but
it is absolutely cleared up, I assure you."

"And as for the promise which you are good enough to offer to make, we
should regret it more than any one else, because, you see, we both hope
you will marry one of us," said Charteris, almost with levity.

"I shall never marry any one," said Honour remorsefully.  "I have done
too much harm already."

"Harm? oh, nonsense!--if you'll forgive me for saying so," returned
Charteris.  "It's done Gerrard and me a lot of good, hasn't it, my boy?
(Why don't you back me up, surly?)  We shall thank you for it yet--like
eels getting used to being skinned, you know----"

"On my honour, Miss Cinnamond," said Gerrard, fearing the heights of
metaphor to which his friend's ardour might carry him, "we are both
quite prepared to abide by your decision for the present, but we think
we may fairly claim the right of trying to induce you to change it,
after a proper interval----"

("Couldn't have put it better myself," said Charteris, with enthusiasm.
"Fire away, Hal.")

"But nothing is farther from our thoughts than to cause pain or anxiety
to a lady whom we both admire and respect so highly," went on Gerrard,
in his best manner.  "We have made up our minds not to suffer our
friendship to be broken by attempts to supplant each other secretly,
and if at length one of us is so happy as to win your regard, the other
will bow absolutely to your decision."

"Question!" said Charteris sharply, but at the sight of returning
anxiety in Honour's eyes, he capitulated.  "And if it would give you
any pleasure to see us shake hands, Miss Cinnamond, the word is with
you."

"It would, indeed," she said, smiling gratefully--and they did it,
Charteris with a wicked twinkle in his eye.  Honour stood up, tears
contending with smiles in her face.

"Thank you both so much," she said.  "But I think I ought to tell you
that your friendship will never be put to the test.  I could never,
never choose."

"Cheerful!" said Charteris.  "But we will hope on."

"Please take me back to my mother," said Honour, in some confusion, as
a party of elderly officers invaded the room, eager to enjoy their
hookahs, the bearers of which were waiting outside.

"You might bring Miss Cinnamond's fan, Hal," said Charteris,
dexterously offering his arm first, and thus they returned to Lady
Cinnamond, who had been a prey to grievous anxiety, disguised with an
iron will lest public attention should be attracted to Honour's absence.

"Oh, Hal, my hated r-r-rival!" breathed Charteris, slapping his friend
on the back when they got out into the open air.  "Ain't it as good as
a play?  But what a monster of iniquity a man feels beside a girl like
that!" he added sentimentally.  "Do you wonder that I fell in love with
her?"

"No, I don't," said Gerrard savagely.  "But I wish with all my heart
you hadn't!"

"The same to you, my boy!" laughed Charteris.




CHAPTER III.

THE OLD ORDER AND THE NEW.

In little more than a week after the ball, Charteris and Gerrard had
shaken from their feet the dust of Ranjitgarh with its Occidental
influences, and were journeying, though westward, towards the pure
unadulterated East in their respective districts.  Charteris' sphere of
influence was reached first, a land of prevailing sand-colour with
oases of almost painful green, over which the Granthi sovereignty had
never been more than merely nominal.  A Granthi army had made periodic
inroads into Darwan, sweeping off all the cattle it could find, by way
of collecting the revenue, and the Darwanis retorted by incursions
across the Granthi border, designed to assert their independence.
Charteris was at the head of a strong force of Granthis, to emphasize
the fact that he represented the Ranjitgarh Durbar, not the British
Crown nor the Company, and his duties were extensive, if simple.  He
was to bring down the oppressor and relieve the oppressed, destroy the
towers of robber chiefs and induce the occupants to turn their
unaccustomed hands to honest labour, establish order in place of
confusion, and generally to make it known and felt that there now
existed, and must be obeyed, a law superior to the sweet will of the
strongest.

Gerrard, passing on towards the south-west, would be faced with quite a
different problem, in the solution of which the velvet glove would play
a more important part, ostensibly at least, than the iron hand.  The
province of Agpur formed an indisputable part of the Granthi dominions,
but it was ruled by a feudatory prince, who was faithful to his
obligations during the lifetime of the great conqueror Ajit Singh,
under whose banners he had often ridden to victory, but had seen his
opportunity in the feeble rule of Ajit Singh's successors.  One
concession after another had been wrung by his diplomacy from the hands
of weakling or child, the right to raise troops in his own name, to
fortify the city of Agpur, and--though this was still contested by
certain Ranjitgarh stalwarts--the power of nominating his successor
instead of merely recommending his eldest son to the favour of his
suzerain.  Only a very few steps, a distance that might be bridged by a
single resolute advance, had separated Partab Singh from the dignity of
a full-blown independent prince, when the nerveless hands of the
Ranjitgarh ruler were suddenly reinforced by the strong grasp of a
British Resident upon the reins.  For a short time it was doubtful
whether the stiff-necked old Rajah would not put his fate to the touch,
and come to death-grips with British power acting in the name of the
Durbar, but wiser counsels prevailed.  Partab Singh paid his tribute,
with no more deduction than could be accounted for by the ever-ready
plea of a bad harvest, and gave no excuse for marching troops into his
territory.  But he would not swell the triumph of the upstart Durbar by
showing himself at Ranjitgarh, nor would he lower his dignity by making
any response to Colonel Antony's overtures.  He remained in
self-imposed seclusion within the borders of his province, declining
either to move or to be moved in anything relating to the welfare of
his subjects.

Agpur, then, was the scene of Gerrard's future labours.  For his own
sake, Partab Singh would have done well to pay up his tribute in full,
and not plume himself on the slight saving effected in the name of the
bad harvest, for the plea afforded an opening for extending the
influence of the central government.  Colonel Antony sent word that he
was despatching one of his most trusted officers to examine the system
of irrigation pursued in the province, and to offer the Rajah any
advice his experience might suggest that would tend to mitigate the
suffering and loss consequent on bad seasons.  Following his usual
tactics, Partab Singh returned no answer to the communication, and
Gerrard was therefore proceeding under orders which left him with a
curious combination of strict instructions and wide discretion.  He was
to observe many other things besides the irrigation system in the
course of his journeys--Partab Singh's military dispositions, the
attitude of the people towards him, and also towards Ranjitgarh and the
British, and the amount of union or disunion visible between the
Mohammedan and Granthi elements in the population.  If possible, he was
to obtain supplies in the usual way from the village headmen as he
passed, but should they be withheld, he was to make arrangements to be
supplied from Darwan, rather than be forced to an ignominious retreat.
The city of Agpur he was not to enter without an express invitation
from its ruler, nor in any way to force himself upon his attention; but
should accident, or any faint glimmerings of a conciliatory spirit on
the part of Partab Singh, bring them together, he was to leave no means
untried to win the Rajah's friendship.  The probabilities were that the
old ruler would either continue in his attitude of sullen withdrawal,
or advertise his intention of maintaining the integrity of his
dominions by wiping out the intruders, but that could not be helped.
Gerrard took his life in his hand, and no one thought very much of the
risk.  Colonel Antony had a way of casting forth his subordinates into
troubled waters, to sink or swim as best they might, and being picked
men after his own heart, they had a way of returning triumphant,
bringing with them treasures snatched from the deep.

It pleased Charteris to emphasize the dark side of the case as he and
Gerrard shook hands and parted, half a day's journey beyond the spot
fixed upon for the scene of the former's first steps in the art of
government.

"There's something jolly dramatic about all your chances depending on
me," he said.  "I might hold back your reports, or send on forged ones
instead, or ruin you in about a hundred different ways."  All Gerrard's
communications with Ranjitgarh were to pass through Darwan, lest Partab
Singh should intercept them on the shorter route.  "When I am inclined
to feel hipped, I shall spend a happy hour or so in devising
uncomfortableness for you, my boy."

"And how you would enjoy explaining to Miss Cinnamond the way in which
you had eliminated your hated rival!" said Gerrard.

"Well, why not?  All the old fellows in the Ages of Chivalry, that she
talks of, did that sort of thing all day long, so why should she blame
in a poor beggar of a Bengali what she would pass over in a baron bold?"

"Her age of chivalry is about as near the truth as the idyllic pictures
of blameless Hindus that they hold up in Parliament, I fancy.  Well,
Bob, we can't say you haven't told me what to expect.  If I do call
upon you for help, you'll know it's a mere matter of form."

"Of course.  It's quite impossible that I should get to you in time,
you realise that?  But I'll tell you what I will do for you, with the
greatest pleasure.  When you are safely dead, I'll avenge you in style.
The smoking ruins of Agpur shall be your funeral pyre, as the old
fellow said to the Dey of Algiers."

"Most consoling to me.  Well, good-bye, Bob!"

"Good-bye, Hal, and good luck to you!" and they rode upon their
separate ways.

For a time Gerrard's progress through Agpur territory was uneventful.
It was not necessary to obtain provisions from Darwan, for they were
forthcoming from the country traversed, though with accompaniments of
vexatious delay and unfulfilled promises that showed the headmen had no
fear of being taken to task for not making the traveller's way easy.
The Granthi escort required ruling with a rod of iron, for they were
prone, after their usual fashion, to prey upon the people, and it was
no part of Colonel Antony's plan to provide Partab Singh with a
colourable grievance.  A few severe examples were necessary before the
half-trained troopers realised that their new commander was in earnest,
but when once the idea had been fixed in their minds that to seize the
property of even the poorest cultivator without payment meant dismissal
in disgrace, they began to take a pride in his very severity.

As for the people of the country, they regarded this new-fangled
behaviour with suspicion at first, as probably a cloak for deeper
designs of plunder on the part of Gerrard himself, but learned
gradually to regard him as well-meaning, though certainly mad.  Here
and there a farmer or headman would open his heart to him, letting in
light on many dark places in Partab Singh's administration, while from
the elders who gathered round his tent-door at night when he was
encamped near a village he learned what was the popular estimate of the
ruler himself.  One story was told with bated breath again and again,
establishing Partab Singh's character in the minds of his people as a
man of the nicest honour.  A few years before, the Rajah had slain with
his own hand every woman and girl in his zenana, as the result of some
discovery, the nature of which no one durst even conjecture, and had
since brought home to his blood-stained halls a young bride of purest
Rajput descent from beyond Nanakpur, who had borne him a son, commonly
reported to be the apple of his eye.  There had been an elder son, but
no one knew whether he was alive or dead, though a gruesome tale was
whispered of his father's having ordered his eyes to be torn out.  A
faithful foster-brother was said to have sacrificed himself to save
him, and to have died in the prison after his eyes had been duly
exhibited to the Rajah as those of his son, while the prince made his
escape in the servant's clothes, but the truth of this was not vouched
for.  Altogether, life seemed to be rather lightly regarded in the
Agpur royal family, though Gerrard gathered that Partab Singh was held
by connoisseurs to have failed to vindicate to the utmost his insulted
honour.  If the occasion were grave enough to warrant the massacre of
every living thing in the zenana, it called also for the death of the
avenger by his own hand as a finishing touch, but it was universally
allowed that this could hardly be expected in the case of a man who had
left himself no heir.  Much was said also as to Partab Singh's lavish
treatment of his soldiers and his presumable intention in training
them, his encouragement of merchants and crusade against large
landholders, who were either persecuted out of existence or compelled
to reside in Agpur under his own eye, and the fortune he was heaping up
for his one precious son.  Thus the voluminous reports forwarded to
Darwan for transmission to Ranjitgarh were by no means deficient either
in detail or interest.

In the natural course of his leisurely progress, equally unhasting and
unresting, Gerrard was now approaching the neighbourhood of the city of
Agpur, not without experiencing an occasional constricted feeling about
his throat, as though he was walking into a trap the entrance into
which had obligingly been made easy for him.  He was surprised to find
that he was entering upon a scene of desolation.  The half-ripe harvest
had been roughly reaped in part, but was elsewhere trampled down, and
the villages were deserted by their inhabitants; or if by chance a man
or two were seen, they fled with the utmost speed.  It seemed as if an
army had been passing through the country, and presumably it was Partab
Singh's own army, since no one was known to be invading him.  But why
should he be moving his army about at this particular season, and in
the absence of any outside enemy?  That the answer to this question
might prove to have an unpleasant effect upon his own fortunes Gerrard
was aware, and his thoughts were not altogether agreeable as he sat in
his tent during the heat of the day.  It seemed prudent to put his
papers in order--perhaps to destroy one or two which might be liable to
misinterpretation in unfriendly hands, and this he was proceeding to do
when an orderly came to say that a local Sirdar and his son, who had
become separated from their attendants in a hunting expedition, asked
if they might take shelter in the Sahib's camp until the sun was a
little cooler.  The idea of a hunting expedition was strange in the
desolate state of; the district, but Gerrard hoped to gain some
information from the strangers, and ordered that they should be brought
to his tent.  As he rose to go forward and welcome them, a low
voice--that of the _munshi_ sitting on the ground at his side--arrested
him.

"Sahib, I cannot be sure, but I think that old man is the Rajah Partab
Singh, whom I have seen once at Nanakpur.  Do not betray that you
suspect him, but look at the mark of the _kalgi_ on the turbans of the
two."

The words were so quickly spoken that Gerrard's pause was barely
perceptible, and he went out to meet the newcomers without hesitation.
They were an elderly bearded man and a boy of five or six, dressed in
ordinary country stuffs, but on the turbans of both there was
distinguishable to one who looked for it a slight discoloration, as
though an aigrette or other token of distinction had recently been
removed, and their horses were very fine.  Gerrard welcomed them
courteously, and the old man introduced himself as Sirdar Hari Ram, and
the boy as his grandson, Narayan Lal.  A carpet was already spread in
Gerrard's tent, and he motioned them to it, while he gave an order or
two respecting refreshments, and other things.  The hookah kept for
occasions of this sort was brought in, and Gerrard took a whiff
himself, then passed the mouthpiece to his guests, but it was politely
refused, with a sanctimonious glance at the servants.  The boy soon
tired of sitting still, and began to investigate the tent, attracted by
the European furniture and weapons.  In response to his inquiries,
Gerrard exhibited and explained his watch, his tin despatch-box, (which
aroused disappointment as not being filled with treasure,) and his
Colt's revolver, at that time a surprising novelty.  The old man was as
fascinated with it as the child, and remarked gloomily that it was no
wonder the English had so much power, when one of them could carry six
men's lives in his hand.  He seemed inclined to talk, so Gerrard looked
out an illustrated paper which had lately reached him from home, and
opened it for the boy at the picture of the opening of a new railway by
the Queen and Prince Albert.

"Sit down here, little one, and look at this," he said kindly.

The child drew himself up with great dignity.  "I am a prince, and I
sit at no man's feet save my father's, O bearer of many deaths."

Here was a confirmation of the Munshi's suspicions, and Gerrard could
not forbear a glance at the old man to see how he took it.  But no
discomfiture was visible.

"The women spoil him and puff him up.  But 'tis a fine spirit!" said
the Sirdar, beaming even while he made the sign to avert the evil eye.
"Nevertheless, delight of my heart, sit thou at the foot of the Sahib,
for verily that is where all Granthistan must now sit."

The boy obeyed, and the old man took his turn at putting questions.
Many of them were trivial enough, but Gerrard soon became conscious
that there was something behind, that attempts were continually being
made to entrap him.  The inexhaustible theme of the relations between
the Crown and the Company was freely discussed without seeming to
become much clearer to the Sirdar, and Gerrard realised by degrees that
his guest was seeking for a weak point, a jealousy between the two
governing bodies, or between two rulers, such as a bold diplomatist
might exploit to his own advantage.  His answers must therefore be
guarded, and yet apparently frank, lest the old man should read into
them what he desired, and it seemed that the inquirer had been baffled
successfully when he flew off at a tangent to Colonel Antony and his
administration.

"We hear strange things of the Ranjitgarh Durbar," he remarked
sarcastically, "how the due compliments are always offered, and any man
may lift up his voice and be heard with mildness--the wretch who was a
slave but yesterday as readily as a prince of the house of Ajit Singh."

"It is true," said Gerrard.  "Our religion bids us be courteous to all
men, and the Resident follows its precepts."

The old man smiled unpleasantly.  "This Antni Sahib--he is one to be
wondered at, is he not?  Men say that when certain would have had the
English take possession of Granthistan for themselves, he withstood
them."  A meaning pause.  "And they say also that when any Englishman
would override the rights of a Granthi, be he Sirdar or peasant, Antni
Sahib is on the side of the Granthi."

"Quite true," said Gerrard again.

The Sirdar bent towards him.  "Then, since he betrays his own masters
thus, from whom does he look for reward?" he asked triumphantly.

"The Resident desires no reward but the gratitude of the Granthis, if
that may be had, Sirdar Sahib."

"And the gratitude of the Granthis is to place him on the _gaddi_ as
King of Granthistan?"  The old man's self-satisfaction was so evident
as he displayed his acumen in detecting this deep-laid plot that
Gerrard almost laughed in his face.

"Nay, Sirdar Sahib, he trusts to see young Lena Singh on his father's
throne, ruling as an upright king, when he himself has returned an old
man to England.  But excuse me a moment."

The Eurasian apothecary, the only man in the camp who could speak
English, had entered deprecatingly, with a visage of alarm.  Gerrard
spoke sharply.

"Don't look so frightened, Mr Moraes.  What is it?"

"Zere are soldiers approaching, sar--a whole armee.  What is to be
done?"

"Bid Sirdar Badan Hazari send the men to their posts, and challenge the
strangers before they get within musket-shot."  He turned again to the
old man.  "You think that Colonel Antony might wish to make himself
King of Granthistan, but which of all the English has ever done such a
thing?"

"Nay, but they conquered for their masters.  This man who resists his
masters must surely have some advantage for himself in view?"

"Sahib!"  It was the little boy who spoke eagerly before Gerrard could
answer; "who are these men with guns and swords, and why do they come
before the tent?"

Gerrard cast a careless glance at  his twelve troopers, noticing that
the old Sirdar did not move a muscle.  "They are to protect my guests,
little prince," he answered.

"But why are their guns pointed this way?"

"That my guests may see them, and know themselves safe."

"Your guests are much indebted to your thoughtfulness, sahib," said the
old man, with something of mockery in his tone.  Gerrard would have
given much to know what was passing behind those inscrutable eyes.  Was
that long curved dagger, with the handle of which the Sirdar's fingers
were continually playing, destined to be sheathed in his heart at the
moment that an attack was made upon the camp from without?  It almost
looked like it, and yet why had the old man given such a hostage to
fortune as the child he had brought with him?  To prevent a flagging in
the conversation, which might have been attributed to nervousness,
Gerrard brought out his sketch-book, and requested the honour of taking
the portraits of Sirdar Hari Ram and his grandson.  The request was
granted, but before the water for which he called had been brought
Moraes appeared again.

"Ze strange officer desire to see you, sar.  He say he Rajah Partab
Singh's _Komadan_." [1]

"Tell him to send a message, since I am engaged with guests."

"He say you must give up zose persons, sar.  Old man and leetle boy, he
come to look for zem."

"Then tell him to come and take them.  And you can promise him in my
name a pretty tough job if he does."  He turned from Moraes with noble
disdain, and bestowed a reassuring smile upon his guests.

"Sahib," said the old man, "the wise lingers not where his presence is
an inconvenience.  The youth who has just left us appeared to desire
our departure."

"His desires are of no moment, Sirdar Sahib, even were he so unmannerly
as to express them."

"But it is the part of a churl to bring danger upon a host, sahib, and
I have many enemies.  Is it possible that there are those without who
demand that I should be yielded up to them?"

"Since you ask, it is so, but you need have no fear that I shall
comply," said Gerrard, more puzzled than ever.

"Nay, sahib, but I myself will depart with the child, so that neither
your honour nor your safety will be menaced."

"You will do nothing of the kind, Sirdar Sahib.  What! shall I suffer a
guest to step from my very carpet into the hands of his foes?  You
would cover me with disgrace from the mountains to the sea."

"I will not bring trouble upon you, sahib.  Suffer us to go."

"Certainly not.  I will rather use violence to keep you.  A word to
these men of mine----"

The veins on the old man's forehead swelled, and his eyes flamed.  "By
the Guru! if the slaves of Lena Singh and the English dare to lay a
finger on me----!" he cried.  "Foolish young man, will you keep me from
my own troops?  I am the Rajah Partab Singh."

Gerrald stepped back with a bow.  "Maharaj-ji, you are free to depart.
I had not thought that the man whom I welcomed to my tent designed to
pick a quarrel with me.  Depart freely, and your son with you, but bear
me witness that I did not fail in hospitality."

"Nor shall you find Partab Singh deficient in hospitality, O son of
noble parents!" cried the old man, softening suddenly.  "Know this, my
friend.  I designed to put you to a test, to prove your courtesy, your
courage, your good faith, that I might see whether the English were
indeed to be trusted.  Well has Antni Sahib done in sending one like
you, since he could not come himself!"



[1] Commandant.




CHAPTER IV.

"A-HUNTING WE WILL GO."

"Here are ten rupees for you, Somwar Mal.  You did me good service
to-day," said Gerrard to his Munshi, who salaamed to the very ground.

"May the Protector of the Poor continue to be as a spreading tree,
under whose branches this slave and all his house may find shelter!" he
said devoutly.  Gerrard thought he had departed, but looking up
presently, saw him still standing humbly with folded hands.

"What is it, Munshi-ji?" he asked him.

"Sahib, among the attendants who accompanied the Rajah Partab Singh
when he departed was a certain scribe, who made himself known to this
slave as the grandson of his father's cousin, and asked leave to visit
him this evening."

"Well, what of that?  You may be able to get some useful information
out of him.  Ah, I see; you think he may be coming as a spy?"

"This slave has no doubt, sahib, that the young man will be
commissioned to discover whether the Protector of the Poor was aware of
the identity of the Rajah and his son when he received them, or not.
What answer does the Presence desire should be given?"

"Why, the truth, of course!" said Gerrard impatiently.

"It is an order," said Somwar Mal, and salaamed himself out.  His
employer thought no more about him until just before bedtime, when the
Munshi, his face beaming with modest gratification, sought another
interview.

"This slave was not mistaken, sahib.  The young man did his errand with
a dexterity that would have deceived many, but not the humble one who
watches over the interests of the Presence.  The question came as
though unpremeditated, as he had expected, and in accordance with the
will of the Presence, he gave a true answer, saying that on the first
appearance of the strangers on the horizon your honour cried out,
'Behold, some great one cometh!  It is in my mind that the Rajah Partab
Singh and his son are about to visit the camp.'  And very great was the
wonder of the young man that your honour could so well have hoodwinked
his master."

"O Somwar Mal, you are a spoil-sport!" cried Gerrard.  "Do you not see
that all the hospitality I showed to the Rajah--all my faithfulness to
my guests--now goes for nothing?"

The Munshi regarded him with mild reproach.  "Nay, sahib, the meanest
of men may not fail in hospitality--it is a duty incumbent upon all;
but the power of foreseeing events is a direct gift from Heaven, and
will move the Rajah to desire greatly the linking of his fortunes with
your honour's.  There is also another small matter in which this slave
has to-night done what he could to add a stone to the pillar of your
honour's prosperity."

"I wish you had asked me first.  But let me know what obligations you
have undertaken for me."

"The youth, the son of shame, dared to inquire in confidence what were
the weaknesses of the Protector of the Poor!" said the Munshi, in an
awful whisper.  Gerrard fell in with the humour of the occasion.

"And of course you swore that I had none?"

Somwar Mal hung his head.  "Alas, sahib! your honour bade me tell him
the truth."

"You are right, Munshi-ji.  Truth is great, and shall prevail.  And
which of my hidden faults have you discovered to the eyes of the world?"

"Sahib, your honour's credit is safe in the hands of your slave.  He
bade the youth name one after the other such things as have brought to
ruin many wise men, and then assured him that not one of all these had
ever touched your honour.  But of that one thing which he has
observed----"

"This becomes interesting," said Gerrard.  "Speak."

"Nay, sahib, it is for this slave to lay the hand of respect upon the
mouth of discretion."

"Not when the mouth of command issues an order.  Say on."

"If it is an order, sahib----?"  An inexorable nod answered him, and he
went on.  "Sahib, it has sometimes seemed to the humblest of your
servants, who asks forgiveness for presuming to raise his eyes above
your feet, that your honour was more occupied in seeking the right way
to do a thing than in doing at once what required doing."

"Lack of decision?  I see, and you told the youth this?"

Grieved surprise was in Somwar Mal's tone.  "I, sahib?  I told him that
the besetting sin of the Protector of the Poor was a hasty judgment in
sometimes acting without thought!"

"Oh, go away, you old humbug!" shouted Gerrard violently, and Somwar
Mal retired proudly smiling, while his employer laughed undisturbed.


"Whether it is due to Soomwar Mull's original notions of truth, or to
old Pertaub Sing's own favourable impressions, it seems to be certain
that I have _made a conquest_!" he wrote to Charteris the next evening.
"I have given up attempting to unravel the Rajah's motives in visiting
me incog., and will only hint that if I were told the whole thing was
_got up_ with a view to burking the momentous question who should pay
the first call I should not be surprised.  Do you _twig_?  Pertaub Sing
has visited my camp, which is one to me; but the visit was not
official, and that's one to him.  In any case, I thought I should be
carrying out Antony's wishes if I paid an official visit to-day, which
I did, and was entertained regardless of expense, garlands, ottar,
_paun_ and all.  The old boy is a _regular brick_, for--now grow green
with envy--he has invited me to go a-hunting with him to-morrow.
Hawking, he said--by the way, what would not a certain lady give to be
a spectator of that most chivalrous of sports?--but oh, my beloved Bob,
there's a _jheel_ which I strongly suspect to be the intended scene of
our exploits, and if there ain't pig there, call me a Dutchman.
Conceive my feelings.  If we sight pig, will it be my duty to turn
delicately away, with a pained expression of countenance, or would it
be better style to affect to have seen nothing whatever?  Or will
there, will there be spears in reserve, and the chance of some glorious
fun?  After all, my boy, envy me not till you hear how the day ends."


The day began uneventfully enough, though the spectacle of the Rajah's
hunt delighted Gerrard's eyes.  The old ruler himself and his
councillors and Komadans seemed to have donned their brightest garb for
the occasion, and the little prince, now known by his proper name of
Kharrak Singh, was resplendent in emerald-green velvet, with a blue and
silver turban and a broad folded girdle of stiff gold tissue, in which
was stuck a huge dagger, large enough for a sword for him.  He rode a
white pony with a pink nose and a long tail, and on either side of him
was an ancient armed retainer, charged to keep him out of any possible
danger.  The hawking was pretty to watch, but not particularly
exciting, and Gerrard found it much more interesting when the
innumerable dogs of indescribable breed which accompanied the party
started something larger than birds in the brushwood surrounding the
swamp.  Partab Singh looked at his guest, and read the expression of
his face aright.  With a smile the old Rajah called up a man who
carried a number of spears, and bade Gerrard take his choice.  The
beaters were wildly excited, declaring that the dogs had roused an old
and very cunning boar which had long baffled the hunters of the
neighbourhood, and after a brief council of war it was decided that the
Rajah should take his stand at one side of the _jhil_ and Gerrard at
the other, the beaters keeping watch to prevent the quarry's breaking
out across the open ground at the back, and the court officials going
to the end of the swamp in case he should take to the water.

Rather to his annoyance, Gerrard found that the little prince, instead
of accompanying his father, preferred to remain with him, in dangerous
proximity to the track through the underwood along which the boar would
probably come.  Horribly afraid that the quarry would break out in his
absence, he seized the white pony's bridle, and in spite of Kharrak
Singh's vehement opposition, led him back to his guardians and bade him
stay with them.  As he cantered back to his post, the child's shrill
voice made him look round, and he saw him striking furiously with his
sheathed dagger at the hands of the two servants, who held the pony on
either side.  Satisfied that the boy was in safety, Gerrard waited,
spear in hand, watching the movements of the bushes, which showed that
some heavy body was making its way through them.  From the yapping and
yelping of the dogs at a discreet distance behind, he felt certain that
this was the boar, and listened eagerly for the crackling of the
brushwood as it came towards him.  Then it burst into the open--the
finest tusker he had ever seen--and made for him as fiercely as he rode
at it.  But to his utter astonishment, just as it met the iron it
swerved violently--so that the spear merely inflicted a long gash from
shoulder to flank--and charged on at something behind him.

Nearly thrown from the saddle by the absence of the expected
resistance, Gerrard recovered himself and wrenched his horse round, to
behold a sight which made his heart stand still.  A white pony, with
streaming mane and tail, was in full flight, and on the ground lay a
vivid green and gold bundle, with two small feet kicking in the air.
Kharrak Singh had evidently been thrown sideways from the saddle as the
pony turned tail, and the boar's rush had carried it beyond him, but it
had already transferred its attention from the terrified horse to the
nearer foe.  The two retainers, uttering cries of horror as they rode
towards the fray, were hopelessly distant, and there was no one else at
hand.  Two things associated themselves in Gerrard's mind, without any
volition on his part--the blood-stained spear in his hand and Kharrak
Singh's broad golden belt, and some vague association with Somwar Mal
was present as well.  He and the boar charged simultaneously for the
prostrate child, but before the cruel tusks could reach him, the spear
had passed under the stiff golden folds and swung Kharrak Singh
ignominiously into the air and across Gerrard's saddle.  The astonished
horse, accustomed to pig-sticking, but not to having the prey placed on
his back, took the bit between his teeth and dashed furiously away,
with the boar in full pursuit--so Gerrard gathered from the chorus of
yells and shrieks that arose.  One hand was fully occupied with the
reins, the other with holding the child, and it was impossible to
disengage his spear while going at this pace, though the handle
collided with half the trees they passed, and threatened to jerk
Kharrak Singh from his grasp.

"Hold fast, little brother!" he called out.

"Not your little brother!"  The words reached him faintly, and he
smiled, for at least the child was not much hurt.  Venturing to glance
round to see whether the boar was continuing the chase, he found that
it had given up, but to his astonishment all the hunt, mounted and on
foot, were pursuing him with wild cries.  "Maro! maro!" [1] they
yelled, and two of the Komadans, who were drawing ahead of the others,
had one of them a spear in rest, and the other his sword drawn.  Like a
flash of lightning it broke upon Gerrard that to a distant observer his
action must have had all the appearance of a peculiarly cold-blooded
murder, and that before he could explain to these avengers that his
spear had merely lifted the child by his girdle, they would have cut
him down from behind.  To check his horse was impossible, for the
sounds of pursuit stimulated it continually to fresh efforts, and he
had no means of defending himself while he explained matters, since his
spear was still entangled in Kharrak Singh's golden waistbelt.

A second time the pleasing sense of proving Somwar Mat a false prophet
came over Gerrard as he jerked his horse violently to the right, where
an irrigation channel, leading from the swamp, crossed his course.  The
pursuers evidently thought it would prove an insurmountable barrier,
for he could hear by their shouts that the two foremost were separating
so as to ride against him from either side, when he would be caught
between them and the main body behind.  But his horse was a noted
jumper, and that fact saved him.  He felt it rise to the leap, and
though the channel was too broad, and it fell on its knees on the slope
of crumbling earth at the farther side, he contrived to twitch himself
and Kharrak Singh out of the saddle in time to prevent its slipping
back into the muddy water.  Once on his feet, he was able to disengage
the spear without difficulty, and as the horse also struggled up he
caught it and set Kharrak Singh in the saddle, then turned to confront
his astonished pursuers.  They had halted in sheer amazement, and were
gazing at him with various expressions of stupefaction, old Partab
Singh himself, the spear in his iron hand shaking like a leaf; at their
head.  Kharrak Singh hailed their astonishment as a tribute to himself,
for some reason or other, and clapped his hands and cried "Shabash!"
until he was tired.

"Is the child unhurt?" the foremost Komadan ventured at last to ask,
rather unnecessarily.

"Fool! who should have hurt me?" cried Kharrak Singh.

"The Feringhee," answered every one together.

"Surely ye are all mad, O people.  I would have killed him with my
dagger!" and the boy clapped his hand to his girdle, only to discover
that the precious dagger had dropped by the way.  Turning immediately
upon Gerrard, he began to beat him with his fists.  "Where is my
dagger, O fair man?  Hast thou stolen it?  Give it back!"

"_Choop!_" said Gerrard unceremoniously, for Partab Singh had ridden to
the edge of the bank opposite.

"O my friend, was this well done--to endanger your own life and the
child's, and cause all my people to believe you a murderer, for the
sake of a moment's jest?" asked the old man.

"Maharaj-ji, there was no jest.  The child lay on the ground, in the
path of the charging boar, and I could save him in no other way----"

"He caught me up on his spear, as a kite snatches up a kitten!" cried
Kharrak Singh proudly.  "I felt the breath of the unclean beast on my
leg!"

Partab Singh turned to his guards.  "Bring hither the heads of the
liars who spake evil of my friend Jirad Sahib, and lay them before
him."  Then to Gerrard, "My face is black, O my friend.  When justice
has been done, I shall be less abashed, and able to speak to you."

"I entreat your Highness to pardon the men.  Their eyes deceived them,
and they thought they spoke the truth.  If I am indeed your friend----"

"They shall live.  Their eyes alone shall pay the forfeit, for I have
no use for eyes that deceive their owners."

"Nay, let them go free.  I ask nothing else of your Highness."

"This is in very deed my friend's will?"

"In very deed."

"I had sooner you had asked for half my treasury, but the wretches
shall go free," grumbled Partab Singh, and two very badly frightened
men were ignominiously sped with kicks and cuffs to the rear.  The
nearest cultivators were then summoned, and forced to break down the
canal-banks, and make a temporary causeway for Gerrard to cross, in the
midst of which the Rajah met him and embraced him, and insisted that he
should forthwith mount his own splendid horse, with its gold-encrusted
trappings, and saddle-cloth flashing with gems.  Thus they rode back,
the Rajah on a humble pony, with Gerrard on the great horse on his
right, and Kharrak Singh, extremely discontented with Gerrard's plain
saddle, relegated to his left.  In the course of the ride, Gerrard
learned that he was immediately to visit the Rajah at the city of
Agpur, that the inestimable service he had rendered the state might be
properly acknowledged and proclaimed, and that if he desired the life
or property of any man in the province, he had only to ask for it.
Colonel Antony's ambassador could have desired no better proof of the
complete success of his mission.

The evening was spent in Partab Singh's camp, where all his officers
and officials came by command to pay their respects to Gerrard and
congratulate him upon his exploit.  It seemed absurd, as he rode back
to his own camp at night, to realise by what a chain of accidents he
had been led to his present position of favour, and he reflected sagely
that accidents might as easily dethrone him, so that it would be well
to report the state of affairs at once, in case Colonel Antony should
wish to take immediate advantage of it.  He had got rid of his
full-dress uniform and the garlands with which he had been decorated,
and was writing busily by the light of a smoky lantern, when the
Granthi commander of his escort came to say that they had caught a man
trying to make his way unperceived into the camp, who said that he was
a Sirdar who had urgent business with the Sahib.

"Tell him to come in the morning," said Gerrard.

"He comes from one of the states newly included in the Company's
territory, sahib, and has a petition to present.  Moreover he dares not
come by day, for fear of the Rajah here."

"A British subject?  I suppose I must see him, though why he should be
skulking in Agpur territory----  Bring him in, Badan Hazari."

A tall man much muffled in a large cloak was ushered in, and at
Gerrard's invitation, sat down on the floor.  When Badan Hazari was
gone, he lowered the cloak a little, and looked at Gerrard as though he
expected recognition, but there was none.

"I place my life in your hands, sahib.  I am Sher Singh."

"There are many of that name," said Gerrard, puzzled.

"Not many who are also princes of Agpur."

"You are a relation of the Rajah's, then?"

"Merely his eldest son, sahib."  The man glanced round fearfully as he
spoke, as though listeners were to be dreaded.

"What! the son who was sentenced----?"

"The discernment of the Sahib is wonderful.  Yes, these are the eyes
that were to be presented on a golden plate for my father to gloat
over."

"But why are you here?  You must know that your life-----"

"Is in danger?  True, but I seek for justice from the Protector of the
Poor."

"If you have a claim against your father, you must lay it before
Colonel Antony and the Ranjitgarh Durbar."

"And be stabbed or poisoned by emissaries from Agpur?  Nay, sahib, I
want nothing for the present--merely a promise of justice in future.
Who is to sit upon the _gaddi_ when the pyre has been built for Rajah
Partab Singh?"

"I understand that the Rajah has the right to nominate his own
successor.  It is no affair of mine," said Gerrard coldly.  Sher
Singh's eyes blazed.

"Not though he nominates the young upstart he has raised up to the
prejudice of me, his rightful heir?"

"Ah, by the bye, why were you sentenced to death and cut out of the
succession?" asked Gerrard casually.  Sher Singh blinked once or twice
before answering.

"What father does not hate his heir?" he asked at last.

"And the hatred was groundless?"

"What heir does not consider his father's life unduly prolonged?  Say
that he is tempted to anticipate the enjoyment of what will be all his
one day----"

"Enough!" said Gerrard sharply.  "You wish me to intercede with the
Rajah for you?"

"Nay, sahib, since then my life would end before his.  But you are high
in the favour of the great Antni Sahib, the fountain of justice, who is
all-powerful in Granthistan, save in this little corner.  Does he
desire to add to his present cares another infant-ruled kingdom, with
another shameless Rani and more headstrong Sirdars to tear it in
pieces?  Partab Singh's days cannot now be long.  Were it not well that
he should be succeeded by a man of full age, who has travelled among
the English and seen their power, and can be trusted to act towards
them as a loyal ally?"

Gerrard considered the suggestion a moment, aware that Colonel Antony
would give much to prevent the duplication of his present anxieties,
and at the same time settle satisfactorily the affairs of this
troublesome province.  But unfortunately Sher Singh, in his eagerness
to clinch matters, went too far.

"Sahib," he said, leaning forward confidentially, "in the treasury at
Agpur there is wealth for many men.  What if it were divided between
Antni Sahib, you, and me--and Antni Sahib need not know what was the
sum you and I found there?"

Gerrard started up.  "Badan Hazari!" he shouted, and the soldier came
running.  "Turn this man out.  He has dared to offer me a bribe.  You
have made a mistake, nephew of a foolish aunt.  Leave to live, and a
decent maintenance, you may obtain through Colonel Antony Sahib, but
after to-night, nothing more."

"This slave is indeed foolish as the beasts," lamented Sher Singh.
"Let the Sahib in his mercy obtain for him even now what he has
promised, and for the present he will dwell quietly, and aim no more at
a dignity that is clearly above his capacity."

The reason for this change of front Gerrard had not time to puzzle over
at the moment, for as Sher Singh left the tent under the escort of
Badan Hazari, the Rajah's minister, Diwan Dwarika Nath, appeared out of
the darkness with his attendants, and cast a keen glance at the
departing figure.  Dismissing his servants to a distance, and
apologising for the lateness of his visit, Dwarika Nath proceeded to
make various arrangements on his master's behalf with regard to the
journey to Agpur, all in a very friendly and polite spirit.  But as he
rose to take his leave, he turned suddenly on Gerrard.

"His Highness might be interested to learn what visitors his _friend_
Jirad Sahib entertains in secret at night," he said.

"My visitors come without any wish of mine, but they go when I choose,"
retorted Gerrard warningly.

Dwarika Nath held up a deprecating hand.  "There is no need for his
Highness to know who the visitor was.  I alone recognised him."

"It might certainly be safer for you not to bring that recognition to
the knowledge of his Highness," mused Gerrard.

Dwarika Nath's face grew avaricious.  "But there is my duty to his
Highness.  How could I consent to keep silent on a matter that affects
him so nearly?"

"I really don't know.  Your conscience ain't in my keeping.  Settle it
for yourself," said Gerrard carelessly.  "Now I suppose I have made two
enemies to-night!" he remarked to himself as Dwarika Nath turned away
with baffled greed in his eyes.



[1] Kill! kill!




CHAPTER V.

GERRARD FINDS FAVOUR.

_From Lieut. Robert Charteris, Darwan, to Lieut. Henry Gerrard_:--

"DEAR HAL,--I have not had long to wait for a _billet doux_ from you.
I _had_ thought you would draw the line at assassination, but we live
and learn.  Last night, as I was returning to the shelter of my humble
roof, a dirty hairy fellow--but why should I describe him to
_you_?--leapt out and fired at me point-blank with a huge old-fashioned
horse-pistol, and _missed_.  I give you my word he singed half an inch
off my left whisker.  Of course they _say_ he was a ruffianly suitor
offended by my just decision in favour of his opponent, but I know
better.  'Sweet Hal, by my faith!' thinks I to myself, says I, and what
I says I sticks to.  I know he ought to have been taken alive, and
returned to you postage-paid, with an insulting message inviting you to
try again and do your worst.  Unfortunately my honest fellows, not
being versed in these niceties of behaviour, fell on him in a body and
incontinently despatched him.  But bring on your minions.  Come one,
come all, this rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as

Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,

    R. C."


_From Lieut. Henry Gerrard, Agpur City, to Lieut. Robert Charteris_:--

"DEAR BOB,--I grieve to find that you answered what you are good enough
to call my _billet doux_ even before receiving it.  Had your miserable
tool's fortune not failed him when your plot was on the verge of
success, you would now be rid of a rival.  I own I should not have
believed you fallen so low as to resort to poison--a nasty
ungentlemanly weapon, if you will pardon my natural warmth.  The wretch
declared himself to have been employed by a villainous Dewan lately
dismissed, 'tis true, but my apprehensive heart framed, though my lips
refrained from uttering, your name.  Powdered glass, too!  Let me ask
you as a favour to choose a less revolting form of death next time, or
I swear to you that my expiring lips shall murmur '_Et tu, Roberte!_'
with sufficient reiteration to excite remark.  And pray how had poor
old Pertaub Sing injured you, that your vengeance should include him?
Avaunt, traitor!  I pities and despises you.         H. G."


_From Lieut. Robert Charteris to Lieut. Henry Gerrard_:--

"Ha, most noble Hal, and have the little god's arrows but just failed
to prove fatal in your case also?  _Honour_, what crimes are committed
in thy name!  But none shall say Bob Charteris don't fight fair.
Please receive herewith a buffalo horn, the trophy of my bow and spear.
You remember how Mithridates, or some old classical fellow, used it as
an antidote to poisons?[1]  The exact method of application has slipped
my memory, but I fancy the horn should be ground small and mixed in all
you eat and drink.  If I am wrong, send me word when it begins to take
effect, and I will make a point of arriving in time to give you a
thumping big funeral.  But by the horn, (not now, alas! by the
buffalo,) there hangs a _tale_.  The animal charged me in the most
ferocious manner when I was passing peaceably upon my lawful occasions,
and had I not snatched my gun from my boy, who promptly bolted, your
dearest wish would now be fulfilled.  But the trusty weapon did not
play me false, and on mature reflection, I have decided not to lay the
beast's malice to your account, for lack of evidence.  To all
appearances it was the wildest wild beast in Asia, but hardly were my
escort come up to view the spoil and acclaim my prowess, than there
arrived also a wretched cultivator, swearing with tears and howls that
I had wantonly destroyed the friend of his family, the mainstay of his
lowly cot.  I held a court on the spot, and desired to know what sum
would compensate him for this cruel loss.  The opportunity of taking in
the stranger was too promising to resist, and he requested leave to
retire and consult with his friends--an interval I employed in making
inquiry as to the market price of buffaloes in that neighbourhood.
Returning, the honest man named a sum that would have bought him a
dozen, at the lowest computation.  Remembering Colonel A.'s maxims
regarding kindness to the people, I was in some doubts whether to pay
the demand and put it down to office expenses, but reflected in time
that my appearance in public would in that case be the signal for
loosing against me droves of charging buffaloes wherever I went.  I
brought the fellow down, therefore, to something like two and a half
times the value of the very best bull ever bred in Granthistan, but as
he was retiring, with difficulty concealing his smiles over the Sahib's
_gullibility_, I called him smartly back, and fined him one and a half
times the value of the said ideal bull for damage to my person and
dignity by allowing his ill-conditioned beast to roam at large and
uncontrolled.  If the judgment of Solomon was received with one-half
the applause and admiration that greeted mine, then Solomon must have
been an insufferable person to converse with for at least a twelvemonth
after.  If you are flush of cash, then, I can recommend
buffalo-shooting as a tolerable amusement, but if not, let me suggest
that you obtain _khubber_ of a tiger--of course a man-eater--in the
direction of my boundary, when I will lay aside the cares of _office_
and join you in the chase, and the resulting skin, should there be one,
shall be laid, with our united respectful compliments, at the feet of a
lady who shall be nameless.  We hear marvellous tales of your having
tamed a certain old bear, and leading him about with a silken string,
but ain't there something of over-confidence in accompanying him into
his very den?  Even a tame bear is treacherous at times, and when
_riled_, an awkward customer to tackle.  Why not guide your bear gently
in this direction, and settle the disputed boundary between Augpore and
Durwan while I am on this side of my kingdom?  Give me open country and
room to move rather than the finest bear-pit ever built, says

    R. C."


Gerrard read this second letter in the quarters assigned to him in
Partab Singh's fortified palace at Agpur, and appreciated the motive
which had led Charteris both to send the warning and to couch it in
veiled and sportive language.  A kind of envy of his friend, whose
problems, if difficult, were comparatively simple, and whose enemies
attacked in front, seized upon him, for he also preferred open country
and room to move.  Nothing was simple at Agpur; it seemed as though
there was a malign influence about the place which brought hints of
tragedy into the most ordinary sights and sounds.  Even as Gerrard
approached the city, to which the Rajah had preceded him the day
before, the gay procession of soldiers and dancing-girls that escorted
him was interrupted by a very different crowd.  Followed by a jeering
rabble, there hurried forth from the gate a portly Hindu, whose
spotless muslins were rapidly being converted into filthy rags by the
attentions of his pursuers, and whose shaven head glistened bare under
the sun's rays.  Glancing hither and thither like a hunted animal for
some place of refuge, the wretched man missed his footing and fell,
with a red gash across his brow where a stone had struck him.  Smiles
and sarcasms passed among the soldiery, and one of the dancing-girls
introduced into her song a verse inspired by the occasion, to judge by
the cruel laughter it evoked.  Fearing that the victim would be done to
death as soon as his back was turned, Gerrard dismounted and went to
help him up, intending to send one of his own men a little way back
with him, to see him clear of the mob.  To his astonishment, he
recognised the distorted face which glared into his as that of the
Diwan Dwarika Nath, and found his help refused with a venomous curse.
The commander of the escort smiled.

"He has eaten the great shoe," he said, as though in explanation.

"But was the Rajah's sentence death?" demanded Gerrard.

"No," was the reluctant answer.  "Whip back these dogs--it is the
Sahib's will," he said to his men.  "And now, sahib, be persuaded to
remount.  Our lord loves not to be kept waiting."

"But what has Dwarika Nath done?" asked Gerrard, as he complied,
leaving the fallen minister freed at any rate from the mob that had
persecuted him.

"He has doubtless been found out," was the cynical reply.  "The word
went forth from our lord this morning that the fellow was to be beaten
with the great shoe immediately before the Sahib's arrival, and to be
driven forth from the city to meet him as he came."

Gerrard pondered vainly the connection between the two events.  Did the
expulsion of Dwarika Nath synchronize with his own entrance as a
warning to him, or as an assurance of safety?  Partab Singh, receiving
him in the utmost state, and leading him by the hand into the palace
between rows of salaaming courtiers, made no allusion to it, and the
attempted poisoning that very evening tended to overshadow the affair
in his mind.  Gerrard never knew whether the Rajah had become aware of
the intended assassination beforehand, or whether he regarded it as so
extremely probable as to be practically a certainty.  However this
might be, upon the appearance of a curry of which he was particularly
fond, and of which he had signified his intention of sending a portion,
as a special mark of favour, to Gerrard at his separate table, the old
ruler called the attention of all present to the exquisite appearance
of the dish, and ordered the cook to be fetched, that he might be
suitably complimented upon his handiwork.  Gerrard discerned in the
man's aspect no more than the natural awkwardness of a rough fellow
brought into a position of unaccustomed prominence, but no sooner did
the cook present himself before him than Partab Singh rose with one
fierce word, and drawing his jewelled tulwar, cut off his head at a
single blow.  The horror of the scene, the severed head rolling on the
ground, the blood sprinkled upon the food, affected the Englishman so
powerfully that he did not perceive at first that the dead man's son
and assistant, was also being dragged before the Rajah.  There was no
need even to question him, for on his knees, with piteous lamentation,
he confessed that in the spiced sauce accompanying the curry a quantity
of very finely powdered glass had been mingled, which would ensure an
agonising death to any one who partook of it.  This had been done at
the instigation of the disgraced Dwarika Nath, whose bribe for the
purpose would be found hidden in the thatch of the cook-house.  Gerrard
retained only a vague recollection of the issue of certain orders, of
the informers being dragged shrieking away, and the departure of a
troop of horsemen with orders to bring back Dwarika Nath dead or alive,
or of the hastily prepared food he forced himself to eat, and the
unruffled conversation of Partab Singh after supper.  Dwarika Nath was
not brought back, for he seemed to have disappeared from the face of
the earth, but the bodies of the two cooks were an eyesore on the
ground outside the palace until the dogs and kites had done their work.

Another trial to Gerrard was the supervision maintained over his
movements.  In order to carry out Colonel Antony's instructions, he
wished to move about the city and talk with the traders and others in
the bazars, but no matter how skilfully he thought he had eluded his
guardians, he had no sooner slipped out of the palace than a panting
escort was at his heels, insisting on his mounting the horse presented
to him by the Rajah--which at once put an end to any chance of
unfettered conversation.  So tiresome did this surveillance become that
at last he determined to take advantage of Partab Singh's continued
friendliness to relieve himself of it.  They were sitting one evening
in the covered balcony of a tower looking over the palace garden, oddly
assorted companions, Gerrard on the watch, as usual, against being
morally taken by surprise, the Rajah puffing at his hookah--for in
private he was the veriest free-thinker--in silence, the gleaming of
his fierce eyes the only sign that he was not asleep.  He took the
mouthpiece from his lips when Gerrard broke into his complaint.

"My soldiers have been lacking in respect--have hesitated to attend my
friend whither he desires?"

"No, no!" answered Gerrard hastily, fearing a sudden holocaust.  "They
are most courteous.  It is merely that they are always there."

With a swift movement Partab Singh bent forward, and lightly touched
the ground at Gerrard's feet.  "O my friend, what have I done, that you
would bring the guilt of your death upon me?"

"Maharaj-ji," protested Gerrard indignantly, "I am not a griffin, to
try to penetrate into mosques or zenanas.  I would but walk about--of
course with a servant or two."

"Has my friend not perceived yet that this city is in the eyes of its
inhabitants sacred even as a mosque or a zenana?  He sees only eyes
beaming with affection as he rides through the streets?"

"Not exactly," admitted Gerrard.  "But I thought that the people were
irritated by the action of the escort in clearing the way--and perhaps
also by seeing me riding your Highness's horse.  On foot, and
unattended----"

"You would be slain before you had left the palace square.  Listen, my
friend--who knows Agpur best, I who have spent my life here, or you who
see it now for the first time?"

"Your Highness, undoubtedly."

"Then let my friend listen to me.  These Moslem notables, who would
dispute the city itself with my Granthis, but for the firm hand I keep
over both, think you that they love the English?  Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of
Ethiopia is the master they would choose to serve if they had their
way.  Say that they gratify their hatred by slaying a British officer,
Antni Sahib's envoy.  On whose head lies the guilt?  Is it not on that
of Rajah Partab Singh?  The English come to punish him, and the whole
of Granthistan is in a blaze again.  Granthi sides with Granthi against
the English, but these dogs of Mohammedans, who shall tell which side
they will take?  This only I can say, that it will be the side of their
own advantage."

"Forgive me, Maharaj-ji.  I had not thought----"

"No, my friend.  You uttered hastily the words of an impatient mind,
not having studied from your youth the art of playing off Granthi
against Moslem, and both against Ranjitgarh.  But it is a study that
you will do well to take in hand now."

"I could have no better teacher than your Highness," said Gerrard
politely.  The Rajah looked at him almost with affection.

"Would that these were as the days of old, before the English crossed
the Ghara!  Then should Jirad Sahib have been my Englishman, and I
would have given him a wife out of my own house, and he should have
dwelt always in my city, and trained my soldiers.  Verily we would have
put Ranjitgarh itself to tribute when the fool sat on the _gaddi_ in
the place of Ajit Singh, and when death approached I would have put my
son Kharrak Singh into my friend's arms and died content, knowing that
he would serve the child even as he had served the father.  But now who
shall protect the boy from a thousand dangers?"

"If peril threatens him when I am at hand, your Highness can count upon
my protecting him with my life."

"Of that I am certain."  Partah Singh paused, and his eyes wandered
over the dark gardens, with their gleaming white colonnades and kiosks
and graceful towers rising into the blue-black sky.  He traced the
starlight down to its reflection in the great tank before he spoke
again.  "If I should place my son and my kingdom under the protection
of the English, what would happen in Agpur?" he asked at last.

"Your Highness knows whether the army is to be trusted.  There would be
intense indignation on the part both of the Granthi and the Moslem
notables, I presume?  Whether they would proceed to active
opposition----"

"If they saw a hope of success they would.  But with the army faithful
to an Englishman already established in charge here--and the English at
Ranjitgarh ready to march to his assistance?"

"But you forget one thing, Maharaj-ji.  That the days of your Highness
may yet be prolonged for many years is a thing not only to be hoped for
but confidently expected, and the English are at Ranjitgarh only for a
certain time, until Ajit Singh's son comes of age."

The Rajah laughed impatiently.  "Away with this foolishness between
friends!" he said.  "Where the English come, they stay.  If young Lena
Singh survives the quarrels of his mother and the Sirdars, how can he
be left to rule Granthistan with all English help withdrawn?  The
Resident and the army must stay, or the day the youth mounts the
_gaddi_ will also be that of his death."

"So I have heard many say among ourselves," said Gerrard; "but it is
not the view of Colonel Antony.  Nothing would induce him to be a party
to annexing Granthistan."

Partab Singh threw up one hand slightly.  "Said I not that things might
yet remain as they are?  The English may go on ruling Granthistan while
pretending that they do nothing of the kind, but it is in my mind that
before many years are past they will be rulers in name also.  If, then,
I should place myself under the protection of the English"--he dropped
his voice--"would they maintain my son in his kingdom under the regents
that I should appoint?"

"I cannot possibly enter into any agreement that would bind Colonel
Antony or the Government, but it sounds the kind of arrangement that
they would be likely to sanction," replied Gerrard, in the same
cautious tone.  "But has your Highness considered the opposition that
would be aroused in Agpur if it became known?"

"It is for that very reason I have broached the plan to you.  Whether I
die soon or not for years to come, there must be at hand a man who will
take command of the army, with wealth in his power sufficient to ensure
its allegiance, and use it boldly to maintain my son's title against
all opposition, from whatever quarter it may arise."

Gerrard gave a start of dismay, for the last words brought back to his
mind something he had forgotten.  "Maharaj-ji, if I err bid me be
silent, but it is in my mind to utter that which I fear is forbidden.
Is there not one whose right to the throne is greater than that of
Kharrak Singh?"

The Rajah betrayed no surprise, but extreme bitterness was in his voice
as he answered, "There is one at whose evil deeds the sun would grow
black, were they published abroad.  His death was decreed, but I
suffered him to elude my vengeance, saying, 'Surely he will hide his
shame at the ends of the earth, mindful that one has died to save him
from the reward of his deeds.'  But since he has returned, and dared to
put forth claims to the throne he forfeited, there is no mercy for him.
Was it well done in you, O my friend, to listen favourably to his
petition, and not drive him from you?"

"I knew not the man, Maharaj-ji, and he gained access to me with a
lying tale.  When I learned who he was, it was my duty to hear what he
had to say, but I drove him from me when he sought to influence me by a
bribe."

"True, but your anger was kindled by the attack on your own integrity,
not by the man's evil designs."

"I am here to report all things to Colonel Antony, Maharaj-ji, not one
side of the case only."  The Rajah's eyes were flashing, and Gerrard
waited for an outburst of anger, but none came.  "But how did your
Highness learn of the man's visit?" he asked.

"From whom but from Dwarika Nath?  I looked to hear of it from my
friend, but I waited in vain."

"I did not desire to be the means of the man's death," said Gerrard,
rather lamely.

"And why does not my friend tell me that Dwarika Nath offered to
conceal the matter in return for a gift?"

"Your Highness does not mean to say that Dwarika Nath confessed that?"
cried Gerrard.  Partab Singh enjoyed his astonishment for a moment.

"Nay," he said softly, "the whole matter was recounted to me by one
whom I can trust, who was on the watch from the beginning to the end,
so that when Dwarika Nath, with many protestations of fidelity and
condolence, made known to me the treachery of my friend, I was able to
remind him that he had been willing to cover that treachery for money.
For this he has received due punishment."

Gerrard remained silent a moment, Dwarika Nath's interview with him in
his tent, and the expulsion of the disgraced Diwan from the city,
jostling one another in his mind.  Then quite another thought came
upper-most.  "So you set spies on me in my own tent, Maharaj-ji!" he
cried indignantly.  "And you call me your friend!"

"The wise man calls no one friend whom he has not tested when they are
apart as well as when they are together," was the calm reply.  "Do I
not honour my friend by enabling the lustre of his character to shine
forth even when he believes himself alone?"

"I said these walls seemed to have eyes!" muttered Gerrard.  "I suppose
your Highness's spies are here also?"

"You are watched from morning to night, and again from night to
morning," said the Rajah with pride.  "Even on your sacred day, when
you worshipped your God in the company of the half-breed physician, my
eyes were upon you."

Gerrard moved angrily.  Among the verbal counsels with which Colonel
Antony supplemented his official instructions to his assistants, there
was one which invariably occurred; "I make no suggestion as to your
action when alone, though you are acquainted with my own practice.  But
when there is even one other Christian within reach, it is my earnest
entreaty that you will invite him to join with you on Sundays in the
worship of God.  Believe me, this will bring you no discredit among the
heathen, but rather the contrary."  The "one other Christian" in this
case was Moraes, who regarded compliance with the invitation as an
additional sin to be confessed and expiated on his return home, and
Gerrard felt a natural resentment at the thought of the curious eyes
that had watched the proceedings.  He rose abruptly.

"Since you trust me so little, Maharaj-ji, I had better go.  Have I
your leave to depart?"

The Rajah made no movement.  "O my friend, why this impatience?  Said I
not that all I had seen had only served to justify my confidence?  Had
I taxed you with treachery as the result of my watching, there might
have been cause for anger.  What is this? you cannot pardon my not
trusting you untried?  Know then that I had reason for my hesitation,
for I design to admit you wholly to my confidence.  You, O my friend,
are the man I intend to appoint as regent, together with the mother of
Kharrak Singh, should I die while he is still a child."

"I am grateful for the honour, Maharaj-ji, but I could not accept it
without leave from my superiors."

"That leave will undoubtedly be given when they know that you alone
have power to keep the troops in good humour.  With them on your side
you can laugh at the notables and the common people alike.  I am about
to show you what no living eyes but mine have seen, the secret store I
have laid up to safeguard my son.  And I will do more than that, for
the mother of Kharrak Singh shall be bidden to look to you for help and
guidance in all things.  At my command she has already sworn not to
become suttee on my decease, but to live and shield her son from the
plots laid against him within the palace, as you will from those
without.  Here are turban, robe and slippers of mine.  Put them on,
lest the guardians of the treasure should refuse to let you pass, and
come."



[1] Readers of the classics will perceive that Mr Charteris's memory
played him false here.




CHAPTER VI.

THE CROWNING PROOF.

To put on the Rajah's robe over his clothes, and don the turban and
slippers, was the work of a moment for Gerrard, and he was ready before
Partab Singh had even raised himself from his cushions.  The spirit of
adventure had laid hold of the young man, and the hint of peril
suggested by his host's last words was thrilling his blood, but he was
sufficiently master of himself to insist upon uttering one more warning.

"Your Highness will believe that I appreciate to the full the
confidence you are prepared to repose in me, but I must remind you that
outside Granthistan I am merely a junior officer in the Company's army.
If it should unfortunately happen that the guardianship of Kharrak
Singh and of the state devolved upon Colonel Antony by your
arrangement, it is almost certain that he would make choice of an older
man to represent him and act as regent."

"So that the army might rise against him in a week, and having slain
him and Kharrak Singh and his mother, invade British territory and
bring about a second Granthi war?" asked Partab Singh drily.  "I have
made my choice of a regent, O my friend, and by reason of the power I
shall put into his hands, he will be the only man that Antni Sahib can
choose."

Recollections of Colonel Antony's heroic disregard of commonplace
safeguards in various outstanding cases made Gerrard persist.  "Colonel
Antony will choose the man he thinks best fitted for the post, as in
the sight of God, Maharaj-ji, and it will be my duty to acquiesce in
his decision."

"So be it," said the Rajah, with resignation.  "Only swear to me that
you will not betray the secret I am about to disclose to you to any
living being, man or woman, priest or ruler, save to my son Kharrak
Singh when he is of age and seated on the _gaddi_."

"Does it concern the state, Maharaj-ji?"

"The state might continue to endure were the secret lost, but on it
depends the safety of Kharrak Singh and the existence of my house.  At
present I alone know it."

"But if any evil should befall your Highness and myself, the secret
will be lost.  Suffer me to reveal it to Colonel Antony, who will hold
it sacred, and not permit the knowledge of it to influence his action."

"Nay, that were beyond the power of mortal man!" cried Partab Singh.
"To Antni Sahib least of all must the secret be revealed.  But this it
is permitted you to do.  Choose out an honourable man, lower than
yourself in rank--or at least not likely to be preferred before you by
your masters--and confide the secret to him under the conditions on
which I reveal it to you.  Let him be one that you can trust as
yourself."

"Bob, of course!" said Gerrard in his own mind, with humorous dismay.
"It is well, Maharaj-ji.  I choose my friend the officer in charge of
Darwan," he added aloud.

"And he is near at hand?  It is well.  Reveal the secret to him as soon
as may be.  I have your promise?"

"To keep your Highness's secret?  Yes.  But anything further must
depend upon the will of my superiors."

"That I understand.  Come, my friend."

They went down the spiral marble staircase of the tower, the Rajah
leading, and passed the guards at the foot without a word.  Gerrard
noticed that they did not leave the tower by the carved marble gateway
through which they had entered, but by a smaller door at the back,
which gave access to a shaded terrace looking over the great tank.  In
the shadows a boat was waiting, with one man in it, leaning on a long
pole, and when the Rajah and Gerrard had stepped in, this man punted
them out into the starlight in perfect silence, and across the lake
into a kind of backwater, covered thick with the flat leaves of the
lotus, in an opposite corner.  Gerrard expected to see the boat held
fast among the twining roots, but it was evident that a channel was
kept clear, for they slid through without difficulty.  The boatman
helped them to shore, still in silence, and Partab Singh touched his
own ears and mouth lightly, explaining to Gerrard that the man was deaf
and dumb, as he brought a lantern from the boat and preceded them
through a thicket of bamboos and similar plants.  The place suggested
snakes, and Gerrard trod with caution, wondering what the great wall in
front, over which the sound of clanking chains came faintly, might
enclose.  A small door was disclosed by the boatman's moving aside the
bushes, and the Rajah brought out a key from his girdle, and taking the
lantern from the man's hand, waved him back to the boat.  The opening
of the door disclosed only darkness, but the sound of the clanking of
chains grew louder, mixed with growls and wild cries.

"Smells like a wild beast show!" mused Gerrard.  "Where can we be
coming to?"

Even as he spoke, the Rajah, who had shut the door, advanced a few
steps and waved the lantern round, and the flickering light, with the
chorus of snarls that arose, showed the Englishman that they were in a
passage leading to the bottom of the great pit in which the palace
menagerie was kept.  He had often looked over the parapet at the top,
generally in Kharrak Singh's company, and had the fighting animals
pointed out to him, and been promised a grand display if he was present
on the boy's next birthday, but now he was descending into the arena,
with fierce eyes glaring at the intruders from all the surrounding
cages.

"If only old Bob were here now!" he thought, as Partab Singh crossed
the sanded space, and began deliberately to unfasten the gate of one of
the largest cages.

"Enter, my friend, and fear not!" said the old man, in a tone in which
Gerrard detected a design upon the nerves.  The darkness was not
reassuring, but he stepped in, to be aware immediately of a huge body
hurling itself at him through the air, with an awe-inspiring roar.  A
wicked snarl from behind him at the same moment warned him against
stepping back, and he braced himself unconsciously to meet the impact.
But the animal, whatever it was, fell short of him in its spring, and
to his utter bewilderment he stood unharmed.

"They scent the stranger," said Partab Singh, turning the lantern to
show first the huge lioness, almost black in colour, which had betrayed
her presence by snarling, and then her mate, looking indescribably
sulky and wounded in his self-esteem owing to the failure of his leap.
"The gate is open; does my friend wish to return?"

It is no discredit to Gerrard that he was obliged to pull himself
together before he could reply with suitable unconcern, "Is this the
secret, then, Maharaj-ji?  If not, let us go on," and the Rajah smiled
grimly.

"Keep to the middle of the den, then," he said, as he fastened the
gate.  "The beasts are chained, and cannot touch you there."

That the honour of the Rajah's friendship was not without its drawbacks
was a fact that had already forced itself upon Gerrard's mind that
evening, and he now began to wonder whether its value was altogether
correspondent to the severe tests it seemed to demand.  The lions might
be chained, but their chains were quite unnecessarily long, and they
walked about in a highly disquieting manner while the Rajah was busy at
the back of the den.  Gerrard held the lantern, and hoped fervently
that his hand did not shake--he was too much shaken himself to know
whether it did or not.  In the rear wall of the cage were several iron
rings fixed to staples, to which chains might be attached, and through
one of these Partab Singh passed his sheathed dagger, and gave it a
sharp twist.  Then, removing the dagger, he began to turn the ring the
other way with his hands.  When he had done this apparently an
interminable number of times, Gerrard ventured to ask if he might help.
An angry gesture of negation answered him, and he resigned himself to
wait, while the lions strained at their chains.  At last a great stone
moved out like a door, and the Rajah entered, and motioned Gerrard to
follow.  Closing the door with a movement of his finger, he turned to
his companion.

"The ring must be turned nine-and-twenty times, no more and no less,"
he said.  "If you turn it less, no effect will follow, but if more, a
great stone descends and blocks the entrance."

He led the way along a passage lined with masonry, which turned and
twisted bewilderingly.  At one point there was a deep recess,
apparently intended for a window, but unfinished.  Partab Singh
motioned Gerrard to place his eye at a particular spot.  There was a
hole there, and to his surprise light came through.  He looked into a
great room or vault in which a lamp was burning.  The rays fell upon
elephant-trappings glittering with gold, jewelled bridles and
saddlecloths, robes of gold tissue or priceless shawl-fabric, and a
number of gaily painted boxes, such as the native goldsmiths used to
contain their wares, and money-changers their stock of cash.

"That is the treasury of which all men know, the entrance to which is
in the zenana," said the Rajah.  "But though that were looted, and an
army glutted with the spoil, the greater treasure beyond would remain
safe and unknown."

Again he went on, until another stone moved on the pressure of a secret
spring, the action of which he explained to Gerrard, and gave entrance
to a small unlighted vault, piled with gold in ingots, bars and bricks,
and in one corner a heap of tiny skin bags containing, as he pointed
out, fine pearls and other precious stones.  That the value of what was
stored here must far exceed the more obvious wealth assembled in the
larger treasury, Gerrard saw at a glance.

"You see now, O my friend, my secret store," said Partab Singh, "and by
its means you may secure my son's succeeding me in peace.  When I am
dead, give large presents immediately in his name to all my Sirdars and
Komadans, at the same time distributing a largess of ten rupees per man
to the army.  For this there is sufficient silver in the other
treasury, but you will do well to assemble the money-changers and
bargain with them to supply you with rupees against a portion of this
gold.  The tale of the riches at your command will go abroad, and the
army will remain faithful in the hope of receiving more.  Without it--I
do not deceive myself--they would sell their swords to the highest
bidder in the state or outside it, and it will also be necessary to use
it with discretion, lest their minds should be so much inflamed by the
thought of it that they should combine to seize and plunder the palace.
They would never discover the hiding-place, but my son and his mother
would meet with violence in the search.  My friend sees, then, that I
look to him to act with as much wisdom as courage, and he understands
why I name him regent, since the only power that can keep my son on the
throne is in his hands."

"Pardon the question, Maharaj-ji, but is not he who must not be named
acquainted with this treasury?" asked Gerrard suddenly.

"Doubtless rumour has made him aware of its existence, but where it is
he knows no more than the talkers in the city who swear by their lord's
treasure.  You and I are the sole living beings who know the secret."

Gerrard remembered a certain grim tale he had heard, according to which
every man who had taken part in the construction of the treasury had
been put to death on the completion of the work, and the piled gold
before him became hateful.  "Is there any other entrance to this
labyrinth, Maharaj-ji?" he asked abruptly.

"Surely, my friend.  The passage continues until it reaches the old
outer wall of the palace, and there ends with another turning stone,
concealed from those without by a tree that has struck its roots into
the masonry."

"But if that tree should be destroyed, the entrance would become
visible."

"It must not be destroyed.  You must see to that, as I have done.  I
gave large gifts to a fakir of great sanctity to declare that a spirit
had taken up his abode in the tree, and must on no account be
disturbed, though the people might bring offerings and venerate it from
below.  Should it fall, or be thrown down by a storm, you must at once
plant a seedling or a shoot from it in the same place, sheltering the
tender plant by mats let down from the top of the wall until it has
grown sufficiently to conceal the stone.  And now let us return.  Stay!
my friend has refused all the gifts that I would fain have heaped upon
him, until I offer him no more in the sight of men for fear of courting
further rebuffs.  Here no man sees us.  Will he then take with him one
of these bags of pearls, such as any prince might desire in vain to
buy, and any queen might wear?  What!  I have offended him again?  Say
no more, my friend; your ways are not as ours.  Even to my friend I
will not offer twice what he is too proud to take.  But come, for there
is more to be done to-night."

Gerrard rather wished it was not so as they retraced their steps
through the long passage and the lions' den back to the quiet garden
and the lotus-covered tank.  The deaf and dumb man was waiting, and
ferried them over, and on the terrace below the tower the Rajah bade
Gerrard leave the turban and robe he had been wearing, which he did
thankfully, for the night was hot.  Then, as he stood erect in his
white mess uniform in the moonlight, the old man laid his hands upon
his shoulders.

"O my friend, I have tried you with gold and with fear and with the
lust of power, and you have stood the test.  Now I am about to repose
such confidence in you as hardly one man of your race has known since
the world began.  You will come with me into the zenana, that the
mother of Kharrak Singh may know whom she is to trust.  This I do now,
that when I am dead, you may demand admittance as by right--the right I
confer upon you--and talk with her through the curtain, thus avoiding
the danger and delay of go-betweens."

Gerrard had felt a lurking fear more than once that this crowning proof
of confidence was to be conferred upon him, but had silenced his
uneasiness by reminding himself that such a thing was almost unheard
of.  One or two of those orientalised Europeans to whom the Rajah had
referred earlier in the evening had enjoyed the honour, as had one or
two British officials held in almost divine veneration, but otherwise
it had been the supreme mark of favour reserved by a ruler for his most
tried, trusted, and faithful servants.  It was a sensible thing to do
in the circumstances, as Partab Singh had manoeuvred them, he owned,
but the idea shocked him almost as much as it would have done a native.
It was so incongruous.

"If Bob gets wind of this, I shall be chaffed to death!" he said to
himself, and then realised that the Rajah was waiting for a reply from
him.  "I appreciate deeply this proof of your Highness's confidence,
and trust I may show myself worthy of it," he said formally, and Partab
Singh linked his arm in his and drew him along.

They went through the tower, across the courtyard, and up the steps
into the hall of audience, passing thence through rooms and corridors
till they reached a barred gate, guarded by soldiers, whose weapons
clashed angrily as they perceived Gerrard.  The Rajah made a sign,
never loosing his hold on the young man's arm for a moment, and the
gates were opened from within by zenana attendants, the guards standing
rigidly with their backs to them.  Inside, Gerrard knew enough of the
etiquette of the occasion to walk with his eyes cast down, and obey
every motion of the Rajah's arm, but he was aware that the darkness
seemed to be full of eyes, and the silence of whispers.  They came to a
standstill at last before a pillared colonnade, with a crimson curtain
hanging behind the pillars.  No light came from behind the curtain, and
Gerrard realised suddenly that he distinguished its colour by means of
a light behind him.  At a word from the Rajah, two old women came
forward with flaring lamps, and stationed themselves one on each side
of Gerrard, so as to throw his face into the clearest possible relief.
Then Partab Singh spoke.

"Let the mother of Kharrak Singh look well upon this Sahib, that she
may know whom to trust.  I have given him freedom of entrance here,
that he may speak with her through the curtain, and she may take
counsel with him for the welfare of her son."

There was a moment's pause, and then a muffled voice made an inaudible
reply from somewhere behind the curtain, apparently close to the
ground.  The Rajah turned to Gerrard.

"The mother of Kharrak Singh clasps the feet of Jirad Sahib, and
entreats that in the evil day his virtue may be a high tower in which
she and her son can take refuge."

Gerrard sought vainly for a suitably self-deprecatory reply, but the
Rajah was equal to the occasion, and rendered his disjointed murmurs
into a polite desire that he might serve as a sturdy elephant to carry
the Rani and her son over a flooded river.  The voice spoke again, and
Partab Singh turned to Gerrard.

"Is my friend yet wedded?"  Gerrard shook his head.  "Then the mother
of Kharrak Singh desires to be informed when he brings home a wife,
that she may send the bride her clothes and jewels."

In response to this very high honour Gerrard could only bow low, and
promise to send the desired information when the time came, and then
the appearance of the inevitable attar and pan in the hands of thickly
veiled women of apparently most discreet age announced the termination
of the interview.  Partab Singh maintained his hold on Gerrard's arm
until they had returned to the hall of audience, and then detailed an
escort to guard him back to his own quarters.  It was a most dissipated
hour to return home, but when Gerrard mounted to the roof, where his
bed was spread, he felt no inclination for sleep, and stood leaning on
the parapet, thinking over the events of the evening.  It must be his
first care to find out what attitude Colonel Antony would adopt towards
the arrangement desired by Partab Singh, since the workings of the
Resident's mind were by no means easy to forecast.  If he could meet
the Rajah face to face and hear his story, Gerrard was inclined to
think he might acquiesce.  True, the addition of another infant heir
and female regent to his burden of cares would not be agreeable to him,
but the Rajput lady of royal ancestry would be a very different person
to deal with from the low-born little upstart who kept the palace and
city of Ranjitgarh agog with her stormy and transitory love affairs.
Still, if Sher Singh should have the brilliant inspiration of seeking
an interview with Colonel Antony, and having learnt a lesson from his
previous failure, present himself merely as a disinherited innocent of
pacific tendencies, it was quite likely that he would establish in the
Resident's mind a prepossession in his favour which would tell heavily
against little Kharrak Singh.  Gerrard found himself planning the
letter in which he would describe the state of affairs, placing things
in their proper perspective and omitting no detail of importance, not
putting himself forward, and yet not concealing his readiness to accept
the post of Resident at Agpur if it should be thought fit to offer it
him.  Both in importance and responsibility it would be considered
quite unsuitable for so young a man, he knew; but after all, Partab
Singh had chosen him, and given him unsolicited two aids to success
which were not, and could not be, in the power of any other man on
earth.

Gerrard lost himself in dreams.  This miniature palace, sheltered
within the fort walls, yet standing by itself in its own garden, remote
from the rambling pile of buildings occupied by Partab Singh and his
court, would make an ideal Residency.  Not for a solitary man, of
course, but the Resident at Agpur could well afford to marry.  Gazing
down into the inner courtyard he saw it in the light of a shrine for
Honour.  Honour walked up and down the flagged paths in her white gown,
Honour sat on the broad stone margin of the fountain and raised serious
eyes from her book at his approach--and her whole face lighted up with
a flash of welcome to him, such a flash as he had caught in Lady
Cinnamond's eyes when Sir Arthur returned unexpectedly from a distant
expedition.  What blissful evenings they would spend on that broad
pillared verandah, Honour working and he reading to her, or both
together reading, writing, talking, as Colonel and Mrs Antony were wont
to do, two minds working as one, so quickly and naturally did each
supply the deficiencies of the other.

He pulled himself up sharply.  Not so very many miles away was another
man dreaming similar dreams--and yet not similar, since the charms of
history and poetry and romance held no place in them.  Gerrard himself
might have pleaded guilty to the charge of allowing no opening for the
cultivation of the good works which meant so much to Honour, but he
would probably have defended himself with the not uncommon maxim of his
day that looking after a husband was sufficient good works for any
woman.  But Bob Charteris--who was utterly incapable of appreciating
the real Honour, who had no idea of her absolute uniqueness, and might
have fallen in love with any other woman with equal satisfaction to
himself!  Bob--who could make a joke of his love and even laugh at his
lady, who would probably not mind smoking while he thought about her!
(In those days the smoker was largely considered as a pariah, if not an
enemy of the human race.  Gerrard himself smoked, but he was properly
conscious that it was a weakness, and not an amiable one, and nothing
would have induced him to set himself to think of Honour with a cheroot
in his mouth.)  It was Bob's rivalry that had driven him to put his
fortune to the touch by proposing to Honour when patience would better
have served his turn, and it was Bob to whose pleasure, by his own
suggestion, he must defer before speaking to her again, were he ten
times Resident at Agpur.  Worst of all, it was Bob who was only too
likely to win her in the end, and not undeservedly, Gerrard knew his
friend's good points as few others did, and he did not deceive himself
as to his chances of success.  At this point he broke off his musings
abruptly, and went to bed.  Bob was not only superfluous, but a
positive nuisance.




CHAPTER VII.

ON GUARD.

A haunting, half-superstitious dread beset Gerrard as he dressed the
next morning, the presentiment that he would hear that Partab Singh had
died in the night.  After the determination the old man had shown in
laying his plans, and the earnestness with which he had impressed them
upon the Englishman, it would be eminently suitable dramatically, if
absolutely fatal practically, that he should die before the steps could
be taken to carry them out.  But the foreboding proved to be baseless,
and during the next few days Gerrard spent a good deal of time in close
converse with the Rajah.  The first step to be taken was undoubtedly to
secure the approval of Colonel Antony, without whose active sympathy
the great scheme would not have a chance of success.  In his anxiety to
assure the succession to his favourite child, Partab Singh had
seriously compromised the jealously guarded independence of his state
by his advances to the English as represented by Gerrard, and there
could be no doubt that Granthis and Mohammedans would unite in
resenting this betrayal.  Hence, when the day of reckoning came, it was
all-important to have not only the moral, but the physical support of
the British secured, and it would be all the better if the agreement
could be announced as an accomplished fact before the need arose to put
it in practice.  The Rajah had indeed confided his wishes to his most
trusted councillors, but it was highly probable that in case of a
popular rising these worthy gentlemen would find it more convenient, as
it would certainly be safer, to forget the exact nature of the charge
committed to them.

Adhering to his opinion that a personal interview between the Rajah and
the Resident would be the surest way of enlisting Colonel Antony's
sympathy for Kharrak Singh and his future, Gerrard now bent his efforts
towards bringing this about.  The disputed boundary between Agpur and
Darwan afforded an excellent excuse for the Rajah to journey to his
frontier and meet Charteris, who would hold the brief for Darwan, and
if it could be so arranged that Colonel Antony should accidentally be
in the neighbourhood, the thing would be done.  Gerrard wrote urging
his chief's presence with all the earnestness he could command,
suggesting that if he could not come himself, he should depute his
brother James to represent him.  He then turned to the task of inducing
Partab Singh to undertake the journey--a difficult endeavour, since he
could not promise the desired interview at the end of it.  A change had
come over the Rajah since the evening when he had bestowed his
confidence, and there was no doubt that he was failing.  It seemed as
though his vigour of body and mind had given way when he had once
entrusted the care of his son to other hands, for Gerrard could
distinctly trace the progress of decay in the short time he had known
him, and the exertion of planning a move on such a large scale appeared
to be too much for his strength.  Since it was not to be supposed that
this was a mere flying visit to the frontier, undertaken for a purpose,
it must have all the characteristics of a royal progress, court,
zenana, troops, elephants and guns, all accompanying their lord.  The
trusted councillors looked unutterable things at all Gerrard's
suggestions, and military and civil officials combined to defeat all
his arrangements by means of the dead weight of their inertia.  The
Rajah was willing to go, provided he had not to take any trouble, but
he criticised freely all the points submitted to him, indicating how
much simpler and less laborious it would have been if Gerrard had
accepted his offers without insisting on referring things to his
superiors.  However, by dint of patience and resolution, the long train
of men and baggage-animals was got under way at last, and with
thankfulness Gerrard left the minarets of Agpur behind him.  It was
arranged that during the first day's journey, which was a very short
one, he and his men should march with the Rajah's cavalcade, that he
might notice anything neglected or forgotten and set it right, but that
afterwards he should press on by forced marches, so as to meet Colonel
Antony's returning couriers on the Darwan frontier, and if the tenor of
the letters they bore should be disappointing, make a flying journey to
Ranjitgarh itself, and urge his views upon the Resident.  That this
might be necessary he gathered from the latest instructions he had
received--written, as he guessed, just before the arrival of his
detailed report, and containing stringent warnings against committing
the British Government on his own responsibility to any particular plan
in dealing with Agpur.

The evening of the first day's march Gerrard spent with Partab Singh in
his private audience-tent, laying plans which were to provide against
the occurrence of all possible contingencies during his absence.  At
the close of the interview he took leave of the Rajah, whom he would
only see from a distance as he rode away on the morrow, and received
his urgent injunctions to let nothing delay his return, whether his
mission was successful or not.

"For there is no one I can trust save you, O my friend," said the old
man.  "All these men, who flew to do my bidding when my eye was clear
and my sword keen, are beginning to make plans for their own advantage,
thinking that I cannot detect their guile.  In your hands I can leave
my son in confidence, but as for them, they would follow the banner of
that other to-morrow if he offered them larger bribes."

Gerrard assured him that he would return as soon as he was allowed, and
went back to his own tents, wondering whether he was doing well in
leaving things to take care of themselves, even for so important an
errand.  Orders for an early start had already been issued, and when he
wished to note down one or two things that had occurred during the day,
his canteen served for a seat and a camel-trunk set on end for a table,
Munshi Somwar Mal lending ink and a reed pen.  Sleep seemed inclined to
forsake the young man that night when at length he lay on his bed
before the tent-door, the quarrelling round the camp-fires and the
fidgeting of the horses waking him whenever he dropped into a doze.  At
last he succeeded in falling asleep, only to wake in a cold
perspiration, and to find himself standing up and hastily girding on
sword and revolver.  What had awakened him he could not imagine, but he
had a vague impression of a cry or wail of some sort.  It was not
repeated, and he unbuckled his belts and lay down again, mentally
anathematizing the perfume mingled with the Rajah's tobacco, which must
have given him nightmare.  But when he woke again, in the grey light of
early dawn, the air was full of the sound of wailing, and his Granthi
officers and chief servants were gathered round his bed, respectfully
waiting for his eyes to open.

"Hillo, I must have overslept!" he cried.  "Get the men into order of
march, Badan Hazari.  I shall be dressed in no time."

"Do the orders of the Presence for the early start hold good?" asked
the Granthi officer significantly.

"Why not?  What in the world is that noise?"

"It is the wailing of the women in the Rajah's camp, sahib.  His
Highness was found dead by his attendants in the night."

"What! murdered?"

"They say there are no marks of violence, sahib.  Hearing no sound from
the tent of audience after your honour had left, the servants ventured
to peep in, and found his Highness stretched upon the cushions, dead."

"The Protector of the Poor is earnestly entreated to shed the light of
his countenance upon the all-prevailing darkness in the camp," said a
white-bearded old man, whom Gerrard knew to be the Rani's scribe.  He
rose hastily.

"I will be there immediately.  The start is postponed for the present,
Badan Hazari, but strike the tents ready for marching, and get ready a
messenger at once to go to Darwan."

In the intervals of dressing he scribbled a hasty note to Charteris,
telling him what had happened, and that he should probably return to
the city at once, urging him also to forward the news immediately to
Ranjitgarh, and ask for definite instructions.  Having seen this
despatched, he mounted and rode over to the Rajah's camp, which was in
a state of the wildest confusion.  The bodyguard, the only portion of
the troops that could be trusted, were mounting guard round the zenana
enclosure, into which the corpse of the Rajah had been carried, the
Rani having, as Gerrard learned, at once sent out her jewellery to be
divided among them, and thus secured their fidelity for the time.  The
rest of the soldiers, with the servants and transport-drivers, had
evidently been holding high carnival outside the ring of steel.  In the
few hours which had elapsed since the ghastly discovery, the brocades
and kincob of the audience-tents had been torn down and distributed,
the cushions deprived of their rich covers, and the very _gaddi_ on
which the Rajah's body had been found stripped of its damask.  Even the
carpets were gone from the floors, and the cotton ground-cloths torn in
every direction.  Gerrard's first task was the restoration of some
measure of order.  His boldness in taking command of the situation
attracted the soldiers towards him, and he made a definite bid for
their allegiance by the promise of large rewards to be distributed by
Rajah Kharrak Singh at Agpur.  Strict orders were issued against
further plundering, and every man who had obtained nothing, or less
than he expected, became a detective ready to hunt down his more
fortunate comrade and secure the return of the spoils.  Partab Singh's
councillors and courtiers began to appear out of various hiding-places,
and all expressed a most touching anxiety to be honoured with any
commands from Gerrard.  But before he had time to listen to them, the
circle of soldiers round the zenana tents opened, and a little
procession came out.  Between the Rani's scribe and her spiritual
adviser, a large Brahmin, came Kharrak Singh, with the royal umbrella
held over his head, and a guard of the Rani's own Rajput servants
following him.  Marching up to Gerrard as he stood among the crowd of
eager suitors in the devastated audience-tent, the boy took off his
turban and laid it at his feet.

"The widow of Rajah Partab Singh kisses the footprints of Jirad Sahib,
and entreats that she and her son may sit down under his shadow," he
said perfunctorily, evidently repeating what had been taught him.
"Jirad Sahib knows that I am Rajah now?  He will make them give me a
real sword, will he not?"

"Presently.  At Agpur," said Gerrard hastily.  Stooping, he took the
child into his arms, and a gasp of satisfaction broke from the
onlookers.  Kharrak Singh's cause was to have the support of the
English, as represented by this agent of Colonel Antony's.

Still holding the boy by the hand, Gerrard gave orders for an immediate
return to Agpur, where the body of the Rajah might be burnt with due
solemnity.  Colonel Antony's warning against involving the British
Government in responsibility came back to him with a touch of irony.
This responsibility had thrust itself upon him, and the return to Agpur
would involve further responsibility, in that he must proceed to secure
the allegiance of the troops by the means prescribed by Partab Singh,
and they would place themselves at the command of the man who paid
them.  Whether he was allowed to continue in the position or not, he
was undoubtedly acting as Regent of Agpur for the present.

One man after another was dismissed to his duties, and retired with
salaams, until practically only the old councillors were left.  There
was a guilty and subdued air of expectancy about some of them, a
tendency to start at any sudden sound and look round suspiciously,
which made Gerrard wonder what they were waiting for.  But when the
last soldier had stridden clanking out of the tent, a distant thudding
became audible, like the approach of a body of horse.  Significant
glances passed between the men Gerrard had noticed, to be succeeded by
an expression of utter guilelessness when they saw that they were
observed, while those who were not in the secret began to show signs of
fear.  In the general disorder no guards had been posted on the
outskirts of the camp, and the approaching cavalcade swept gorgeously
up the broad avenue leading to the Rajah's tent, riding down the few
who sought to challenge their passage.  Gerrard turned hastily to the
scribe and the Brahmin.

"Take the boy back to the zenana at once, and see that no one passes
the guards, either going in or coming out, save by orders from me.  Who
is this that comes?" he demanded, facing round upon the councillors, as
Kharrak Singh was hurried away.

"Who should it be but the eldest son of our lord, sahib?" was the
answer, and as the old men spoke, Sher Singh flung himself from his
reeking horse at the door of the tent and entered.

"Where is my lord and father?" he cried.  "Bring me to him, that I may
embrace his feet, and receive the forgiveness and the favour he has
graciously promised me."

"Alas, Kunwar-ji!" chorused the councillors, all trying to push one
another forward to tell the news.  Sher Singh glanced at them
contemptuously.

"Fools, will you try to keep me from my father now that he has sent for
me?  Because he has not made his beneficent intentions known to you,
will you deny them?  Let him be told that I am here, and you will learn
what is his will."

"Prince, your venerable father passed away in the night," said Gerrard
laconically.  The exact bearing of this new arrival upon the situation
he could not determine, but he was very certain that it behoved him to
walk warily.  Sher Singh turned upon him a magnificent glance of anger
and disdain.

"This is well done--very well done!" he exclaimed, while the
councillors cowered before the meaning accents like reeds before a
blast.  "My lord and father proclaims his gracious willingness to lay
the hand of forgiveness upon the brow of penitence, and in the few
short hours before the feet of haste can carry me to the spot, he dies,
and his intentions are unfulfilled."

"Were his intentions known to any besides yourself, Prince?" asked
Gerrard, and noted that the eyes of the councillors sought Sher Singh's
face, as though to inquire what he wished them to say.  But he
disregarded them.

"I understand that Jirad Sahib has enjoyed the honour of the Rajah's
confidence of late, to the neglect of his tried and trusted
councillors.  Is it possible that nothing was said to him of my
father's wishes?"

"They were communicated to me in great detail, but you, Prince, bore no
part in them whatever."  Gerrard weighed his words carefully, feeling
that the time had come to throw down the gauntlet.

Sher Singh turned slowly to the councillors, and Gerrard noticed for
the first time that the armed men who had accompanied him were crowding
at the entrance of the tent.  "I call you all to witness," said the
Prince deliberately, "that this stranger, this encroaching Feringhee,
who has supplanted my father's natural councillors in his confidence,
desires now to supplant me also in my rights.  Brothers, friends, when
he thought he had attained the height of his evil desires, and learned
too late that he had only opened the path for me, what did he do?  My
father made his final decision last night, when he despatched to me
with a gracious message of favour the runner who had carried my humble
petition.  Before I can arrive, before he can announce his
determination to the world, he dies.  Who stands to profit by his
death?"

Before the last words were out of Sher Singh's mouth, the tent was
filled with the clash of weapons.  The armed men in the entrance sprang
forward at Gerrard, who believed that his last moment had come.  But to
his amazement a ring of bucklers encompassed him.  The six Rajputs had
remained when Kharrak Singh was taken away, and they stepped before him
with ready swords.  Baulked of the easy prey they had expected, Sher
Singh's men hesitated, and the councillors flung themselves into the
breach, weeping, clutching at the Prince's coat, urging in tremulous
voices the impolicy of slaying a British envoy and thus bringing
destruction upon Agpur.  Sher Singh allowed himself to be turned from
his immediate purpose.

"Let the Feringhee live for the present," he said, waving his followers
back.  "Speak, O Jirad Sahib, you who hide behind the servants of a
woman, and tell me who stood to profit by my father's death?"

"You!" returned Gerrard promptly.  "You, who have trumped up this story
of a reconciliation, and come here to assert it now that he cannot
contradict you.  You, of whom your father spoke to me with aversion and
absolute lack of forgiveness only last night.  Tell me," he turned to
the councillors, "when did this messenger of Kunwar Sher Singh's
arrive--before my visit to his Highness, or after I had left him?  You,
O Sarfaraz Khan, as keeper of his Highness's head, must know all who
entered or left his presence.  When was it?"

The old Mohammedan captain of the guard gazed miserably from Gerrard to
Sher Singh and back again, and finally faltered out that to the best of
his recollection it was before the Sahib's visit.

"Then the petition had been rejected before I arrived, and the
messenger despatched bearing the Rajah's refusal to see his son's
face," said Gerrard.

"The man lies.  It was after," burst forth Sher Singh.  "Here is Sada
Sukhi, the king's friend, who can testify it."

"Then," said Gerrard calmly, "the messenger murdered the Rajah, since
both my guards and his own can testify that he bade me farewell in good
health at the door of this very tent, and did me the honour to admire
my horse."

"Fool! does a man murder the one who has just promised to give him all
he desires?" cried Sher Singh.

"No, but he does sometimes murder the one who has refused it.  And so
Prince Sher Singh was his own messenger?"

"It is a lie--I swear it!"  He appealed frantically to the bystanders.
"I was at Adamkot, the fortress of my father-in-law, and rode forth on
the very heels of my messenger, so eager was I to receive my father's
answer.  Then when the gracious response arrived--the messenger meeting
me on the way--as I could set no bounds to my joy, even so was it with
my speed, and I rode hither at a pace that was like to kill my horse
and the horses of those that were with me."

Gerrard dismissed the explanation with a wave of the hand, but old Sada
Sukhi, who had succeeded Dwarika Nath as Diwan, and was by common
consent the wiliest man in Agpur, cringed humbly forward.

"I will take it upon me to speak, worthless as I am, in the presence of
these great ones," he murmured.  "Surely there is wrong in speaking of
murder, since no sign of any such horror has been found.  But if our
lord Partab Singh Rajah died in the course of nature, then Kunwar Sher
Singh has been unjustly accused by Jirad Sahib, and Jirad Sahib by Sher
Singh.  Is this a moment to bandy accusations that cannot be
maintained, when our lord's body lies unburnt, and all our minds should
be devoted to mourning him and paying fitting reverence to his
obsequies?"

"Truly do they call thee wise, old man!" said Sher Singh heartily.  "My
sorrow comes upon me as a flood at thy words, and I desire only to
mourn my beloved father."

"But wait," said Gerrard.  "The Prince knows as well as I do, and you
also, Diwan-ji, how much depends upon the funeral ceremony.  It was the
will of Partab Singh Rajah that his son Kharrak Singh should set light
to the pyre as chief mourner, and as his successor on the _gaddi_."

Sher Singh covered his face.  "Dust is on my head, that an evil chance
has come between me and my desire!" he said in a broken voice.  "What
is the _gaddi_ to me, if I am deprived of my father's forgiveness?  The
right of deciding upon his successor was his, and he has exercised it
in favour of Kharrak Singh.  The child's mother is of royal blood, mine
was not, and I bow to the decree.  But I will not consent to be robbed
of my right to walk beside my brother in the procession, and to guide
his hand when he fires the pile.  The pyre of Partab Singh Rajah and
his Rani shall not be left to the care of a Feringhee and a Christian."

"There will be no suttee," said Gerrard decisively.

"The matter is not in your hands, Jirad Sahib," said Sher Singh, as a
murmur broke from the councillors.  "When the meanest of the Ranjitgarh
Maharajas died, two Ranis and eleven women-slaves bore him company to
the tomb, and shall Partab Singh lack the tribute of respect?  I think
more highly of the dwellers behind the curtain than you do, if you
dream that they will permit themselves to be prevented from performing
this glorious duty."

"Not the meanest slave-girl shall ascend the pyre," repeated Gerrard.
"The Rani Gulab Kur is bound by an oath imposed upon her by your father
to live and watch over her son, and I shall prevent the sacrifice of
any other woman."

"You! and by what authority?"

"By the authority of the Rani, who is regent of Agpur by the will of
Rajah Partab Singh."

Sher Singh turned to the rest, his face convulsed with fury.  "You hear
this low-born one, how he denies me my natural rights, and would
deprive my father of the customary honours?  Am not I rightfully regent
during my brother's minority?  If I advance no claim to the _gaddi_, do
you think that I am to be set aside altogether?  Let this man Jirad
know that I have the promise of Antni Sahib's support."

"When Colonel Antony's instructions reach me, I will hasten to
acknowledge you as co-regent," said Gerrard.  "Until then, I take my
orders from the Rani alone, and exercise the powers she has conferred
upon me."

"Come aside with me and let us speak together," said Sher Singh
imperiously.  "See, I am unarmed," casting sword and dagger on the
ground.  Gerrard laid aside his sword and revolver, and walked with him
to the back of the tent.

"I do not desire your death, sahib," said Sher Singh eagerly.  "You can
see for yourself that it would prejudice me with Antni Sahib, whose
favour I desire to retain.  But the army is with me, and will acclaim
me as regent, and that place I will not give up.  It might be very
greatly to your advantage if you could make it convenient to recollect
my father's desiring you to admit me to a third share of power with
yourself and the Rani Gulab Kur."

"It is impossible for me to recollect what did not happen," said
Gerrard, turning away coldly.  Sher Singh's voice pursued him.

"Then until we start the way will be open for you to return to Darwan
with your own troops if you desire it.  After that, if you still insist
on accompanying me to the city--by the Guru, you shall see more of it
than you care for!"

Gerrard beckoned to his Granthi orderly, who came up quickly.  "Bid
Badan Hazari parade the troop in mourning order, ready to ride to Agpur
at the appointed time," he said.

"In an evil day for yourself were you born, O youth of little wisdom!"
said Sher Singh, and withdrew.  The Rajputs followed Gerrard closely as
he also left the tent, and approached the zenana enclosure, where the
less important tents were already being struck in preparation for the
return march.  The scribe was looking out for him, and the guards
allowed the old man to pass.

"Sahib," he whispered fearfully, "it was murder.  Our lord Partab Singh
was stabbed with a needle dagger above the heart, so that he would not
bleed, and the weapon was broken in the wound.  Only a scratch is
visible, and her Highness has bound all who saw it to silence, that
that other may not learn that his wickedness has been discovered.  But
she desires me to say to your honour that evil is certainly determined,
and to bid you depart in safety while you may, that you share not the
fate of her son and herself."

"I go to Agpur to set Kharrak Singh on the _gaddi_," said Gerrard
doggedly.  "Bid the Rani beware of poison, and eat and drink nothing
that has not been prepared by one she trusts."

"The Cherisher of the Poor forgets that her Highness is fasting," said
the scribe, scandalized.

"So much the better.  But look after the boy, and see that he accepts
food from no one outside.  And tell the Rani to permit no one,
freewoman or slave, to quit the zenana without an order from me.  There
is to be no suttee."




CHAPTER VIII.

THE SUPERFLUOUS CHARTERIS.

"Is it true that we ride to Agpur, sahib?"  Badan Hazari, coming to
report the troop ready for the march, lingered to ask the question.

"It is true.  See to it that we take our place in the procession on the
right of the elephant bearing the Rajah's body.  Prince Sher Singh will
ride on the left, but on no account are his followers to be permitted
to surround the corpse."

"It is an order, sahib.  But they say that the man Sher Singh desires
to dissuade your honour from going to Agpur, and that he has given you
much abuse."

"Evil heart, evil tongue, Sirdar-ji.  Yet I go to Agpur, though I would
have bidden you and the troop return to Darwan, had I not known that
this would be to insult you."

The Granthi made a horrified gesture of aversion.  "Black indeed would
our faces be!" he said.  "Trust me, sahib, there will be a great
killing before your slaves go down before the onslaught of the Agpuri
mongrels.  But is your honour well advised in remaining here until the
march begins?"

"I am at the Rani's disposal, and must wait for any orders she is
pleased to give.  But send hither Mohammed Jan with some food, for I am
not minded to eat what is prepared in this camp."

"Your honour is wise," said Badan Hazari, and before long the servant
arrived, carrying a tray, and escorted by two stalwart troopers.
Gerrard ate and drank eagerly, for he had taken nothing since rising,
and it would be necessary to scrutinise all food and drink very
carefully for poison during the next two or three days.  Having
dismissed Mohammed Jan, he summoned to a conference Rukn-ud-din, the
officer second in command of the Rajah's bodyguard, since old Sarfaraz
Khan was evidently not to be trusted.  With this man he arranged that
the litters containing the Rani and her son and the other inmates of
the zenana should follow immediately after the elephant carrying the
corpse, surrounded by the guards, so that Gerrard and his men, in their
station on the right of the animal, would be continuously in touch with
them, and either party would be ready to help the other in case of
emergency.  Then, having taken all the precautions he could think of,
he could only wait patiently until the worst heat of the day was over,
and the time came for the start.  His reflections were not particularly
pleasant as he mounted his horse at last.  Sher Singh had no doubt
spent the intervening hours in strengthening his hold on the court and
the troops by means of lavish promises, which the Englishman durst not
emulate as yet, since his power to fulfil them would depend upon his
gaining a peaceful and undisturbed entrance to the palace.  Badan
Hazari and the officer of the bodyguard had carried out their
instructions most dexterously, and Sher Singh appeared resigned to his
inferior position, but there was obvious resentment among the rest of
the troops at the impudence of the Feringhee in putting himself
forward.  When their numbers were reinforced by the notoriously violent
mob of Agpur, they would easily overwhelm the little force of
Ranjitgarh troopers and the guards loyal to the Rani.  The situation
was practically hopeless, since safety hung upon the very slender
thread of Sher Singh's judgment.  Would his self-interest prompt him to
avoid at all costs bringing down upon himself British vengeance, or to
snatch the immediate advantage of wiping out all his opponents at one
blow, and taking the consequences?  Since this was the course likely to
commend itself to the people of Agpur, there could be little doubt how
he would decide.  Yet Gerrard had no choice, if he was to keep his
promise to Partab Singh at all.  Had he taken the road to Darwan with
his escort, he might eventually have returned at the head of larger
forces, but it would have been to find that the Rani had been drugged
and hurried to the funeral pyre, and that Kharrak Singh had "died of
grief"--little likely as the vivacious youngster appeared to succumb to
such a fate.

The heat of the day was by no means over, though it was late in the
afternoon, and actual bodily discomfort almost blotted out thought as
Gerrard rode on through the dust, the landscape ahead one blinding
glare of trembling, moving lines.  He was on the sunny side of the
elephant, and on the other Sher Singh seemed to find shade enough to
stimulate his inventive faculties.  At any rate, he was talking loudly
to his friends, and the words which Gerrard overheard occasionally
assured him that they were devising unpleasant experiences for him.
Beside him the great beast swung patiently along, and behind came the
zenana litters, their golden draperies covered by way of mourning with
coarse cotton cloth, so as to shut out every possible breath of air.
The towers and minarets of Agpur began at last to grow visible through
the wavering haze, and Gerrard realised that a grove of trees
surrounding a saint's tomb, which they were approaching, would be the
scene of a halt to rearrange the procession and enable it to enter the
city with proper dignity.  There might even be troops waiting there,
summoned by Sher Singh when he found himself worsted in the moral
combat, and in that case the struggle would take place immediately, and
could have but one result.  Gerrard felt that he really did not much
mind how soon it came, but he roused himself angrily from the lethargy
which was creeping over him, and called up Badan Hazari and Rukn-ud-din
to acquaint them with his intention of seizing the tomb if there was
any sign of hostilities, and getting the corpse and the women into the
courtyard, where the guard might close the gates and defend them for a
time.  Even as he spoke, the outlines of the trees became clearer, and
he saw that there were certainly mounted men waiting under their
shadow.  He was turning to give the order which would have sent Badan
Hazari and half his men to drive Sher Singh from the other side of the
elephant, and turned the stately procession into a wild rush for the
tomb, when it struck him that one of the men under the trees wore the
curtained forage-cap of a European.  Hardly able to believe his eyes,
he rode forward a little, and as he did so.  Bob Charteris,
comparatively cool and apparently quite comfortable, came out from
under the trees to meet him.  Gerrard had no words of greeting at
command.

"How many men have you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Only fifty here, but the rest of my forces are behind, and the
Ranjitgarh army is behind them," said Charteris easily.  Sher Singh had
ridden up in obvious alarm, and Charteris bowed to him.  "I ride with a
small escort, Prince, to show the last tokens of respect to your
father, but as I was saying to my friend, I have not only my Darwanis,
but the Ranjitgarh army behind me."

"But what should the Ranjitgarh army be doing in Agpur?" demanded Sher
Singh.

"Why, it is not exactly in Agpur territory, but merely ready to enter
it, in case Colonel Antony does not receive every day satisfactory
reports from my friend here and myself."

"Does Antni Sahib not trust me, that he thus blackens the face of his
most faithful slave?" cried Sher Singh.

"Ah, you should not have left Darwan without replying to my messages,
you know," said Charteris.  Sher Singh's self-assertion collapsed.

"I have acted foolishly," he said.  "For doing wrong I am rightly
punished.  The gracious rebuke of Antni Sahib I lay upon my forehead
and my eyes, and submit."

"Such wisdom is only what was expected from you, Prince."

"And the heaven-born messenger of Antni Sahib"--pursued Sher Singh
feverishly--"him I receive with honour, and place his foot upon my
head, but to the man Jirad I have nothing to say, nor will I hear a
word from his mouth."

"Now you are foolish again," said Charteris gravely.  "If Lieutenant
Gerrard is good enough to entrust his commands to me, I will convey
them to you, but that is a matter in which he decides and you obey.  I
see you are making a short halt here, and I may be able to wait upon
you with instructions before long."  Sher Singh moved aside, with a
distinctly unamiable expression of countenance, and Charteris turned
back to Gerrard.

"Why, Hal, what's the matter, old boy?  Didn't I maintain your
authority strongly enough to please you?"

"You seem to have worked a miracle," said Gerrard feebly, "but I'm a
bit done up--couldn't see how you did it."

"A rest and something cool to drink is what you want," said Charteris,
half helping, half pulling him off his horse.  "Lie down here and take
this.  I give you fair warning, Master Gerrard, you ain't going to die
on my hands and leave me to settle with this hornet's nest you have
stirred up here--not if I know it."

Gerrard obeyed meekly, and lay still until the trees and Charteris and
the horses and the troopers had ceased whirling and wavering before his
eyes.  Then he sat up.  "Bob, what was it you told Sher Singh?  How can
it have happened?"

"Bounce, all bounce!" said Charteris sadly.  "At least, my Darwanis are
certainly behind me, but a jolly good way behind; and as to Antony, if
he is on the move, it's solely in response to my urgent entreaties,
which he is highly unlikely to regard with favour."

"Anyhow, you seem to have got me out of a very nasty fix."

"Such was my intention.  But you wish it hadn't fallen to me to get you
out?  Never mind, old boy; I wish it hadn't been you to be got out."

"Oh, nonsense!  You know I'm uncommon obliged to you, my dear fellow.
But did you fly here?  It can't possibly be my message this morning
that brought you."

"Lie down like a decent Christian and don't talk, and I'll tell you all
about it.  You don't seem to realise that you have had a precious
narrow escape of sunstroke.  Well, you don't need me to tell you that I
have been keeping a vigilant eye on your proceedings for some time,
with a shrewd suspicion that the air of the very high circles in which
you were moving would not be good for your health.  I felt so more than
ever when my spies brought me word that Sher Singh was sneaking through
my territory, evidently bound for Agpur.  I sent him my salaams and a
polite invitation to pay me a visit, but he had made himself scarce
just in time.  Then I thought it well to take the liberty of opening a
letter of Antony's to you, as we agreed I should do in case of
emergency, and when I found him cautioning you against any interference
in the question of the Agpur succession, and talking of the
extraordinary moderation of the claim advanced by the elder son, I
decided it was time to move.  So I set out to meet you on your way to
the frontier, ostensibly to make arrangements for receiving the Rajah
properly.  This morning the people in the village where we halted for
the night were full of the Rajah's death.  As usual, nothing would make
them say how they knew of it, but they were firm on the fact, so I saw
the plot was thickening.  Then, as we rode, we came across your
messenger, and it was clear that the fat was in the fire already.  I
sent him on at once, with letters to my fellows in Darwan, and to try
and open Antony's eyes, and made straight for this _tope_ to intercept
you."

"And to save all our lives," said Gerrard.  "My dear Bob, how can I
thank you?"

"Don't want to be thanked," growled Charteris.  "If you don't know from
your own feelings how I hated doing it, you ought to, that's all.
Never mind, you'll do something of the same sort for me one day, and
then I shall have the crow over you.  And now just give me some idea of
the state of affairs.  Keep your silly head quiet, can't you?  I didn't
tell you to get up.  Well, put your back against the tree, if you
_must_ sit up.  Who killer Cock Robin--that is to say, Partab Singh?"

"Either Sher Singh or some emissary of his."

"Not openly, then?"

"No, in the night.  The wound was so small that it escaped notice at
first.  I charged Sher Singh with the murder on suspicion merely.  He
may not know that the truth has been discovered."

"Never show your teeth unless you can bite," said Charteris
sententiously.  "What does the opposition party consist of?"

"Little Kharrak Singh and his mother, whom Sher Singh wishes to become
suttee."

Charteris whistled.  "And which is more important--to bring home the
Rajah's death to Sher Singh, or to save the Rani?"

"For Kharrak Singh's sake, to save his mother, undoubtedly.  But now
you are here, I hope to do both."

"We shall see about that.  I gather from what you said in your letter
last week that you know where to lay hands upon a sum of money
sufficient to secure the loyalty of the army?"

"Yes, but to get at it I must be inside the palace enclosure, and even
then I shall need your help."

"On the whole, my young friend,"--Charteris's voice was didactic in the
extreme,--"you seem to me to have contrived to surround yourself with
the materials for a very pretty row.  Be thankful that you have at hand
the services of a person of experience and knowledge of the
world--myself, sir,"--with a resounding thump on his chest,--"to
extricate you from a situation of uncommon difficulty and delicacy for
one so young.  You place yourself unreservedly in my hands?"

"Not a bit of it!" said Gerrard, struggling up, only to be pressed down
again by Charteris's grip upon his shoulders.

"My dear Hal, you do.  There's no other course open to you.  Sher Singh
has the big battalions, and though I admire your design of capturing
Agpur with no weapons but cool cheek and shaky promises, I have a mean
objection to adding my bones to the heap that would be the result.  It
is eminently a case for negociation, and here is the negociator.  You
stay where you are, and get ready to ride into Agpur to-night, 'pride
in your port, defiance in your eye,' while I try my blandishments upon
that nasty uncertain beggar, Sher Singh."

Gerrard obeyed perforce, for the effort to stand had brought back the
feeling of giddiness, and Charteris clanked off among the trees.
Presently Badan Hazari came very quietly, and peered round a trunk to
see whether his commander was awake.  Gerrard called to him.

"Heaven-born!" said the Granthi, saluting.  "I have ventured to disturb
the repose of your honour at the request of Komadan Rukn-ud-din."

Gerrard started.  "Bring him here," he said.  "What is it?"

"They are trying to corrupt the guard, sahib," and Rukn-ud-din
confirmed the assertion.  Since the halt, old Sarfaraz Khan had been in
and out among the men, making them lavish offers if they would forsake
the Rani and come over to the side of Sher Singh.

"What has he offered them?" asked Gerrard.

"The plunder of the _tosha khana_[1] in the palace, sahib."

"And that is all he has to offer, and they must share it with the whole
army?  Tell them that in Kharrak Singh Rajah's name I promise them such
a reward for their fidelity that they would pass by the _tosha khana_
with contempt if it were thrown open to them."

The Mohammedan's eyes glittered.  "How shall I make them believe so
wonderful a thing, sahib?"

"I cannot speak more particularly here.  But you may give them my word
it is so."

"The word of the Presence will be amply sufficient."  Rukn-ud-din
salaamed and withdrew on leave being given, while Badan Hazari lingered
to report that the corpse and the women were halted in the courtyard of
the tomb, according to his orders, and that the guard, though evidently
disturbed in mind by Sher Singh's overtures, had so far faithfully
prevented him and his followers from entering.  That they would now
remain loyal to the Rani there was no doubt, and Gerrard waited with
something more of hopefulness for Charteris's return.  He came at last,
and sat down on the rug which had been spread for his friend.

"We shall have to be moving soon," he remarked casually.  "The news has
reached the city, and the mourners are coming out.  The funeral will
take place in the morning."

"But you have forgotten--the murder!" gasped Gerrard.

"I have forgotten nothing, but things are settled in the approved
diplomatic style, by concessions on both sides.  There is just about
time to tell you--but of course you understand that you are the moving
spirit throughout; I am merely your mouthpiece.  Sher Singh consents
that there shall be no suttee, and you agree not to interfere with the
funeral--in other words, to make no inquiry into the cause of the
Rajah's death."

"In other words, to condone an atrocious crime."

"My dear Hal, what did you propose doing?  If you were thinking of
laying violent hands on the corpse--but that would be absurd.  The
Brahmins would tear us to pieces with their bare hands.  You know we
should defile it and bring indelible disgrace on Kharrak Singh if we
even approached too near.  A post-mortem?  Who do you suggest should
perform it?  Moraes is about the figure for the job, ain't he?  Show a
little common-sense."

"If the thing is so impossible, why should Sher Singh make an important
concession to avoid it?"

"Because it would raise nasty rumours if we made the attempt, and
getting rid of us would prejudice him with Antony.  Remember, you have
no evidence.  If Partab Singh was murdered, who is going to prove that
Sher Singh did it?  You secure an important advantage at the cost of
giving up the right to make a gigantic fool of yourself."

"But who is to see that Sher Singh keeps his word and does not arrange
a suttee?"

"You and I, of course.  We attend the funeral, naturally, with all our
sowars, to show due honour to the deceased.  By the bye, that reminds
me, we should be rather an easy prey after firing the volleys.  The
front rank had better load with ball, and reserve their fire, and only
the rear rank fire with blank.  In the smoke and noise it won't be
noticed that only half the men have fired, and we shan't be defenceless
if Sher Singh takes it into his head to let the army loose on us."

"But you seem to be allowing Sher Singh to take the lead in all the
funeral arrangements, which is exactly the matter in dispute."

"To be sure.  There comes in the second concession.  We, with the
bodyguard and our own men, are to occupy the palace enclosure to-night,
and watch over the safety of the corpse and the women, in return for
allowing Sher Singh to walk next to young Kharrak Singh in the
procession, and guide his hand when he fires the pile.  Why that
lowering brow?  The possession of the palace is all-important to you,
ain't it?"

"Yes, and even more now than when you left me.  But to concede Sher
Singh's claim----"

"My good Hal, the man is next heir.  If anything happens to the
youngster, he must be Rajah, there's no one else.  You may be thankful
he don't claim to mount the _gaddi_ at once.  But since he is content
to stand aside, and has contrived to gull Antony into taking his
part----"

"That's merely temporary, Bob, believe me.  When the Colonel learns the
scoundrel's real character, he will withdraw his support in disgust."

"I'm none so sure of that.  Remember his fatal predilection for black
sheep.  What about his handing over Bala to Tika Singh, after he
himself had exhausted all the resources of the English language in
finding suitably opprobrious epithets for him?  The Bala people hated
him, too, whereas I gather that the Agpuris have no particular dislike
for Sher Singh."

"Nor to any one that will bribe them," said Gerrard bitterly.  "You
think Antony will make him Regent, then I."

"It would be in accordance with the usual custom, wouldn't it?  I
suppose the next heir wishes to look after his prospective dominions,
but I'll own it always seems to me uncommon hard on the reigning child.
However, for the present, Sher Singh acknowledges the Rani as sole
Regent, and consents to refer the difference between you and himself to
Antony and the Ranjitgarh Durbar.  How could poor old Partab Singh ever
have thought of making you Regent?  If Antony don't treat you to a
pretty wigging on the score of it, I'll eat my hat."

"It was a kind of fixed idea of his, though I told him over and over
again it was impossible."

"Well, if it had been me, hanged if I wouldn't have taken the job, as
the wigging is bound to come anyhow.  A man might do a good deal while
the runners were going to Ranjitgarh and back.  But as Antony will
probably punish your misdeeds by sentencing you to stay on here and
keep the peace between the rival Regents, it's just as well you didn't
make yourself impossible by accepting.  Can't say I envy you the
billet."

"I am almost inclined to ask you to shoot me through the head and put
me out of my misery," remarked Gerrard.

"Oh, cheer up!  We may all be shot down in a heap to-morrow, you know,
in spite of my powers of persuasion.  But I don't fancy you will,
somehow.  Sher Singh asked me very mysteriously whether you knew the
secret of the entrance to his father's private treasury.  Not knowing I
couldn't say, but I can be mysterious too, and I told him there were
some things that couldn't be spoken about.  He seemed to take that as
an affirmative, and I think he felt that to shut you up there to feed
on gold was about the only thing that would fit the case.  But, by the
way, how is it that he leaves the palace to you to-night, if he
believes you know the secret?"

"He don't know it himself.  I am the only living creature that does,
now, and you are the only living creature that I may reveal it to."

"An honour likely to be associated with sudden and painful death--eh?
But I'm game.  And as your principal duty in connection with the
treasury will probably be to pay out of it Sher Singh's allowance as
fixed by the Ranjitgarh Durbar, I don't fancy you'll enjoy a bed of
roses."



[1] Treasury.




CHAPTER IX.

IN SLIPPERY PLACES.

Owing to the combined influence of Charteris's strong hand, Gerrard's
lavish promises to the army, and what Colonel Antony chose to style the
"moderation" of Sher Singh, the succession of Kharrak Singh to his
father's throne was effected without general bloodshed.  The city was
evidently seething with all the possibilities of revolt when the
funeral procession entered and passed through the streets, but the army
was staunch for the moment--apparently from a sportsmanlike readiness
to allow Gerrard to redeem his promises if he could--and one or two
attempts at disturbance were ruthlessly put down.  The women and the
corpse of Partab Singh were got safely into the palace, and Sher Singh,
who would have liked to edge in under cover of the confusion,
dexterously excluded.  The walls were garrisoned by the loyal guard,
the disappointed Sher Singh quartering himself with his followers in
the house of a reluctant Armenian near at hand, and Gerrard and
Charteris spent an arduous night in getting up from the secret treasury
an amount sufficient to fulfil their obligations.  The heads of the
goldsmiths' guild had been warned to be in attendance early in the
morning, and they came with a mixture of surly defiance and ostentation
of poverty that showed they expected Gerrard's financial expedient to
take the form of obtaining a forced loan from them.  The sight of the
gold ingots softened them wonderfully, and though it would not have
been human nature had they failed to exact an exorbitant rate of
exchange for their silver, both sides parted well pleased, the
money-changers only grieving that they could not discover whether this
transaction was a final one, or merely a prelude to further business of
the same sort.

The military arrangements for the funeral were made by Gerrard and
Charteris, who were quite aware that they and their men, in the
character of sympathetic spectators, were in as great danger as Kharrak
Singh himself.  The army must be entrusted with the duty of keeping the
ground, since it was necessary for the guard, with the exception of a
small detachment, to remain at the palace and garrison it in case of a
surprise attack, and had the army been ill-disposed, it could have
swept away both claimants and the small Ranjitgarh force with a single
volley.  But the army remained unmoved, and Sher Singh walked behind
Kharrak Singh as mourner, and guided his hand when he set light to the
great pyre of sandalwood dripping with costly perfumes.  It was the
first time that the body of a Rajah of Agpur had been burnt without the
accompanying self-immolation of a number of his women, and troops and
Brahmins were alike displeased, while the mob surging outside the lines
enlivened the ceremony with taunts and maledictions.  The troops made
various raids into the crowd to punish the most outspoken of the
dissentients, and this may have served to assure the people that there
would be no change in the drastic methods of Partab Singh.  At any
rate, when the dead man's two sons had watched the pyre burn down into
ashes, had performed the ceremonies of purification and were
returning--on separate elephants, for the Rani had insisted on this--to
the square before the palace for the proclamation of the new Rajah, the
mob acclaimed Kharrak Singh with ardour.

There was some approach to a riot when Partab Singh's will was made
known, appointing the Rani Gulab Kur regent for her son Kharrak Singh,
and begging Gerrard to undertake the office of protector to both, and
loud cries were raised for Sher Singh; but when it was announced that
Sher Singh had consented to refer the question of his appointment as
joint-regent to the arbitration of the Ranjitgarh Durbar, the popular
wrath was turned against him also.  Both he and the Rani were equally
committed to what the Agpuris considered a traitorous and unpatriotic
reliance on Ranjitgarh and the English, and the stern unbending
advocates of independence were for getting rid of both.  But at present
the executive power lay in the hands of the army, and the army was
being placated with gifts of rupees to the rank and file, and of
jewellery, swords, shawls, and robes of honour to the officers.  The
army thereupon decided that the promises made in Kharrak Singh's name
had been kept, and that it would be worth waiting to see if he had more
largess to distribute before turning against him.  The local Durbar,
seeing the course things were taking, adapted itself to circumstances
with great readiness, and paid its respects to the Rani Gulab Kur
through her curtain, having purged itself of the irreconcilables who
demanded an instant massacre and an open defiance of the English and of
their allies at Ranjitgarh.

No sooner was this peaceful settlement reached, than Gerrard received
peremptory orders to leave Charteris in charge at Agpur, and present
himself at Ranjitgarh, with all documents and witnesses bearing on the
case, that Sher Singh's claim and Partab Singh's testamentary
dispositions might be inquired into.  If he had been a little inclined
to plume himself on the success he and Charteris had achieved, he was
now to meet with a wholesome corrective, for Colonel Antony was much
displeased with him, and showed it plainly.  He had added infinitely to
the already overwhelming cares of the Resident at Ranjitgarh, and had
brought into close political union with the British power a province
which would have been much better left to itself.  He should have drawn
back at once when Partab Singh showed signs of wishing to cultivate his
personal rather than his political friendship, and left the rival heirs
to settle things between themselves, instead of allowing himself to be
made the tool of an ambitious woman and a doating old man.

So convinced was Colonel Antony of the righteousness of Sher Singh's
cause that for once he overbore the opposition of his Durbar.  The
Durbar considered that Partab Singh's recorded disinheritance of his
elder son, and the presumed reasons for it, which were known by hearsay
to every story-teller in Granthistan, were sufficient to bar his
recognition as regent and heir presumptive; but Colonel Antony thought
that the secrecy with which the Prince had been condemned, and the
absence of any documentary evidence, rendered it extremely probable
that his father had been misled by false information, and condemned him
unheard and innocent.  Therefore the unwilling Durbar were impelled in
the way which they were reluctant to take of their own accord, and Mr
James Antony was despatched to Ranjitgarh to interview the Rani through
the curtain, and inform her that she was thenceforth to regard her
stepson as her coadjutor in the work of government.  The envoy expected
tears and lamentations, and pathetic attempts to induce the Resident to
alter his decision, but the Rajput lady fought with other than women's
weapons.  In clear cold tones she issued her ultimatum.  Sher Singh was
to be absolutely debarred access to the palace, and was to make no
attempt to communicate with her otherwise than by messenger, and
Gerrard was to be appointed Resident at Agpur, with quarters in the
fort, and the special task of watching over the safety of Kharrak
Singh.  Otherwise the Rani would poison herself and her son and every
soul in the zenana, and then set fire to the building, that the ashes
might remain for ever as a monument to the perfidy of the English.

James Antony tried reasoning and threats, but in vain.  The only answer
to his remonstrances was an intimation from the Rani that she declined
to receive him again until he had referred the matter to Ranjitgarh and
could bring her a definite answer.  Not, perhaps, wholly unwilling to
demonstrate the ill success of his brother's theories, he did as she
desired, recommending that Gerrard should become acting-Resident, with
the duty of keeping the peace between the two Regents, and serving as a
means of communication between them.  Colonel Antony was very angry,
but Gerrard was so obviously the only possible person for such a post,
in view of the confidence reposed in him by Partab Singh, that he gave
way, telling him, as Charteris had done before, that the difficulties
of the position would in all probability make it more of a punishment
than promotion.  With this cheering prophecy in his ears Gerrard
departed for Agpur, and Charteris, riding out to meet him, saw at once
that he was in low spirits.  He gave no hint of his discovery, however,
until the state entry into the city and the first formal visits were
over, and the two were left to themselves at the Residency, which
Charteris had employed the interval in fortifying, according to a plan
drawn out by Gerrard before he left, so that it formed a kind of minor
citadel inside the great palace enclosure.  They were sitting on the
broad verandah, with its tiled roof supported by solid pillars of
masonry, which had served as frame to one of Gerrard's pictures of
imaginary bliss, when Charteris broke the silence.

"Well, you are in the blues, my boy, and no mistake!  What's the
meaning of it?  Here are you just returned from the giddy haunts of
society and fashion, with a face as long as one of Padri Jardine's
sermons, while I, who have seen no European countenance for a month but
the rough-hewn phiz of our Mr James, am as cheerful as a cricket."

"Result of having got what I wanted, I suppose Antony would say.  Did
you indulge a sneaking hope of gaining a little credit on the score of
our exploits here, Bob?"

"Hardly.  There's a prejudice nowadays against subalterns annexing
empires without orders, you know.  Precious silly, of course, but one
must take it into account."

"Well, I might have been an escaped convict from Botany Bay, by the way
Antony jawed me.  And other people took their tone from him, naturally,
except----  By the way, I dined at the Cinnamonds' one night."

"And was our bright particular star visible?"

"She was.  So was a young cub of a civilian--just gone into stick-ups,
I should imagine."

"Dangerous?"

"I think not.  Merely having his mind and morals improved, if I am any
judge."

"Ah, we know all about that, don't we, old boy?  Not that any beggarly
civilian is going to join this noble fellowship, is he?  The more he
keeps his distance the better we shall be pleased.  And the lady of our
mutual adoration----?"

"She barely spoke to me.  At least"--with an effort--"she did ask
whether I sent to request your help or whether you came of your own
accord.  Of course I told her it was that."

"And then?"

"She said it was just what she would have expected of you."

Charteris burst into a roar of laughter.  "Oh, poor old beggar! and he
ain't jealous, not a bit!  Never mind, Hal; when you have pulled me out
of a hole, I shall have to praise you up to her, and won't it go
against the grain!  Ray-ther--just a few!  But has the fair lady lent
an ear to slander?  You don't think she can have heard anything about
the Rani?" cautiously.

"What do you know about the Rani?" cried Gerrard furiously.

"Simply that James Antony thought fit to tell me it had struck him that
it would be very convenient for the transaction of public business, and
very much for the safety of Kharrak Singh, if you or I married the
lady.  You were the favourite, as in a way marked out by her husband's
will.  One of our Mr James's witticisms, of course, and in vile taste,
as usual."

"His taste is his own affair; what I mind are his abominable practical
jokes.  Do you know that he said this same thing to the Colonel, but
put it as though I had approved, or even proposed, the arrangement?"

"The Colonel is a little apt to jump to conclusions, when they involve
the depravity of other people," suggested Charteris.  "It's just
possible that he misunderstood his brother."

"Then I wish to goodness they would adopt some means of communication
that left no room for misunderstanding.  There Antony sent for me, and
reviled me as if I had been a criminal of the deepest dye; said that
Granthistan would stink in the nostrils of all India if these marriages
with native women continued, and threatened to send me back to Bengal
unless I gave up all thoughts of it at once."

"Alas, poor Hal!  And what did you do?"

"Told him that I had got pretty well accustomed by this time to be
reprimanded for everything I did, but when it came to being jawed for
things I had no thought of doing, and wouldn't do for all the wealth of
Delhi, I was hanged if I would stand it.  Then I handed in my
resignation on the spot."

"And what did he do?"

"Begged my pardon, like a man and a gentleman and a Christian as he is,
dear old fellow!  Asked me as a favour to withdraw my resignation, and
shook hands."

"Well, you have got on his soft side, and no mistake!  But what had
riled him?  Who were your predecessors in iniquity?"

"Oh, you haven't heard.  Remember Horry Arbuthnot, big dashing fellow
in the Cavalry?  He has been and gone and married the daughter of old
Murid-ud-din of Bala."

"You don't say so!  How on earth did he manage it?"

"Why, he was sent up to help Tika Singh in pacifying the hill
tracts--or rather, to keep him from perpetrating a massacre and calling
it pacification--and Murid-ud-din's widow and family had taken refuge
there.  I don't know how the trick was done, but I daresay Tika Singh
had a finger in the pie.  He had taken a fancy to Arbuthnot, and may
have wished to get a hold over him--at any rate, the bold Horace made
definite proposals.  Then the thing came to Antony's ears--Tika Singh
may have had a hand in that too--and the fat was in the fire.  He sent
up orders--to Tika Singh, mind you--to send Arbuthnot down under arrest
forthwith, and so nip his matrimonial project in the bud.  Now it so
happened--the course of true love running smooth for once--that
Antony's letter reached Tika Singh on the eve of a great festival, and
of course he couldn't possibly open it.  But he took a squint inside,
or the messenger told him the drift of it, or something, and by some
most regrettable leakage the contents got to Arbuthnot's ears.  The
fellow is like you, Bob; he don't let the grass grow under his feet.
He married the lady that night by Mohammedan rites under the auspices
of her mother, who was highly in favour of the match, and they set off
post-haste for Gajnipur.  Another remarkable coincidence--only the day
before Tika Singh had given Arbuthnot a duplicate of his own signet,
which would carry him anywhere in Bala.  Antony's orders had been
confidential, so that they got to Gajnipur and were married by the
Padri there before the truth got out."

"I don't envy that Padri," said Charteris.

"Nor I.  Antony would have declared himself Pope of Granthistan if that
would have enabled him to invalidate the marriage, but the younger
Begum is indubitably Mrs Arbuthnot, and means to remain so.  So Antony
has packed them both back to the hill tracts, with the intimation that
Arbuthnot may consider himself permanently relegated to the society of
his new relations and his kind friend Tika Singh."

"Which means utter and absolute ruin, of course.  Well, I call it
uncommon hard."

"I don't know.  Suppose Antony had written, 'Return to your sorrowing
chief, and all shall be forgiven,' and done the heavy father business
when they turned up, and set both Mrs Antonys and Lady Cinnamond to
call on the Begum Arbuthnot, what would it have been but an
encouragement to other fellows to go and do likewise?"

"Will the fellow find it worth it, I wonder?  Funny thing what a
difference a woman can make in a man's life."

Gerrard assented with almost a groan.  "She plays the very mischief
sometimes.  Bob, I can't help thinking that perhaps you were right when
you suggested we had better agree to give up all thoughts of her, both
of us."

The light-brown eyes, which gave a peculiar character to Charteris's
red-tanned face, flamed suddenly.  "I suggest such a thing?" he cried.
"Hal, you are mad.  What I said was that I would never, under any
circumstances, enter into such an agreement.  Give up if you like.  I
go on until I die or she marries me."

"Or me," said Gerrard, laughing mirthlessly.

Charteris struck his hand upon the table.  "Are you trying to provoke
me, Hal?  I have stood a good deal from you, but there are limits.
What's come over you?"

"Oh, forebodings--presentiments, that's all."

"You always were a superstitious sort of chap."

Charteris's passion had faded.  "Had this sort of thing before?"

"Oh yes, often."

"And the presentiments always came true?"

"No-o, not always."

"I should think not!" shouted Charteris, with a mighty burst of
laughter.  "Never was anything like the presentiments I had before
going into action the first time, and now I remember it, you were
pretty much the same, but we both came out without a scratch.  Cheer
up, old boy.  Who would think it was you that gave Sher Singh the lie
to his face, and started calmly to march to certain death?  Here, let
me mix you a peg.  I looks towards you, sir."

"I likewise bows," said Gerrard, with a perfunctory smile.  "You don't
think me altogether a coward, Bob?  There is something evil about the
atmosphere of this place.  I felt it as I rode in at the gateway."

"I should recommend the estimable Moraes and a blue-pill," said
Charteris, yawning.  "Coward? nonsense! an overworked conscience
sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought is more your number.  And
now, as I march at a commendably early hour in the morning----"

"I wish you were staying on with me, Bob."

"Oh no, you don't.  Think of the evil atmosphere of the place getting
hold of me too.  Why, we should sit in corners and grind our teeth at
one another.  You forget the healthy rivalry between us.  No, no, you
will do bear-leader to the youngster, and keep Sher Singh and the Rani
from scratching each other's eyes out, and I'll knock down some more
robber castles in Darwan, and demand your help when I stir up a more
vicious hornets' nest than ordinary.  By the bye, when there was mortar
and all kinds of mess about, I took the opportunity of bringing up a
little more gold from the treasury--ten thousand rupees' worth or so,
as nearly as I could guess--and building it into this wall here," he
indicated the parapet of the terrace with his cheroot.  "It is behind
this bluish stone.  You may be glad of it in an emergency."

"You think of everything, old boy.  Sorry I haven't been a jollier
companion to-night."

They parted the next morning, Charteris riding out to take up again the
nomadic life and open-air work that he loved, while Gerrard remained to
begin his irksome task of trying to induce the Regents, the Durbar, the
army and the citizens to lay aside their differences and aim at the
common good.  The Rani's one idea was to safeguard her son's position
by securing the loyalty of the army at all costs.  The faintest sign of
discontent among the troops threw her into a frenzy of terror, and
brought orders for the instant granting of all demands and a
distribution of rupees.  As a natural result, the army speedily
dominated the whole city, and kept the rest of the inhabitants in
subjection, secure of the Rani's favour.  The Durbar, composed largely
of Partab Singh's old councillors, lifted up voices of protest and
lamentation when there were no soldiers about, but maintained a
discreet silence in their hearing.  Which side Sher Singh took, Gerrard
found it difficult to discover.  He complained bitterly in private of
the arrogance of the army, the supineness of the Durbar, and the
unreasonable behaviour of his co-Regent, but he seemed not to be making
any attempt to form a party of his own, that might work towards a
healthier state of things.  Gerrard himself was the butt for every
one's ill-humour.  The Rani and the troops alike execrated him when he
declined to give his sanction to the distribution of a largess demanded
without even a shadow of pretext, and Sher Singh and the Durbar sighed
reproachfully over his inability to keep the army in its proper place.

The one spot of light in the gloom was the behaviour of little Kharrak
Singh, who proclaimed and exercised his royal will in the matter of
seeking the society of Jirad Sahib.  That the Rani was intensely
jealous of his influence Gerrard perceived by many indications, but she
could not refuse to be guided by the directions left by her husband,
and she was at any rate assured of the boy's safety while he was with
him.  Surrounded by a small army of guards, they would ride through the
muttering streets out into the open country, and there cast off for a
few delightful hours the restraints of state.  But this happened very
seldom, and Kharrak Singh was generally to be found on the Residency
verandah, where Gerrard, immersed in business, had to answer his
unceasing questions, instil such rudiments of useful information as he
could, and generally endeavour to prepare the child for the great
future before him.  It was clear that the native tutors had no control
whatever over their illustrious pupil, and every creature in and about
the zenana was his submissive slave, so that Gerrard became seriously
exercised as to the development of his character.  At times he had
visions of obtaining a European tutor for him--an absolutely
revolutionary innovation for those days--but the impossibility of
bringing the Durbar to see the wisdom of such a course, or of securing
proper support for the unhappy man who might be appointed, deterred
him.  To remove the child from the city, into surroundings mentally
more healthy, was of course impossible, and therefore Kharrak Singh
continued to come each day to the Residency with his attendants,
dismissing all but a favoured few with a regal wave of the hand at the
foot of the steps, and climbing on the divan arranged for him, to sit
there and talk under the pretence of looking at pictures.  Gerrard had
sent for his books from down-country by this time, and after long
journeying on the heads of groaning coolies, and many vicissitudes by
the way, they now graced his meagrely furnished rooms.  In the daytime
they were useful in teaching Kharrak Singh the bare beginnings of the
English language, and in the long evenings they served to mitigate the
loneliness of the house which had presented itself as an abode of bliss
for two, but was sadly too large for one.




CHAPTER X.

THE DOOR IS SHUT.

Nearly a year had passed since Charteris and Gerrard had entered into the
agreement which was to regulate their rivalry for the hand of Honour
Cinnamond, but the end of the six months' armistice had arrived without
any renewal of hostilities.  It was tacitly recognised between them that
it would be a mistake to conduct operations by letter, and neither of
them was in a position to ask for leave.  When Charteris returned to
Darwan, he found that the Granthi subordinate left in charge had improved
the shining hour by adding to the number of his wives a daughter of the
principal robber-clan of the district.  His official position gave him
the means of doing many little kindnesses to his new relations, and with
their concurrence he arranged to gladden Charteris's eye on his return by
the spectacular destruction of an old disused fortress, the clan's
headquarters being transferred to a larger post in a more sequestered
district.  Unfortunately, in following up a raid, Charteris tracked the
raiders to their lair, and as they thought their kinsman-in-law had
betrayed them, and retaliated by informing on him, the whole matter came
out.  Thereupon ensued a change of personnel in Charteris's staff, the
destruction of another fortress, and the persistent harrying of such
members of the clan as declined to come in and submit--all of which
occupied time and thought so fully that matters of sentiment were forced
to take a subordinate place in the ruler's mind.

As for Gerrard, he was beginning to hope that Agpur was inclined to
settle down under the Regents.  Each month that passed without an
insurrection was so much to the good, and brought nearer the day when
Kharrak Singh would rule in safety in his own name.  State affairs
followed a well-defined course--almost a stereotyped one.  When Sher
Singh proposed any measure, the Rani objected to it, and if Gerrard
thought that it ought to be passed, it fell to him to argue her into
acquiescence.  If the Rani originated a scheme, Sher Singh was the
obstruction, and had to be coaxed into good humour before the project
could be laid before the Durbar, who would have squabbled placidly to all
eternity had they been admitted to an open share in the differences of
their betters.  Still, Gerrard was learning by this time how to handle
his unruly team, and was not without a sanguine belief that the Rani
would soon know something about the use of money and the management of an
army, and that Sher Singh was really settling down in his subordinate
place with something like contentment.  Their mutual opposition, he
thought, was becoming rather formal than actual, and might even die down
in time.  But Gerrard was no more omniscient in estimating the future
yield of his poultry-yard than other people, and it took little to set
the two protagonists, whom he had looked upon as reformed characters,
thirsting for each other's blood again.

Sher Singh's father-in-law died, leaving no son, and it was the natural
thing that his fief of Adamkot should descend to his daughter's husband.
The Prince pointed out, very reasonably, that it was hardly suitable for
one of the Regents to possess no stake in the country beyond a rented
house in Agpur, while the other enjoyed the revenues of several wealthy
villages.  With Adamkot secured to him, he would be well provided for
when his allowance as Regent ceased in time to come, instead of being
obliged to linger on as a pensioner at his younger brother's court.  The
Rani objected strongly to the proposal, and flung herself into the
struggle tooth and nail.  The only hope of keeping Sher Singh loyal was
to make him strictly dependent upon his allowance, she declared.  With
Adamkot in his hands, he would be above the reach of want, and could
withdraw thither if anything displeased him, and make it a centre of
intrigue against the state.  It was the bulwark of Agpur against the most
unruly part of Darwan, and he was quite capable of betraying his country,
and leading an army of Darwanis against the capital.

The Rani's patriotic anxiety would have appealed to Gerrard more strongly
than it did had there not penetrated to him, among the bits of palace
gossip which Munshi Somwar Mal contrived to pick up for his employer's
benefit, the news that she was determined to secure the fief for the
brother of one of her favourite attendants, and had gone so far as to
promise it to him secretly.  This she had no right whatever to do, and
Gerrard prepared for a contest.  Sher Singh must have Adamkot, but his
possession of it should be tempered by the condition that he was not to
reside there for more than ten days without the Rajah's permission.

The struggle between the Regents became known in the city almost as soon
as at the Residency, and the army took advantage of the tension to demand
an increase of pay, holding riotous assemblies at a spot where their
menacing shouts were distinctly audible from the Rani's apartments.
Before Gerrard could get the Durbar's consent to use the guard to
disperse them, the Rani had sent out her scribe to inquire into their
grievances, and the poor old man, set upon and bullied by the leading
spirits, promised them in his mistress's name all they wanted, before he
was allowed to escape with torn clothes and trailing turban.  But this
again was a matter in which the Rani had no power to act.  Gerrard was
firmly fixed in his resolve not to increase the pay of the swashbucklers
who swaggered about the city girt with costly shawls and decked with
jewelled necklaces, as though they were fresh from a profitable campaign.
"Every Sepoy is a Sirdar at least, and every Sowar a Rajah!" was the
envious comment of the peaceable citizens who endured their insolence,
and before this last palace-squabble, it had been a bright dream of
Gerrard's to embody the civil inhabitants into some kind of militia, and
with their help and that of the guard to reduce the army sternly to its
proper place.  Accordingly, he devoted an interview of considerable
length to explaining to the Rani that Partab Singh's treasure, now much
reduced in amount, must no longer be drawn upon in minor emergencies, but
kept for the tug of war which might be expected when Kharrak Singh came
of age.  The Rani listened with apparent submission, and he was beginning
to congratulate himself on her meekness, when she posed him by suddenly
suggesting a bargain.  Let the troops have their increase of pay, and
Sher Singh might have Adamkot.  It needed another long argument to prove
to her that there was no question of a compromise, and when she had been
forced to realise, with a very bad grace, that the increased pay would
not be granted, she still remained obstinate on the matter of Sher
Singh's fief.  Gerrard was worried by the delay, since it had been
intended to invest the Prince formally on the occasion of Kharrak Singh's
birthday, which was close at hand, but he resigned himself to the
prospect of a succession of further interviews, destined, of course, to
end in the collapse of the Rani's opposition.

The reception in honour of Kharrak Singh's birthday, a very brilliant
affair, was held in a pavilion erected for the purpose in the courtyard
of the palace, since Sher Singh was still debarred entrance to the
building itself.  On the dais at the upper end was a silver-gilt
arm-chair for the little Rajah, flanked by plain silver chairs for
Gerrard and Sher Singh, and behind the three chairs was a curtain, which
shielded the Rani and her attendants from the public gaze.  Gerrard was
conscious of an unusual amount of whispering and excitement behind the
curtain, but it did not occur to him that this had any special
significance until the speeches were over, and those present came up to
offer their congratulations and their _nazars_.  First of all came Sher
Singh, as the foremost subject of the realm, with an offering of gold
coins, which it was Kharrak Singh's duty graciously to accept and retain.
But to Gerrard's dismay, and the horror of all the spectators, the boy
drew back as his brother approached, and folding his arms across his
chest, sat like a little cross-legged image of obstinacy, mutely
declining to notice either the offering or the offerer.  Whispered
remonstrances were useless, and Sher Singh, after waiting for a moment in
vain, cast the _nazar_ contemptuously on the gold-worked carpet, and
turned away with a face convulsed with rage.  "The child has been put up
to this!" he muttered angrily, and stalked down the gangway, between the
rows of Sirdars and notables.  Gerrard beckoned hastily to the next man,
mentally resolving to get the durbar over as quickly as possible, and
then hurry after Sher Singh and try to placate him, but to his horror,
Kharrak Singh remained immovable, and declined to notice the offering now
held forth to him.  Remonstrances came from behind the curtain at this,
and Gerrard gathered that the boy had improved on his mother's
instructions; but as if an evil spirit had taken possession of him, he
sat hugging himself tightly, finding, apparently, a malicious pleasure in
the perturbation he was causing.  It was highly probable that the Rani
had desired him to be specially gracious to the military officers who
would bring up their swords to be touched when the old councillors had
passed, but Gerrard was not minded to let matters go further.  The durbar
was hastily broken up, with the excuse that the Rajah must be ill, and
the Rani and her crowd of chattering excited women conducted back, with
all the usual paraphernalia of sheets held before and behind and on
either side of them, to their own apartments.  Gerrard allowed them
barely time to get back there before demanding an audience, but in that
brief interval he heard that the Rani had that morning distributed to the
army the monthly allowance which had just been paid to her, and the
jewels in which she had invested her savings since her widowhood.  It
might be considered a valiant effort to compensate them for the breaking
of her promise, but Gerrard knew that her tradesmen's bills would have to
be settled by the Durbar in consequence.  The lady was clearly
incorrigible, and he braced himself for the struggle.

The Rani displayed no penitence when, after much delay, and many
complaints as to the unreasonableness of the request, she consented to
receive Gerrard, but he detected a trace of alarm in her voice when she
referred to Kharrak Singh's treatment of the councillors.  Evidently her
son had gone further than she wished, for it was no part of her plan to
drive the Durbar into making common cause with Sher Singh.  Gerrard
seized upon the opening thus afforded him, and made skilful use of it.
The harm done must be instantly repaired, and the offended notables
placated with suitable gifts and assurances, if Kharrak Singh's rule was
to endure.  The Rani assented to this, though with reluctance; but when
Gerrard proceeded to say that the first person approached must be Sher
Singh, and that the Rani's peace-offering to him must be the fief of
Adamkot, she refused to hear another word, and when he persisted,
intimated that the audience was at an end.  He took out his watch.

"Maharaj," he said, sending his voice loudly in the direction in which,
as the rustling behind the curtain informed him, she was withdrawing in
disdain, "I give you five minutes.  If by that time you have not put your
seal to the _sanad_,[1] and given it to the Rajah to bring to me, that we
may ride together to Kunwar Sher Singh's house with it, I leave Agpur,
and tell Colonel Antony Sahib that it is impossible for me to fulfil my
duties here."

The rustling ceased, and it was clear that the Rani had paused.  Then
there broke out a tumult among her women, some evidently entreating her
to yield, and others advising that she should let the insolent Feringhee
go, and take the reins of power into her own hands, secure of the support
of the army.

"Two minutes gone!" said Gerrard.

The Rani tried to temporise.  "Let not Jirad Sahib fit the shoes of
impatience to the feet of offence," she said blandly.  "Is he not ruler
here?  But the wise ruler is he who acts with the dwellers behind the
curtain on his side."

"Three minutes gone!" said Gerrard.

"I have set Jirad Sahib's foot on my head because it was the will of my
son's father," cried the Rani passionately; "but to that of Sher Singh I
will not bow."

An approving chorus from the attendants answered her, interrupted by
Gerrard's reminder that four minutes had passed.

"What is it you command me to do?" she demanded desperately.

"To seal the _sanad_ and send the Rajah to accompany me with it to Kunwar
Sher Singh's house at once, that he may invest him without delay--then to
summon another durbar, so that men's minds may be set at ease.  The five
minutes are over."  Gerrard pushed back his chair with a harsh grating on
the marble pavement, and rose impressively.  "I leave Agpur in half an
hour, and I trust your Highness and the Prince will be able to settle
matters peaceably."

He took two or three steps, and then her voice called him back.  "I will
ratify the _sanad_, but let Jirad Sahib carry it himself to him who is to
enjoy it."

"The Rajah takes it or no one," said Gerrard.  The women broke out into
cries of indignation at his brutality, but their mistress knew how far
she could go.

"The seal is affixed," she said, her voice trembling with anger; "and
Jirad Sahib has leave to depart, for which he did not see fit to wait
just now."

The last word was undeniably hers, and Gerrard hoped that the
recollection of his breach of etiquette might support her in her
consciousness of defeat.  Kharrak Singh came pouting out from behind the
curtain, carrying the document as if it had been a snake or a scorpion,
and after running his eye over it, Gerrard hurried him out.  He had given
his orders before the interview, and in a very short time the procession
was in motion, and what was even better, Kharrak Singh in a good temper.
He was riding his father's great state elephant, with its very finest
jewelled trappings, and Gerrard accompanied him on another elephant of
less magnificence, while a third carried the patent of investiture in a
gilt box, and the _khilat_ or dress of honour which was to be conferred
on Sher Singh at the same time.  It would have been beyond the power of
the boy to continue to pout in such circumstances, and as he mounted,
Kharrak Singh shrilly promised his pet troop of the guard new coats of
yellow satin.  The procession wound gallantly through the narrow streets
to Sher Singh's house, but before the door was reached, the officials who
had been sent forward to announce to the Prince the honour that his
sovereign intended to confer upon him came back with long faces.  Sher
Singh was not at home.  In fact, he had hurried back after his
humiliation at the durbar, called for his horse, and ridden forth on a
journey with a handful of attendants--to Adamkot, so the servants
believed.  The blow was so heavy that Gerrard refused at first to believe
in its reality, and sent messengers to the city gates.  The news they
brought served only to confirm the first report.  The Regent and his band
had passed through two hours before, bound for Adamkot in hot haste.
Gerrard ordered the procession to return, and it retraced its steps
slowly, while he laid his plans for saving the situation.  There were
innumerable things to be arranged when he returned to the palace, and he
summoned the Rani's scribe, and desired him to acquaint his mistress with
what was being done, in order to avoid the loss of time which would be
caused by another personal interview.

"I leave early to-morrow for Adamkot to bring Sher Singh back," he said.
"He must come, but I hope he will yield to entreaty and come peaceably.
I take with me three of the state elephants, with sufficient troops to
form an imposing escort, and at the same time to make opposition useless.
A letter couched in terms of the utmost friendliness, conferring upon the
Prince the title of Prop-of-the-Kingdom, will be ready in a short time
for her Highness's signature, and I shall present it with the patent of
investiture and the _khilat_.  Other _khilats_ are being prepared in
readiness for a durbar to-night, at which the Rajah will confer them upon
the councillors offended this morning.  If her Highness objects to these
arrangements, you have my authority to point out to her that unless Sher
Singh is placated immediately, the very gravest consequences are certain
to ensue."

"Does his Highness accompany your honour upon this journey?" asked the
old man.

Gerrard shook his head.  Kharrak Singh's presence was highly desirable as
an act of atonement, but if he came, the Rani and all her women must come
too, and the journey would require a week instead of two days.  "No," he
said, "I trust Kunwar Sher Singh will return with me, and we will then
arrange a feast and a special reception in his honour."

The scribe salaamed and departed, and Gerrard gave a few moments to
reviewing his plans.  He was taking with him the most persistently
disaffected of the troops, so that the Rani would be well able to hold
the palace with the guard should there be any outbreak on the part of the
remainder during his absence.  The councillors would be mollified by the
honours conferred upon them, and also by the Rani's submission in the
matter of Sher Singh's fief, and as no contentious business could be
transacted while he was away, they ought to be able to keep the peace.
It seemed as though all dangers had been provided against, and Gerrard's
spirits rose insensibly.  Seizing a sheet of paper, he scribbled a hasty
note to Charteris.


"If you are anywhere in the Adamkot direction, infringe our frontier and
look me up," he concluded, after sketching roughly the state of affairs.
"I have always heard of it as the most _tiger-ish_ spot in the country,
and Shere Sing may well stand us a hunt in return for all the trouble he
has given me.  Among the hotties[2] I am taking with me for purposes of
display, I have included old Pertaub Sing's trained hunter, so we ought
to see some sport.  By the bye, when is your appeal for my help coming?
Just wait till this little business is off my hands, and I'll be with you
in a jiffey."


This sent off, and the Rani's consent to his arrangements received and
acknowledged, there was the durbar to attend, at which Kharrak Singh
conferred his _khilats_ and received his _nazars_ in the most angelic
manner, and it was zealously whispered about that Sher Singh had left the
city under a complete misconception of the love and affection entertained
for him by his brother, which would be proved by the honourable embassy
sent to command his return, and the gifts that it would carry.  One of
these was to be the store of gold hidden by Charteris in the Residency
precincts, which Gerrard had to disinter and pack for transport when he
was left alone at night, so that a very small amount of sleep was all
that he enjoyed before it was time to start in the morning.  Kharrak
Singh appeared on the chief state elephant to ride with him out of the
city, and insisted on his coming up into the howdah.  Late hours, early
rising, grief at parting from Gerrard, and remorse for his own share in
bringing this about, had combined to make the boy's frame of mind very
far from ideal, and he alternated between threatening to behead Gerrard
if he went, and hanging round his neck entreating to be taken with him.
When the moment of parting came, his hands had to be forcibly unclasped,
and he subsided on his cushions a limp and sobbing little bundle, only
restrained from screams of passion by receiving leave to open the
wrappers of any illustrated papers if Gerrard's mail came in during his
absence.

The journey to Adamkot was not eventful.  The two highly ornamented guns
which accompanied the troops stuck once or twice in crossing rivers, and
had to be hauled out by the elephants, and there was continuous murmuring
among the soldiers against the speed of the march and the prohibition of
plundering, but Gerrard did not trouble himself.  Sher Singh was
travelling light and fast, and it was natural that he should gain upon
them, as inquiries at the various villages on the route assured them he
was doing, but if the troops could do in three days what the fugitive had
accomplished in two, it would be proof positive that no time had been
lost in repairing the injury done him.  When they camped on the second
night, it was certain that this would be achieved, and Gerrard went to
bed in good spirits after making the round of his outposts.  The next day
would see, he hoped, a grave difficulty settled by prompt grappling with
it, and would bring him the breezy company of Charteris, and possibly the
promise of good sport.  His sleep was dreamless until an overmastering
impression that tidings of disaster were arriving hotfoot awoke him.  The
sound of distant horses' feet was in his ears as he raised his head from
the pillow, but when he sat up and listened he could hear nothing.  His
servant and the orderly sleeping close at hand protested in injured tones
when he called to them that he had been dreaming, and so did the sentries
supposed to be keeping watch on the outskirts of the camp, to whom he
sent an inquiry without much hope of success.

"If any messenger arrives from Agpur, wake me and bring him here at
once," he said as he lay down again.  "Why, what a fool I am!  The sound
was coming the opposite way, I am sure.  It must have been a dream."

No messenger arrived, and the rest of the march to Adamkot was made the
next day.  It was almost sunset when Gerrard drew rein and looked up at
the great fort of reddish brick towering above him.  He was riding in the
bed of the river Tindar, here more than a mile wide, and now dry save for
one small channel.  When the river was in flood, Adamkot must stand on
its very brink, but at present its sheer cliff rose from an expanse of
sand and mud.  It occupied the point of a tongue of high land formed by
the river and a ravine, also dry, and a deep ditch guarded it at the only
side on which level ground approached the walls.  He wondered whether it
would be necessary to make a toilsome march up the side ravine to reach
the entrance, but Badan Hazari, pointing to a gateway at the top of the
cliff, reached by a winding ascent from the foot, told him that this was
the usual means of approach when the river was low.  When it was high, a
drawbridge was lowered over the ditch at the back.  Gerrard sent off,
therefore, his selected embassy, bearing a friendly letter from himself
as well as that signed by the Rani, and inviting Sher Singh to receive
him, that he might deliver the gracious gifts of the Rajah.

The embassy wound up the long path, entered the gateway, and returned,
without Sher Singh, but with an elderly fakir, who was introduced as the
Prince's private physician.  With many apologies and compliments, he
informed Gerrard that his master, cut to the heart by the Rajah's
behaviour, had taken to his bed as soon as he reached home, and was too
ill to be disturbed.  He had turned his face to the wall, said the old
man dramatically, and though he had laid the letters on his brow and eyes
in token of gratitude, he had not even strength to read them at present.
Would his beloved friend Jirad Sahib pardon his seeming discourtesy, and
return to the capital, whither he would follow as soon as the life-giving
influences of his sovereign's kindness had renewed his spirit?  Gerrard
expressed his sorrow at the Prince's illness, but offered to visit him
and read the letters aloud, at the same time investing him with the
_khilat_.  But this was refused.  Sher Singh's wounded spirit could not
endure the sight of a stranger at present, it seemed, and he could only
express his deep regret that for so unworthy an object Jirad Sahib should
have interrupted his important labours, and entreat him to waste no more
of his valuable time.  There was not even a word said of lodging him and
his escort in the fort for the night.  Gerrard's anger rose.

"I came to see Sher Singh, and here I stay till I have seen him," he
said.  "We will pitch here, below the gateway, and see which of us will
tire first."



[1] Grant, patent.

[2] _Hathis_, elephants.




CHAPTER XI.

MURDER MOST FOUL.

However unwelcome might be the presence of Gerrard and his force, Sher
Singh could not, for very shame's sake, show his feelings, and a host
of servants came down from the fort to point out the best
camping-ground, and to bring the _rasad_, or free rations, necessarily
provided for guests.  It was evidently hoped, however, that Gerrard
might change his mind after a night's rest for in the morning the fakir
appeared again with fresh entreaties that he would depart, and not add
to the Prince's self-reproach the burden of feeling that he was
detaining him here.  Gerrard replied by another demand for a personal
interview, which was refused in horror, the fakir declaring that three
days and nights of mental agony had reduced Sher Singh to such a wreck
that it was unendurable to him to be seen until he had recovered a
little.  Gerrard offered suitable condolences, remarked that the sooner
the Prince recovered the sooner would he himself be able to depart, and
as a fairly clear sign of his intentions, devoted some hours to the
improvement of his camp, to the ill-concealed disgust of his soldiers,
who thought themselves entitled to a long rest after the hardships of
the march.  In the evening Charteris rode in, lean and tanned to an
even deeper pink than before, attended by a new bodyguard he was
raising from among his reformed robbers, who looked by no means
reformed, and were Mohammedans to a man.  The arrangements of the camp
had to be altered again, to allow these children of nature to encamp
close to their commander's tent, for the double purpose of keeping the
Granthis from interfering with them, and preventing them from attacking
the Granthis.  Badan Hazari was highly contemptuous of this new
departure on Charteris's part, and ostentatiously pitched his men's
tents in similar fashion near Gerrard's, to protect him, as he said, in
case those rascally thieves should try to murder him in the night.
Their own Sahib might be able to trust them, since he had nothing they
would care to steal, but the acting-Resident of Agpur was a person of
importance, and his life was valuable.

Having seen their followers bestowed as well as might be, Charteris and
Gerrard settled down to a good talk, in which the present situation, as
was natural, bulked largely.  At first Charteris was inclined to think
that things need not have gone so far.

"You'll laugh me to scorn," he said, "but I give you my word I'd have
rode after Sher Singh, just as I was, the moment I heard he had
levanted, and caught him up on the road."

"Or been caught by him, and held as a hostage."

"No, I would have done it before he got to cover here, and brought him
back dead or alive."

"To find that the army and the Durbar had made common cause against the
Rani--perhaps even that she and Kharrak Singh had been judiciously
removed."

"That's what it is to have a mind that sees both sides of a question,"
said Charteris good-humouredly.  "Now I should only have thought of
securing Sher Singh, and I'd have done it if I died for it.  Whereas
you have left everything in inspection order, and can sit _dharna_[1]
on his doorstep for just as long as he can stand seeing you there."

"My patience has its limits," said Gerrard, smiling.  "If the illness
refused to yield to the fakir's treatment, it might become necessary to
send for a European physician from Ranjitgarh, and to blow in the gates
that he might be able to visit his patient.  But I hope Sher Singh will
see fit to recover without our using such drastic remedies."

"Oh, you have him in the hollow of your hand--I don't presume to doubt
it.  When your letter came, I had a lurking suspicion that it might be
a veiled call for co-operation again, but I see I was wrong."

"You forget it's your turn to call upon me.  But I'll tell you where
you can help me, Bob.  I want to give these precious troops of mine a
little active work in the way of war-manoeuvres, as the Prussians call
them.  The lazy beggars have got abominably soft since Partab Singh's
death, with nothing to do but exhibit their lovely selves in the
streets, and mutiny for increased pay to settle their tavern-scores.
There's plenty of room here, and good scope, and besides, the sight
will be interesting and cheering for Sher Singh.  Let's take 'em in
hand."

"I'm your man.  But," with a wry face, "what about the tiger-hunting?"

"Oh, we'll get that in.  Sher Singh sent word this afternoon that he
hoped I would show my forgiving disposition by deigning to allow him to
provide me with a little sport, and I had his head shikari here just
before you came.  He said that owing to Sher Singh's prowess as a shot
on his visits to his father-in-law, tigers are much rarer round here
than I thought, and wanted me to go a day's journey to find a likely
spot, but I told him he must produce one within a decent distance or be
for ever disgraced.  So it's a _bandobast_,[2] and the beast is to be
forthcoming to-morrow or the day after."

The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch
of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari
brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen
stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by
the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the
Agpuris if they were left together.  The tiger was duly killed, to the
intense admiration--almost adoration--of the shikari, who entreated
even with tears that the sahibs would allow him to guide them further,
to the spot already mentioned to Gerrard, where, to judge from his
description, tigers were popping in and out of a particular patch of
jungle like rabbits.  Charteris was strongly tempted, and urged that
they could make the journey in the night by pressing the elephant a
little, shoot a few tigers before breakfast, and return during the day,
but Gerrard was firm.  He did not intend to allow Sher Singh such an
opportunity for tampering with the troops, innocent as he might seem to
be of any desire to do so.  They rode back, therefore, squabbling
amicably as to whose bullet had really given the _coup de gr�ce_, and
discussing whether the skin should be mounted as a rug or merely cured.

Their elephant was descending into the river-bed, and the walls and
towers of Adamkot were dominating in dusky red the landscape to their
right, when Gerrard uttered an exclamation, and pointed out a small
body of mounted men surrounding an elephant, who were approaching their
camp from the opposite side.

"From Agpur!" he said.  "Who can be coming?  A woman's howdah, too!
Why, it looks to me like Bijli, the best hotty in the stables.  I would
have brought her with me if I hadn't known that the others couldn't
keep pace with her.  Bob, I'm afraid there's something up."

"You underrate your own importance, old boy.  They can't do without you
in the city, and the Rani has come in person to fetch you back."

"Oh, stop your chaff!  No, but I daresay Kharrak Singh has insisted on
coming, and she has sent him in a closed howdah, so as to be safer.  He
was uncommon set on coming with me.  I wouldn't hear of it, but he may
have teased her into giving her consent."

They entered the camp, and descended from their elephant in the space
before their tents, just as the other elephant and its escort were
challenged at the outskirts.  Charteris and Gerrard both saw the
curtains of the howdah put aside, and a head, apparently that of a
woman, thrust forth.  They could not hear what was said, but the
newcomers were instantly allowed to pass, and staring soldiers began to
gather and follow behind them.  All eyes were turned on the two
Englishmen as they went forward, but no one said anything, though it
seemed to Gerrard that there was a feeling of awe in the air.

"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh
Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris.  "And Rukn-ud-din in
command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops!  What is
this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer.

"It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied
Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance.
It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding
behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend.

"Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly.

"How should I know?  I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently.
"I shall know when she speaks, I suppose.  But look at her cloth, half
brown and half white!  Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops
in this way?  No _pardah_, no sheets!"

"Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as
much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable
to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of
violation of etiquette.  The veiled figure stood solitary against the
gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two
or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering.
The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground
was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one
end of her veil?  Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding
herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted
from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the
passage.  He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived.  Is
it an order that she be conducted thither?"

"No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face.
"Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer
_pardah_, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her.
Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge
me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!"

"But when was this?  What has happened?" gasped Gerrard.

"Two days ago at this time.  I waited only to burn the body of my son,
and hastened hither for my vengeance."

"But it is impossible, Maharaj.  Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed
since he arrived here."

"Has he?"  The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible.  "It is easy
to deceive some men.  Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see
if he comes."

Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two
or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes.  "Why
are you here?" he demanded of them.

"Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what
fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting.  Seeing you return so
early, he feared the sport had been poor."

"Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard
brusquely.

"But your honour knows he is laid upon his bed, and cannot rise."

"Then bring him on his bed.  His life depends upon it.  If he is not
here in half an hour, I will blow in the gates and come and fetch him
myself."

"It is an order!" said Sher Singh's servants in chorus, and withdrew.
Gerrard turned back to the Rani.

"Your Highness has proof of what you say?"

"This much of proof.  Two days ago Sarfaraz Khan--may an evil ghost
haunt him from henceforth!--came to me with a tale that the guards were
discontented by reason of the favour shown to the rest of the army.  I
promised to do what I could, and went into the room where my jewels are
kept, to see if I had anything left that might satisfy them.  Kneeling
before a coffer, I heard my son shriek without, but when I ran to see
what ailed him, certain of my women--daughters of shame, whose end is
even as they deserved--pushed me back into the room, and held the door
against me.  I heard my son fleeing and calling to me for succour, and
the clash of the weapons of those that pursued him in silence.  I heard
him cry, 'O brother, slay me not!' and I heard his moans as they
struck.  And though I tore at the door until my hands ran down with
blood, I could not move it, until the murderers were safely departed.
Then the door yielded suddenly, and I came out, to find my son lying
dead in his blood.  I called my own servants and swore them to
vengeance, dipping in the blood their swords and this cloth of mine,
which I will wear until the innocent blood is washed out in the blood
of him that shed it, and first I bade them slay the women that had
befooled me and held me back from dying with my son.  Then I gave
orders for the burning of my son's body, for fear the murderers should
be minded to add insult to their crime, and I called together the
Durbar and the heads of the army, and bade them search the city for
Sher Singh, and offer a reward for him, dead or alive.  But they
refused, and mocked me, saying that Sher Singh was now Rajah, and their
obedience was his.  Then I reviled them to their faces--speaking
unveiled, as one minded to mount the pyre and be consumed with the body
of my son, could I but be assured of vengeance--and called upon those
who remained faithful to follow me.  This man Rukn-ud-din and these few
sowars were all that came, and when we had burnt the body of my son, we
took up his ashes and departed--many desiring to stop us, but no man
caring to strike the first blow--to ride hither and demand justice on
Sher Singh.  And this, O Jirad Sahib, was Kharrak Singh, my son."

She swept aside the discoloured veil, and showed a brazen vessel filled
with ashes, which she carried clasped to her breast.  "This was my son,
Jirad Sahib and soldiers of Partab Singh.  Foully has he been cut off,
before he could raise up a posterity to perform his funeral rites.  By
the innocent blood and the dishonoured ashes, I call upon you for
vengeance."

"If it can be shown that Sher Singh has committed this murder, justice
shall indeed be done upon him, Maharaj," said Gerrard.  "But I think
you will find that he has not left this place."

"Then to whom did my son call out 'Brother'?" she demanded fiercely.
"You will not find him."

"The Prince!" burst from the surrounding soldiers, and all turned
towards the gateway of the fort, where a little group of men could be
seen.  A palanquin was brought out, and the bearers carried it swiftly
down the winding path.  Almost unconsciously the crowd below pressed
forward to the foot of the cliff.  The palanquin reached the bottom and
stopped, and the fakir, who had followed it, opened the curtains and
helped out a bent figure--unmistakably Sher Singh.  A shriek broke from
the Rani.

"He has outridden me and reached this place first!" she cried.  "See
his weakness, his deathly aspect.  What but four days and nights of
riding could account for it?"

Disregarding her words, Sher Singh turned with dignity to Gerrard.
"What does my friend Jirad Sahib require of me?" he asked mildly.  "At
his command I have risen from my bed, weak and faint with illness
though I am.  My servants tell me that my brother is dead.  Is my blood
desired also?"

"Your brother died calling upon you to spare him," said Gerrard.

"And is the life of a man to hang upon the cry of a terrified child?"
asked Sher Singh, with the same dignified meekness.  "Nay, if he cried
out 'Brother!' would he not say the same to any man of Granthi stock?
Jirad Sahib knows our customs, and that it is our wont to speak thus to
one another."

"The matter must be properly tried," said Gerrard.  "Your Highness
sees"--he turned to the Rani--"that there is no proof against the
brother of your son.  Let me entreat you to retire to the tent prepared
for you, and rest."

The Rani waved him back with a contemptuous gesture.  "I have asked for
no trial," she cried; "I demand justice.  Here to his face I accuse
Sher Singh of having ridden secretly to Agpur and murdered my son, his
brother, and then returned hither in haste that he might give the lie
to my words.  Who is on my side?  Who will slay this wretch for me?
Jirad Sahib?"

"Maharaj, I can do nothing until the whole matter has been inquired
into and fairly decided."

"Oh, words, words! such as the English ever speak, and do nothing until
it is too late!  You then, soldiers of Partab Singh Rajah!  Will you
see your king's son murdered unavenged?  Avenge me on his murderer!"

No one moved, but from the back of the crowd a murmur arose which
swelled into a cry, "Sher Singh Rajah!  Sher Singh Rajah!"  The Rani
started as if she had been stung.

"Will you set this wretch before my eyes on the _gaddi_ from which he
has swept his father and his brother?" she shrieked.  "Can the heavens
look down on such a sight of shame, and not grow black?"

The soldiers cowered before her, but a short thick-set man pushed his
way to the front.  "I am not wise," he said, and a laugh answered him,
"but a plain man may ask questions that the learned cannot answer.  Her
Highness desires us to slay Sher Singh.  For whose benefit? say I.  She
says he is a murderer, but even if it were so--which I see no cause to
believe--he is the last of Partab Singh's house.  To whom should the
kingdom fall, if he were slain?  To her Highness herself--who might
then be less desirous of death?  To her friends the English? perhaps to
Jirad Sahib--who would not be the first to owe a throne to a woman's
favour.  Not one of these has any cause to desire the death of Sher
Singh, of course--I lay my hand upon my mouth for having even uttered
the thought--but who then does desire it?  Not the soldiers of Partab
Singh, say I."

"And thou sayest well, brother!" burst from the soldiers.  "Sher Singh
Rajah!  We will set him on the _gaddi_, and by the might of the Guru!
if the English interfere, we will fight them."  Out of the tumult in
the ranks a high thin voice rose above the rest.  "Back to the zenana,
shameless one!  Wilt thou disgrace thy lord, as she of Ranjitgarh doth
daily?"

The two Englishmen and their followers moved towards the Rani to
protect her, but she waved them back with measureless contempt, then
turned upon the jeering soldiers with eyes glowing like live coals.

"Truly Jirad Sahib spoke well when he warned me that you, for whom I
have stripped myself of the very jewels of my marriage-portion,
designed only to play me false.  Ai Guru! what a lot is mine, to dwell
in a land where the men are as women, even as those that sell
themselves for gain!  Hear then the curse of the widow, the childless
one.  Behold the unavenged ashes of my son!" she thrust forth the
brazen urn.  "As I cover them from your unworthy sight with the cloth
stained with his innocent blood"--sweeping her veil over it--"so shall
the blood of Agpur extinguish the burning embers of her houses.  As you
have cried shame upon me, seeking to avenge my dead, so shall your
childless mothers and your widowed wives find shame in seeking to
avenge you, and the death of honour shall be denied them.  For innocent
blood shall the doom come, though my eyes shall not behold it, and
through these two Feringhees"--she indicated Gerrard and
Charteris--"who shall execute justice on the murderer in the day when
they shall make a road for a corpse through the great wall of Agpur."

"The doom is easily averted, if only by slaying the two Feringhees and
the woman here and now," said the short man who had stood forth as Sher
Singh's champion, but this time his words did not meet with the former
ready response.

"Aye, do so," said the Rani coolly, "and bring the English down upon
you to fulfil the curse as soon as it is uttered."

She faced the ready weapons defiantly, but Sher Singh, who had been
sitting drooping upon the edge of the palanquin, apparently too weak
either to defend himself or to interfere to prevent a massacre, now
summoned strength again and interposed.

"The army has spoken truth," he said.  "I am Rajah, grievous as is the
cause that brings me to the _gaddi_, and evil as shall be the fate of
the murderers of my brother.  Against Jirad Sahib I bear no malice for
his doubts of me, for he has been led astray by the bitter tongue of a
woman crazed with grief.  She demands vengeance; I will be her avenger,
as is fitting, since my father was her husband.  In my house she will
receive due honour as his widow, and it will fare ill with any man who
speaks of shame in connection with this day.  Let her Highness be
conducted back to her elephant and carried into the fort, where a
suitable reception awaits her."

"Not unless she wills it," said Gerrard firmly.  "Where does your
Highness choose to dwell?" he asked of the Rani, who stood waiting
impassively.

"I have no desire to live save for vengeance, but my life would last
but an hour or two within those walls," she said calmly.

"Where would your Highness prefer to go?"

"I would fain entrust my son's ashes to Mother Ganga, and visit Kashi
in pilgrimage.  That is my desire."

"It shall be done.  Will your Highness permit Lieutenant Charteris to
escort you to Ranjitgarh?"  He looked round for Charteris, intending to
present him, but he had slipped away a moment before.  "At Ranjitgarh
the Resident will charge himself with your safety."

"What Jirad Sahib suggests is impossible," said Sher Singh with
determination.  "My _izzat_"--a convenient term, covering most things
from self-esteem to family honour--"would be destroyed if my father's
wife wandered away from my house."

"The choice lies with her Highness," said Gerrard.  "Let her servants
decide whether they will serve her or Sher Singh Rajah."

The Rajputs stepped over to their mistress's side at once, and so did
Rukn-ud-din and most of his troopers, but some even of these who had
accompanied the Rani from Agpur preferred to worship the riding
[Transcriber's note: rising?] sun.  Sher Singh smiled unpleasantly.

"Since I am so many, and he so few, Jirad Sahib will not force me to
defend my _izzat_ with the sword?"

"I begin to think that it needs a good deal of defending," said Gerrard
meaningly, "but that will not be done by attacking me.  I shall attend
the Rani Sahiba to Ranjitgarh myself."



[1] Starving oneself to force a debtor to pay.

[2] Fixture.




CHAPTER XII.

THE ONE WHO WAS TAKEN.

"Have you cleared out a tent for the Rani, Bob?  I was going to ask you
to do it, but when I looked for you, you had disappeared."

"Yes, she and her women are safely secluded.  But what I really made
myself scarce for was to secure the guns."

"Old boy, you are a genius!  They won't dare to try and stop us now."

"Us?  That sounds good.  I hoped you would see the folly of ramming
your head into the lion's mouth by going back to Agpur with Sher Singh."

"He's uncommon anxious that I should--been trying to persuade me all
this time.  First he followed me himself, and then he sent the fakir,
and then Ibrahim Khan."

"I'm not surprised.  You would be a particularly welcome guest at Agpur
just now, but whether the visit would be quite as agreeable to you as
to your entertainers, I take leave to doubt.  Have you forgot that you
know the secret of the treasury, and Sher Singh don't?"

"I had forgotten.  As a matter of fact, I have promised to go back as
soon as I have seen the Rani to Ranjitgarh."

"I believe you, my boy!  But I wonder whether Sher Singh does.  By the
way, what becomes of our oaths, and the treasure, now that Kharrak
Singh, whom it was intended to benefit, is no more?"

"I really don't know.  The question did not arise."

"Well, my base material mind would have asked it first thing.  Can
hardly go to the Rani, I suppose, can it? or be divided between two
deserving young officers in the Company's army?  Perhaps in time to
come Sher Singh may leave a descendant to whom we can honourably
confide the secret.  But meanwhile, Sher Singh has his accomplices to
pay, and the treasure would come in very handy.  I suppose you ain't
labouring under any romantic delusion as to his innocence?"

"It would be hopeless, I fear.  If he had merely planned the murder
from here, he would certainly have accorded me the interview I asked
for, so as to secure an unassailable alibi.  But I can't help seeing
that unless one of the accomplices confesses, which is highly unlikely,
it will be next to impossible to bring it home to him.  Poor little
Kharrak Singh!  I give you my word, Bob, I really was most uncommon
fond of that little chap.  He used to sit opposite me like little
Dombey--I showed him the picture when last mail came in, and he laughed
like anything--and say the most old-fashioned things.  I'm glad Antony
ain't likely to send me back to Agpur.  I should be thinking that I saw
him all about the place."

"I'm jolly glad you don't feel yourself pledged to return."

"Sort of nineteenth-century Regulus?  Well, that'll depend upon my
orders, of course, and I don't take 'em from Sher Singh.  Not that we
have had any rupture.  I told him quite politely that I could hold no
further communication with him until the Rani was safe at Ranjitgarh,
and that we start to-morrow morning."

"Quite so.  Hal, a minute or two ago you paid me a very handsome
compliment.  Hang compliments! says I, and show a little confidence.
Will you take my advice, and while making elaborate, even ostentatious,
preparations for starting to-morrow morning, set off tonight instead?"

"My dear fellow, have you gone quite mad?"

"There's a prodigious deal of method in my madness.  Say that Sher
Singh, in confab with his friends, or his own uneasy conscience, begins
to perceive the extreme improbability of your returning quietly into
the lion's mouth once you are safely out of it.  Do you think he won't
harden his heart like Pharaoh, and refuse to let you go?"

"It's possible, of course.  But I fail to see how you would conduct a
moonlight flitting from the heart of his camp."

"That's my artfulness, my dear Hal.  We can't hope to slip away
unnoticed, I grant you.  But I do believe we can take 'em by surprise,
and walk out before they can combine to stop us.  We have the guns, and
the hotties, which would be useful in breaking a path, and those two
facts may even induce them to let us go without a fuss.  Otherwise I
should have proposed spiking the guns, which are in a state of
rottenness calculated to do more harm to us than to the enemy, and
leaving the hotties, taking the women behind us on our horses.  But if
by making an awe-inspiring impression we can get away without a fight,
it's just as well under the circumstances--especially as the Rani has
promised us our fill of gore later on.  I should say, start as soon as
the moon rises, in two hours or so.  We can't go at once, because the
Rani's hotty and the one we have been using all day will require a
little rest, or I should have advised that."

"But Sher Singh will simply follow and attack us on the march, and he
has the big battalions."

"Now look here, Hal.  You'll allow that I know something of the country
through which I came two days ago?  Two marches will take us well into
Darwan, where Sher Singh don't dare follow us, or he will have the
Darwanis up round him like a hive of bees.  The place where he will try
to stop us is a rough jungly bit about half-way--one of the disputed
boundary districts.  We must get through it by daylight.  Six hours'
forced march to-night will bring us nearly to it.  We halt for another
two hours' rest, and then press on at once.  Once through that bit we
are practically safe.  Marching morning and afternoon we should not
reach it till evening, and during the night Sher Singh would have ample
time to lay an ambush for us.  If we take him by surprise, any
thoughtful preparations on his part must be fairly sketchy in
character."

"I see your point.  But no one can help knowing we are starting at once
when they see the tents being struck."

"Then leave 'em standing.  You can take your clothes and your papers
and your hair-brushes, and sacrifice the rest.  Oh, I know you are
still dragging about with you the chest of drawers you got for the
cabin when we came out, and the long chair you bought at Madeira----"

"Nonsense!" said Gerrard, rather vexed.  "But I like my own things
about me, I confess."

"The very reason why you should be deprived of 'em!  You won't know the
proper wilderness spirit till you are.  What's a chair?  Something to
sit on when the ground's dirty or swampy.  A table?  Something to eat
off or write at when there ain't a flat rock handy.  Not friends--not
pieces of yourself--which is what you make of 'em.  Release yourself
from this tyranny of material things--as your pater used to quote
Socrates or some other old codger as saying.  We don't want tents, and
the women must do with the howdah."

"All right; have it your own way.  We'll start to-night."

"Give your secret orders to that effect to Badan Hazari, then.  You'll
find that my Darwanis have been already tipped the wink, and the women
too, and the fires are being kept low so as not to shed too much light
upon our movements."

"I am much honoured in placing myself at the disposal of so far-sighted
a commander," said Gerrard, a little stiffly, as he saluted.  Charteris
laughed, and clapped him on the back with a friendly force no stiffness
could survive.

"Ain't we too old friends to stand on our dignity with each other, Hal?
I have taken a lot upon myself, I confess it, but you are in command
here, and I know it as well as you do.  Jolly cheeky of me to offer you
advice, of course, but I couldn't see you rushing into destruction
without hinting at the fact."

"I know.  It's all right, old boy.  Well now, will you lead the
advance, as a favour to me?"

"Hal, you're a brick.  No, I won't.  You go first, with your own
Granthis, whom you have well in hand, I suppose? at any rate, they
won't fire unless you give the word.  Then Rukn-ud-din, with the guns
and hotties--and incidentally the women--and then your humble servant
with the Darwanis.  If they led, they would fire right and left for
pure devilry, but being in the rear, I think I can make them see the
necessity of waiting till they are attacked."

The evening meal had been hurriedly despatched during the course of
this conversation, and Gerrard now went out to summon Badan Hazari and
give him his orders, while Charteris saw to the packing of such of
their joint possessions as were not too heavy to impede a hasty flight.
The moon had barely risen when the column formed up for the march,
Gerrard and his men leading, the Agpuris, with the women, elephants,
guns and baggage in the centre, and Charteris with his Darwanis
bringing up the rear.  He had taken the precaution to warn the sentries
round the tents to turn back any coolie who might try to creep out and
carry information to the main camp, while any outsider dropping in for
a little friendly conversation was to be gently but firmly detained,
and this, with the ruse of leaving the tents standing, kept Sher
Singh's men completely in the dark.  There was a wild scene of
confusion when they realised what was happening, tomtoms beating,
trumpets sounding, and men rushing together, but the compact body of
matchlockmen with their matches lighted, and troopers with drawn
swords, looked so formidable that beyond firing a stray shot or two,
the army made no opposition to their progress.  The Darwanis were
wildly desirous to reply to the random shots with a volley, but
Charteris succeeded in keeping them in hand, and the column ploughed
its way steadily across the sand of the river-bed, and up the bank on
the opposite side.  The country was fairly open here, but Gerrard sent
out scouts in front and flanking-parties on either side, to guard
against a determined rush, which might be deadly in its result if Sher
Singh were less easily hoodwinked than he seemed.  Two of the Darwanis
who knew the country well from past raids, and had guided Charteris as
he came, rode ahead to show the way, and the column tramped on doggedly
in the moonlight, the great lurching forms of the elephants casting
strange shadows by the way.

After a long day's hunting, and an evening so full of excitement,
Gerrard found it difficult not to sleep as he rode.  In fact, his mind
was asleep, though his eyes were open and keenly surveying the
landmarks, which persisted in assuming the form of advancing masses of
troops, or exhibiting lights where no lights were.  He found relief
occasionally in riding back a little to whip up stragglers, but it gave
him unfeigned pleasure when, after what seemed untold hours of
marching, Charteris pricked forward to tell him that they were now
within a mile of the "bad bit," and had better halt where they were
until dawn.  But Gerrard had no mind to give in too soon.

"You don't think it would be well to press on and push through at one
go, Bob?  The men don't seem at all done up," he felt it his duty to
say.

Charteris hesitated a moment.  "No, I don't," he said.  "If Sher Singh
is occupying the bad bit at all, his men are there already--sent off
probably while he kept you in talk after the big flare-up--for it would
be no good despatching them after we had started.  Don't it strike you
as queer that they have made no motion to harass our rear?  I imagine
they are holding back till they can catch us between two fires.  If you
agree with me, let us give the beasts a rest and a feed here, and send
two or three of my beggars scouting ahead."

Gerrard consented, and they saw that the horses were picketed so as to
provide a barrier against a sudden rush, made the men lie down with
their weapons beside them, posted sentries all round the bivouac, and
agreed to keep watch for an hour each, to ensure the sentries not going
calmly to sleep.  Gerrard, who felt wide-awake again now after talking
and walking about, insisted on taking the first watch, which passed
uneventfully.  Then he called Charteris, and dropping into the hollow
which the latter had scooped for himself in the sand, was asleep in a
moment, only to be waked, as it seemed, in another moment, by his
friend's shaking him vigorously.

"Time to get up, Hal!  No shaving-water, so don't look round in that
bewildered way.  You'd arrive at Ranjitgarh with a beard--a fine,
flowing, patriarchal, even prophetic beard, like what Ronaldson has
taken to sport--if this sort of thing went on long.  He paid me a visit
when he was passing through to his district, and I assure you I was
immensely taken with his new adornment.  It would be perfectly killing
among the ladies, I'm sure--throw our poor whiskers and moustaches
horribly into the shade.  Talk of owls!  I never saw any one stare like
you.  This, my young friend, is a cup of tea, and this is a hard-boiled
egg--the best _choti haziri_ our chaps can manage--and the animal
beside you, looking astonished at your laziness, is your horse,
vulgarly termed a quad.  But give me your hand, old boy, and let me
haul you up to take part in this epicurean meal."

"You're in spirits to-day, Bob," observed Gerrard, with a mighty yawn,
as he accepted the tin cup.

"Ray-ther, just a few!  There's a rare good fight in front of us,
Hal--or else a very fine piece of strategy, which is almost as
satisfactory when you have women to look after.  Sher Singh's fellows
are in occupation of the bad bit, as I suspected--posted on both sides
of the track.  But--and here comes in the possibility of
strategy--there's another path besides that one, and I told my scouts
to investigate its practicability.  They report that it's passable for
hotties, which is what I was inclined to doubt, but they don't think we
shall ever get the guns up there.  Here's your problem, then, my
budding Wellington.  Do we fight our way through by the ordinary
track--in view of the condition of our guns I omit the alternative of
shelling the enemy out of their hiding-places first--or do we take up
position with the guns before the mouth of the defile and make a feint
there, while the hotties are going round the other way?  We might even
fire the guns once or twice with reduced charges before spiking them
and leaving them there to cumber the ground, while we make ourselves
scarce and overtake the rest."

"You know which it must be before asking me," said Gerrard mournfully.
"We daren't risk taking the women through a running fight in the
defile, especially if, as you said last night, Sher Singh is hanging on
our heels as well.  I'll take the guns and my Granthis and look after
the feigned attack, while you get the women through behind the enemy's
back, and are ready to support us with the Darwanis if Sher Singh turns
up."

"All right," said Charteris shortly.

"You want the fight, I know.  But would you be satisfied with a feint
so long as the guns didn't burst?  Not you, old boy; I know you.  You
would hang on to that defile, or more probably get half-way through it,
until Sher Singh came up behind you and your retreat was cut off.  You
shall do rear-guard again when we rejoin, and as that is when the real
fight will probably come, I can't do better for you."

It was still only twilight when Gerrard and his men, with the two
field-pieces drawn by bullocks, left the bivouac for the mouth of the
defile, with one of the Darwani guides to pioneer for them.  Another of
these men was to remain on the hillock where the halt had been made, to
watch for any sign of pursuit from the Adamkot direction, and bring the
news instantly if any appeared.  Charteris and the main body, with the
elephants, struck to the right of Gerrard's line of march to gain the
other path, and that their intention might not become apparent to the
liers-in-wait, Gerrard halted his guns as soon as he was within
possible range of the mouth of the defile, and with fear and trembling
discharged them both, by way of giving the enemy something to think
about.  The guns did not burst, and though the shot fell far short, in
consequence of the reduced charges, they drew an excited matchlock fire
from the men in ambush, which did no harm, but showed their positions.
The guns moved on, and Gerrard found excellent places for them in some
rocky ground thick with thorny bushes, while his matchlockmen exchanged
long shots with the concealed enemy.  The fire of the field-pieces
seemed to have an impressive moral effect, preventing any desire of
coming out into the open on the enemy's part, but was unsuccessful in
turning them out of their hiding-places, which were in the cliffs
overlooking the track.  Gerrard advanced his sharp-shooters and changed
the position of the guns from time to time, but the sun was growing
hot, his men were grumbling loudly because he would not allow them to
charge the defenders, and he was glad to see that the time he had fixed
with Charteris for his withdrawal was approaching.  His men were
recalled from the front two or three at a time, the remainder keeping
up a brisk fire to delude the enemy and divert their minds, and when
all were withdrawn, the two cannon were spiked, and a start made across
the rocky ground towards the right.  Before they had gone far, the
scout left at the bivouac came riding in hot haste to say that he had
seen a great cloud of dust advancing from the direction of Adamkot, and
evidently concealing a large force of horsemen hastening towards the
sound of the firing.  This was vexatious, as they would probably arrive
at the spiked field-pieces and divine the truth long before the ambush
in the defile would be emboldened by the silence to creep down and see
what had happened, and Gerrard hurried his men on.  It was difficult to
hasten, however, over the rough ground and through the thorny bushes,
while it was inadvisable to venture out upon the plain lest they should
be seen, and the horsemen sweep down upon them.  The cloud of dust was
quite visible now, whenever a break in the jungle gave a view of the
plain, and Gerrard found himself wondering whether the pursuers had a
man of Charteris's type or of his own in command of them.  He could not
help hoping it might prove to be his own.

Before it seemed possible that the deserted guns could have been found,
examined, and the correct deductions drawn, the shouts of the pursuing
horsemen could be heard as they raced along the level ground of the
plain, seeking for their prey.  It was impossible that they should not
discern the movements of Gerrard's men, but they could not charge
through the jungle, and when they came near enough, he halted and gave
them a volley.  The sight of horses and men rolling over checked them
for a moment, but he wondered how long it would be before they thought
of pushing forward a party to intercept him in front.  Almost as the
idea crossed his mind, a dropping fire broke out from among the bushes
in advance, and he realised that Charteris was waiting for him.  The
horsemen drew off when they saw they were opposed by a larger body than
they expected, and Charteris emerged from a lair in the bushes and came
up to his friend.

"On with you, Hal!" he cried cheerily.  "Rukn-ud-din and the hotties
are halted till you come up, for fear the enemy should be waiting for
them at the other end of the defile.  I'll retreat upon you gradually,
and keep these beggars back."

"All right!" and Gerrard and his men, now on more open ground, were
able to urge their horses to something beyond a walk.  The so-called
path was very rugged, and he wondered how they had been able to get the
elephants along it at all.  Indeed, when he reached them, the mahouts
were complaining loudly, and making much display of the wounded feet of
their charges.  The nearer sound of firing behind showed that
Charteris's force was nearly up, and Gerrard, sending back a messenger
to see whether he was hard pressed, led the main body on, disregarding
the grumblers.  Charteris returned answer that he was getting along all
right, but warned Gerrard again of a possible rush when the end of the
path was reached, and he sent forward scouts to examine the ground.  A
burst of firing ahead was his first intimation that Charteris's fears
were justified, and two out of the five scouts came scurrying back to
say that the enemy had evidently evacuated the defile, and were
awaiting the fugitives here.  As there was no narrow mouth to hold,
however, they could not command the path from above, and were merely
lying hidden among the rocks and bushes on either side.  Gerrard
ordered his men to hold their fire in case of a rush, and was glad he
had done so--unpleasant as was the storm of bullets drawn upon the
column by the easy mark offered by the elephants--when he saw that a
body of the enemy were actually posted in front to block his way.  Only
one plan was now possible, and he gave orders to Rukn-ud-din and Badan
Hazari that when the proper moment came, the horsemen should open out
and allow the elephants to break a path.  At the sound of his whistle
the horsemen faced outwards, and on either side fired a volley into the
bushes, while the elephants were urged on.  For a moment the enemy
stood their ground, and the bullets which met the great beasts maddened
them.  Trumpeting loudly, they rushed through the opposing ranks, all
but one, and the rout was completed by the swords of the horsemen who
followed.

It was the hunting-elephant, driven frantic by a bullet in a specially
tender spot, which broke the line and turned sideways, overthrowing two
Granthis and their horses as she did so.  The mahout, with voice and
goad, tried manfully to get her back into the path, but there was a
moment's wild confusion, in the midst of which Gerrard became aware of
a mob of wild Darwanis, their garments flying, charging down upon his
rear.

"They have broken through!  Our Sahib is slain--Chatar Sahib--the Red
Sahib!" they yelled.  "Fly for your lives!"

Gerrard spurred back impetuously to stop them, under a hail of bullets
from the enemy rallying in the bushes.  A sudden numbing pain in his
arm made him drop the reins, and he had only time to realise that Sher
Singh's pursuing horsemen were on the heels of the fugitives before
their rush swept him from the saddle, and he went down into a cruel
welter of hoofs.  Then all was silence.

When he recovered consciousness, he was lying helpless, and as he
thought bound, in an elephant's howdah.  An attempt at movement showed
him that he was not bound, but bruised and wounded from head to heel.

"Heaven-born!" said a voice at his side, and he distinguished the tones
of Munshi Somwar Mal.  "Now do the roses bloom again in the garden of
joy, since your honour lives!"

"But Charteris Sahib--the Rani--every one?" murmured Gerrard, trying to
remember what had happened.

"The Rani Sahiba saw your honour fall, and herself took command of the
soldiers, bidding them die rather than fail to recover your body.
Sirdar Badan Hazari was killed, fighting very valiantly, and the
Komadan Sahib Rukn-ud-din now leads the troops."

"But Charteris Sahib--what of him, I say?"

"Alas, sahib!  The Rani Sahiba bade return to look for him when the foe
were driven back, but none were found alive save a wounded Darwani, who
had seen Chatar Sahib's body thrown over a horse and carried away."




CHAPTER XIII.

THE ONE WHO WAS LEFT.

"My dear, I wish you would take that unfortunate young Gerrard in
hand."  Mr James Antony, acting-Resident at Ranjitgarh owing to the
absence of his brother on sick-leave, wore a worried look as he entered
his wife's room.

"I will do what I can, love, but I am never quite sure how to approach
these young men.  If only dear Theodora were here----"  Mrs James was
alluding to her sister-in-law, Mrs Edmund Antony.

"Oh, if Ned and his wife were here, the trouble would be at an end,"
said James Antony, with his big laugh.  "I can't begin an interview by
blowing a man up sky-high, and end it by falling on his neck, as Ned
does.  I have done my best for Gerrard--more than Ned would have done,
too--in commending his conduct throughout this unfortunate affair, but
it don't seem to make him any happier."

"But you cannot think your brother would have taken the part of that
dreadful Sher Singh, love?"

"Ned would have seen the matter so wholly from Sher Singh's point of
view as to consider him justified in killing not only poor Charteris,
but Gerrard as well, for the offence of abducting his stepmother."

"Then when Edmund returns, will he insist on forcing the unfortunate
woman to go back?"

"No, my dear, he won't, for the very good reason that I have already
passed her safely across the Ghara.  But he will have a rod in pickle
for poor Gerrard, who seems to me to have quite enough to bear
already--what with his wounds and the loss of all his belongings, to
say nothing of the death of his friend."

"You don't think, James, that he feels himself to blame for poor Mr
Charteris's death?"

"He's an unreasonable idiot if he does," testily.  "As if he hadn't
done all that he could when he heard of it--insisting on mounting a
horse and going back to look for him!  When he very naturally fainted
again, his people were uncommon wise in continuing the journey and
bringing him here, and it's no reason for him to pull a long face.  A
broken arm and a complete suit of bruises ain't pleasant wear, but they
are mending, and the beggar has no business to mope as he does.  If
he's still in love with old Cinnamond's daughter, his path is clear
now, but they tell me he has made no attempt to see her."

"Ah!" said Mrs James thoughtfully.  "But he shall see her.  Leave it to
me, love.  Don't you think," with extreme innocence, "that it would be
cheering for the poor fellow if you invited him to sit in your
_dufter_[1] this evening?  He would not be in spirits to join the
party, of course, but the music might soothe him, and his friends could
go in and talk to him from time to time."

"He will be a sad kill-joy, my dear.  But consider the room at your
disposal for any nefarious projects of the kind."

"Nay, James, you must do your part.  Pray convey my compliments to him,
and tell him I shall be sadly vexed if he refuses to come.  He shall be
in complete retirement there, you may say, and can slip away when he
chooses."

"I will give him his orders.  Pray, is Miss Cinnamond's name to be
mentioned?"

"I think not.  I wish I could leave it to your discretion, love, but a
fine tact is not one of your shining virtues, is it?"

"No, ma'am."  James Antony was not at all aggrieved.  "To tell the
truth without fear or favour is enough for me."

"Then say nothing.  Stay--could you contrive to intimate that Sir
Arthur and his lady will be among the company?  That should serve to
prepare the young man's mind."

"I imagine I am capable of that, my dear."

And in truth, James Antony made the announcement with so much emphasis,
and in so meaning a tone, that Gerrard would have been dull indeed had
he missed its significance.  Before it came he had been fighting
against the duty of accepting Mrs Antony's invitation, but now his
opposition collapsed suddenly.  The rage for charades, which had
devastated English society for ten years or more, prevailed also in
India, and "Charades and Music" were promised in the corner of this
evening's card.  The host spoke his mind quite frankly on the nature of
the entertainment, which he termed "a set of young fools dressing up
and acting silly questions for old fools to answer," and assured
Gerrard that he thought no worse of him for holding back.  By way of
building a bridge for his retreat, however, he informed him that no
sight or sound of the charades could reach the _dufter_, and he wished
he himself could spend the evening there with him in peace and
quietness.  On receiving the tardy acceptance he departed hastily, much
pleased with the results of his diplomacy--which would hardly have been
the case had he been able to read the young man's mind.  One thing had
been plain to Gerrard from the first moment in which he realised fully
what Charteris's death would mean to him.  It set an absolute barrier
between Honour and himself.  He could no more take advantage of Bob's
removal from the field by an accident than if he had slain him with his
own hand.  Having assured himself of this night and day, in waking and
dreaming and semi-delirious moments, it had become such an immutable
fact that he felt it was time to make Honour aware of it.  He felt an
unaccountable pang on realising that she would immediately perceive its
reasonableness.

His first visitor in his retirement that evening was not Honour, but
Mrs Jardine, who believed honestly that she had a special gift for
cheering the sick.  Gerrard had always been her favourite of Honour's
two persistent suitors, and though she could not well in so many words
congratulate him on being left without a rival, there were a good many
heartening things that she could and did say.  After deprecating any
possible embarrassment on his part by assuring him that she came not
because she liked him, but because when one had a gift it was a duty to
use it, and it was a privilege to turn a gay and too probably heartless
occasion of this kind into a means of doing good, she passed to her
main object with a suddenness which would have seemed to some a little
abrupt.

"And you have not caught one glimpse of a certain young lady yet?"
Nods and becks and a mysterious archness of expression pointed the
question.  "My dear Mr Gerrard, she is handsomer than ever--in her own
style, of course; you may take an old woman's word for it."

"But where shall I find the old woman?" inquired Gerrard, in a
desperate attempt to do what was expected of him.

Highly pleased, Mrs Jardine gave him a tap with her fan.  "Oh, you
quiet young men are just as naughty as the rest--with your compliments,
indeed!  But if I were to repeat to you what a little bird told me, you
would never, never betray me?"  Earnest assurances on Gerrard's part.
"Well, then, I hear that Miss Cinnamond is not very happy at home!"

"I am sorry to hear it," said Gerrard mechanically.

Mrs Jardine looked a little nonplussed.  "Of course it is very sad,"
she admitted.  "But surely it has its brighter side?  The fact is, the
General and dear Lady Cinnamond are _everything_ to each other.  There
is really no place for the poor girl.  I confess she has made her
mother wear caps like other people--makes them for her herself, I
believe--instead of that extraordinary Popish veil--so like a nun's, I
call it--though even she has not been able to get her to do anything to
her hair."  Like most of her contemporaries, Mrs Jardine regarded it as
almost indecent to display grey or white hair, and herself wore a
"front" which could hardly be considered an attempt at deception, so
transparently artificial was it.

"You were saying something about caps?" hazarded Gerrard, as Mrs
Jardine remained silent, apparently sunk in contemplation of the
persistent defects of Lady Cinnamond's appearance.

"Oh yes, of course.  Dear me, what was it?  Oh, I remember.  Well, you
see, though it is very good and loving of her to do it"--Gerrard had to
cast his mind back to discover what "it" was--"and must be a great
saving of expense, with the Calcutta shops so frightfully dear, and
boxes from home quite out of the question--though on the General's pay
and allowances, of course----  Still, as I was saying, no parents with
any proper feeling would wish a girl to remain single just for that
reason, would they?  And she has had so many offers--which is only
natural in a society like this, with Sir Arthur's position and title
and everything.  It must be a great blow to him, I am sure, this honour
conferred on Colonel Antony."  Gerrard looked, as he felt, bewildered,
not seeing the connection, since Colonel Antony had no marriageable
daughter.  "Oh, you haven't heard that the dear Colonel has got his
K.C.B.?  They are all talking about it to-night--it was in the mail
that came in this afternoon."

"I have not had time to open any newspapers," said Gerrard wearily.  "I
am glad to hear it, if the Antonys are pleased."

"Of course a mere worldly distinction of that sort could never make any
real difference to dear Colonel Antony--Sir Edmund, I should say."  Mrs
Jardine's tone was severe.  "But as a token of his Sovereign's
approbation, it must raise his position among the people here."

"Nothing could ever raise Colonel Antony higher in the minds of the
people who really know him," said Gerrard.

"All the more reason that he should have this honour to recommend him
to those who do not," retorted Mrs Jardine triumphantly.  "That is
exactly what I was saying----  Dear me! what was I saying?  Oh, I
remember; we were discussing Lady Cinnamond's assumption of
superiority--just a little out of place in the case of a foreigner--you
agree with me?  Well, what I was going to say was, why should Miss
Cinnamond, who is not happy at home, refuse so many eligible suitors,
if it was not that her heart is already engaged?  There!  I mustn't
bore you any longer.  Why, you are looking quite excited!  Have I given
you just one little tiny crumb of comfort?  Don't thank me; doing
kindnesses is my only pleasure."

The lavender _moir� antique_ squeezed through the doorway with much
crackling of unseen starched flounces, but Gerrard had no time to
analyse the effect upon himself of the news he had received.  Sir
Arthur Cinnamond was his next visitor, confirming the news of Colonel
Antony's knighthood, and then came Captain Cowper to tell his chief
that the acting-Resident was asking for him, and lingering to thank
Gerrard, in the name of the whole Ranjitgarh force, for setting on foot
such a capital little war as that with Agpur was bound to prove.  The
officer sent to bring Sher Singh to book could get no satisfaction from
him, and was being kept fuming on the Agpur frontier in a most improper
way, so that a punitive expedition was a practical certainty, and if
Sir Arthur did not take the field in person, his son-in-law meant to
get himself attached to some one who did, even if he had to go back to
regimental employment.

"Marian is looking for you to take your part in this next syllable,
Charles," said a voice in the doorway, and Gerrard looked up with a
start to meet Honour's clear eyes.  Mrs Jardine's confidences had
inspired him with a wild hope that he might find in them something he
had not seen there before, but they met his with their usual bright
frankness.  He ought to have rejoiced, having regard to the compact he
had made with himself and with Charteris's memory, but such is the
inconsistency of human nature, that he did not.

"Horrid bore!" drawled Captain Cowper.  "Who would ever have thought of
their hunting me out here?  But I shall leave my sister-in-law to amuse
you, Gerrard, so you'll be the gainer."

There was no embarrassment in Honour's manner as she took the vacated
seat.  "I have been so very sorry to hear of your trouble," she said
gently, only waiting for Captain Cowper to depart.

She understood, then!  Was there any other girl in the world who would
have understood--that not the removal of a rival, but the loss of a
friend, was the dominant thought in Gerrard's mind?  He murmured his
thanks with difficulty.

"Would it hurt you to tell me about it?" she asked, and the flood-gates
were opened.  All the rankling memories which Gerrard could no more
have confided to James Antony than that worthy man could have
comprehended them if he had, all the unavailing self-reproach--"If I
had only done this!" "If I had not said that!"--all the
self-depreciation which the persistent dwelling on Charteris's
qualities produced naturally in the man who differed so much from him,
were poured into Honour's ear.

"And the very last evening I was fool enough to take offence because he
saw quicker than I did what was the right thing to be done!  Do you
think he turned rusty?  Not a bit of it.  He took it like a
brick--actually apologised for offering me advice!  There was never any
one like him."

"No, I suppose not," said Honour softly.  There were tears in her eyes,
but she did not ask herself whether Charteris's virtues or Gerrard's
account of them had brought them there.  She took it for granted that
it was the former, and spoke accordingly.

"And the worst of it is, we don't realise what our friends are until we
lose them," she murmured.

"No, indeed we don't.  One sees one's own unworthiness now, when it is
too late--when the remembrance of what he was makes a barrier for
ever----"

"A barrier--yes, of course; but a bond, too."  This was a state of mind
which Honour could thoroughly understand and appreciate.  A life-long
romantic friendship, absolutely precluded from becoming anything more,
was just what appealed to her.  It suggested what may be termed the
Rolandseck ideal--the hero retiring from the world to an eligible
hermitage, affording an extensive view of a desirably situated nunnery,
where the heroine was similarly secluded--which, with its peculiar
blending of religion and sentimentality, animated so many of her
favourite books.  "We can never forget that we have both known him, can
we?  You will tell me more about him, and we will keep his memory alive
when all the world has forgotten him."

Whether the relief of unburdening his mind had served to clear her
hearer's vision, or merely that the thought of the real Bob Charteris,
most unsentimental of men, obtruded itself in all its incongruity with
Honour's scheme for commemorating him, certain it is that instead of
being grateful to her for falling in so exactly with his wishes,
Gerrard was conscious of a distinct impatience.  Was there no flesh and
blood about the girl--no feeling, but merely sentiment?  All unknown to
himself, Gerrard had not been intending to suffer alone, and it was a
blow to discover that what had meant to him a real and terrible
renunciation was to her a mere matter of course, rather pleasurable
than otherwise.  He groaned as the truth forced itself upon him, and
Honour looked up in alarm.

"I have done you harm--tired you," she said anxiously.  "We must have
another talk when you are better.  I see my mother looking for me."

"Honour, it is time for us to go, dear," said Lady Cinnamond, coming
in, and looking "like other people," as Mrs Jardine had said, in a huge
halo of net and ribbon and flowers and blonde.  Honour might make her
mother's caps, but they had to be submitted for Sir Arthur's
approbation, and as he was strongly of the opinion that there was
nothing like roses for setting off a pretty face, the style was apt to
incline to the decorated rather than the classical.  Lady Cinnamond
spoke kindly to Gerrard, and expressed the hope that he would look in
now and then, glancing the while from him to Honour as though anxious
to find something in their faces that might guide her what to say, but
in vain.  In sheer bewilderment she appealed to her daughter when they
were alone.

"Tell me, Onora, did the poor fellow plead with you again to marry him?"

Honour turned quickly.  "Oh no, mamma--how could he?  Neither of us
could ever think of it now."

"That was what made you cry, then?"

"Mamma! why should it?  He was telling me about poor Mr Charteris, and
I realised how little I had known him.  I can say it to you, mamma--it
is a privilege to feel that such a man has cared for one."

"Then if he had lived you would have married him, my poor little one?"
cried her mother in dismay.

"How can I tell, mamma?  One finds out these things too late.  It is
always so, isn't it?"

"And the poor young man who is not dead?" there was a hint of
exasperation in Lady Cinnamond's voice.

"He doesn't dream of that sort of thing now.  We shall always be
friends, but never anything more."

"My dearest little foolish one, there are moments when I would gladly
take you by the shoulders and shake you!" cried Lady Cinnamond in
vehement Spanish.  Catching her daughter's astonished eye, she calmed
herself forcibly and spoke in English.  "If you had seen that poor
young man's face as you left the room, as I did, Honour, you would know
what nonsense you are talking.  Refuse him if you must, but don't keep
him in torture."

"Dear mamma, you don't understand.  Things are different now----"

"From what they were when I was a girl?  I agree!  And I prefer them as
they used to be.  There were your father and I, and his friends and my
family trying to prevent our marriage.  There were other men in the
world, doubtless, but for me they simply did not exist.  And we
married, and people considered us very romantic.  But to be romantic
now, it seems, you must persist in remaining unmarried for the sake of
a very worthy young man for whom you cared not a straw when he was
alive!"

"I can't explain it, mamma.  But one has one's feelings----"

"Quite so.  And the poor Mr Gerrard has his also.  But those you do not
consider."

Gerrard's ill-used feelings were still unhealed a week later, when Sir
Edmund Antony, learning of the imminent danger of war with Agpur,
descended from the hills like a whirlwind to take command of the
situation, and incidentally to upset as many as possible of his
brother's arrangements.  Having learnt all that Gerrard could tell him
of the circumstances, he took occasion, while his secretary was at work
on the fresh orders he had hastily drafted to Nisbet, the political
officer in charge of the negociations with Sher Singh, to speak on more
personal matters.

"I am sorry to see this continued depression of spirits on your part,
Gerrard.  The sin of despondency is one to which I myself am so
conspicuously prone that I dare lose no opportunity of warning others
against it."

"Forgive me, sir.  Our conversation has led me to recall things so
vividly----"

"True.  But you feel, as you have assured me, that our friend Charteris
fell in a good cause?"

"There could be no better, sir.  But if only I could have died instead
of him!"

Sir Edmund frowned.  "These things are not in our hands.  If
Charteris's work was done, no efforts of yours or mine could have saved
him.  If your work is not done, all the powers of hell could not
prevail to bring about your death."

"But his work was not complete, sir.  There was so much in him that no
one realised--he had had no opportunity to display it.  You and I, and
one other person, have some faint idea of what he really was, but no
one else can possibly know--the world can never know."

Colonel Antony pushed back his papers.  "And what then?" he asked
sharply.  "How dare you say that his work was not complete because the
world knew nothing of it?  The world!  The world does not make a man
great, any more than it is the world's recognition that makes his work
valuable.  The value of the work lies in the spirit in which it is
done.  I tell you"--he spoke as though to himself, with a far-away look
in his eyes--"I have seen something of work and the world's recognition
of it.  You know the interest that I take in the history of our people
in India, how my wife and I are always poking and prying among old
manuscripts and records wherever we go.  I have found there the
histories of scores of forgotten heroes--men whose names, in any other
service or any other country, would have been inscribed upon the
nation's roll of honour.  They marched half across India--hostile
country, every foot of the way--at the head of a few hundred men, and
faced and fought the might of empires at the end.  They captured cities
single-handed, and ruled them afterwards, and they pacified whole
provinces, in spite of famine and plague and fever.  Oh, they got their
recognition--the thanks of the Directors, sometimes even of Parliament,
swords of honour and trash of that kind.  But who remembers even their
names now?  You will find their graves sometimes, neglected and
defaced, in deserted cantonments, or the remains of their great
bungalows grown over with jungle, and perhaps a legend or two will be
hanging about among the natives--silly superstitious things, of no
value in recalling the man as he was.  They did their work, and good
work--completed work, as you would say--and they had their recognition,
but they are no more remembered now than Charteris will be next year,
except by you and one or two more.  Ah, Gerrard, we are all very
anxious to see our names carved on the stones that men may remember us,
but we have to learn that it is enough if God deigns even to build our
bodies into the wall.  If Charteris did well what he was permitted to
do, he could have done no more if he had lived a hundred years."

The rapt gaze faltered, and the soldier-mystic became the keen
administrator once more.

"How much longer are you to be on the sick-list, Gerrard?  I am going
to send you to Darwan."

"I shall not be able to use this arm for some time, sir.  Otherwise the
doctor said he would let me off in another week.  But you were not
suggesting that I should take up Charteris's work?"

"That is exactly what I do suggest.  I have no other man to send, and
no other place at this moment that is crying out for you.  I should not
send you to Agpur again, and you would hardly wish to go, I imagine.
What is your objection to Darwan?"

"Simply that it was his work, sir.  We were so different in every
way--I had rather try almost anything else----"

"Do you wish to decline the post?"

"If you send me to Darwan, sir, I shall go."

"I am not going to order you to Darwan.  There is another post, by the
bye, that you can have if you choose, with less responsibility and an
easier life.  Old Sadiq Ali of Habshiabad has been plaguing me for an
officer to help him to train his army and pull the state together
generally.  He is a stiff-necked old ruffian, but it is a soft berth
compared with Darwan.  You are at liberty to choose that if you please,
but if you are the man I take you for you will select Darwan and carry
on the work that Charteris began.  I leave it in your hands."

"I will take Darwan, sir.  I don't expect to succeed, but I will do my
best."



[1] Office, study.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.

The secretary came in with his hands full of papers, and Gerrard left
the office, hardly knowing whither he went.  James Antony, sitting in
his shirt-sleeves among the records of his interrupted labours in
another room, took a huge cheroot out of his mouth and called to him as
he passed, but he muttered something unintelligible and hurried on.  Up
and down the stone-paved courtyard he paced, much to the perturbation
of the sentry at the gateway, who found the form of madness with which
the Sahib must be afflicted difficult to classify.  Gerrard was
wrestling with himself and with the impulse to throw up political
employment altogether and go back to the routine work of his
profession.  When he and Charteris left Ranjitgarh together, he had
envied his friend, and wished that his work also lay in the open air
and among unsophisticated children of nature.  But now the environment
in which he had spent the past year had left its traces on him,
heightening his natural tendency to proceed by sap and mine rather than
by direct assault, and rendering him still less ready than before to
cut Gordian knots when by any conceivable expenditure of time and
patience they might ultimately be undone.  In other words, his Agpur
training had improved his fitness for work of the same kind, but left
him worse adapted than before for the rough and ready methods necessary
for the ruler of Darwan.  And he was to succeed Charteris, whose
success in these very rough and ready methods had been pre-eminent, and
who would much have preferred to do the wrong thing at once rather than
the right thing after a lengthy pause.

So much engrossed was Gerrard in his meditations that the jingling and
clanking that told of the arrival of a party of horsemen at the gate of
the Residency failed to attract his notice, and it was not until, as he
turned in his backward and forward march, he came face to face with Bob
Charteris sitting on his horse in the moonlight and solemnly regarding
him, that he realised he was no longer alone.  He stood speechless.

"Thought I'd wait and see how long you could keep it up--brown study as
usual!" cried Charteris.  "Why, I believe the beggar takes me for a
ghost!  Hal, old boy!" bending from the saddle he bestowed on Gerrard a
most unghostly clap on the shoulder.  "I'm come back to plague you; do
you twig--eh?"

"Bob!" cried Gerrard, shaking hands with him rapturously.  "My dear old
fellow, I never was so glad in my life!"

"And I believe the fool really is glad, instead of having been thankful
that his hated rival was safely out of the way," said Charteris
compassionately.

"Glad is no word for it," said Gerrard.  "Come and tell me all about
yourself.  I'm in the old place--you'll chum with me as usual, of
course?"

"I believe you, my boy!  But I must satisfy the natural curiosity of
the higher powers first.  I suppose it's true, as they told me at the
gate, that the Colonel has come down like a wolf on the fold, and
sneaked the conduct of affairs out of the hands of our Mr James?"

"Yes, he is here.  You know he's got his K.C.B.?"

"Wish he had stayed up in the hills with it, then.  I don't admire
James Antony's taste in jokes, but his heavy hand appeals to me in
connection with Sher Singh.  Now I am afraid the erring brother will be
received with tears of joy and forgiven on the spot and coddled
afterwards, and I wanted him kept in suspense for a bit and then put on
probation.  He has given me some precious unpleasant moments, I can
tell you.  Well, you go off and prepare fatted calf and any other
suitably symbolical prog you may have at hand, and I'll turn up as soon
as I can."

Munshi Somwar Mal was in waiting to escort Charteris to his quarters
when he emerged from his interview with the Resident, and greeted him
with genuine pleasure.

"Now do the nightingales sing once more in the groves of friendship!"
he remarked.  "Verily for Jirad Sahib the flame of joy has of late
burned low in the lamp of life, but now the oil of Chatar Sahib's
presence will replenish it until it illuminates all Granthistan."

With similar flowery compliments he beguiled the whole way, and
Charteris noted with admiration that he did not once repeat his
metaphors.  On the well-remembered verandah Gerrard's servant was
putting the finishing touches to the supper-table, to furnish which he
had raided the Resident's larder and suborned his cook, and Charteris
threw himself into a chair with a sigh of satisfaction.  Gerrard,
moving things about energetically inside to make room for him, called
out that he would come in a moment, and presently emerged and sat down
opposite him.

"Well, this is just what I like--and a few over," remarked Charteris
contentedly.  "So I hear you are going to sneak my job, old boy?"

"I shall hand it back to you with the utmost pleasure, Bob, as you can
well guess.  But tell me how it is you are here at all."

Charteris assumed a deeply sententious manner.  "You are not wholly
unacquainted with the literature of our vivacious kindred across the
Atlantic, I believe, Hal?  Well, do you know the expression 'playing
possum'? because that's what I did.  I got a glancing bullet across my
forehead, where this imposing scar is, just here, which stunned me at
first, and must have made a ghastly-looking wound, but the
unconsciousness didn't last more than a minute or two.  At least,
that's what I gather from seeing my precious Darwanis in full flight
when I got the blood out of my eyes.  Their way of conducting a retreat
was always to fire a volley and then run away helter-skelter, and
though I had been teaching them better manners, I always knew they
would break if I wasn't there to stiffen them.  I was a good deal
knocked about, besides the wound on the head, and before I could manage
to roll into the bushes, Sher Singh's men were back.  I thought it well
to appear more dead than I was, especially when I saw them going round
and finishing off all our wounded that they could find.  They were in a
great hurry, and I gathered that your men had driven them off, and they
felt it advisable to make themselves scarce.  I was in full view,
unluckily, and expected to get the _coup de gr�ce_ every moment, but
when they came to me they took me up without troubling to see whether I
was alive or not, and threw me over a horse.  It was not what you would
call a luxurious mode of travelling, and twice I managed to drop off,
feet first, hoping they would leave me lying where I was and go on in
disgust.  They were disgusted--highly, but their remarks made it clear
that Sher Singh had ordered you and me to be brought in dead or alive,
preferably alive, so I condescended to exhibit signs of life, and they
hoisted me up behind one of them.  That was an uncommon disagreeable
ride, I can tell you."

"I started to come back and look for you, Bob, but I couldn't get far
enough."

"Of course you couldn't.  Why, this alone"--he touched the sling of
Gerrard's broken arm--"shows that you were much worse hurt than I was.
But I was pretty well done for, and a most gruesome object, when we
came up with Sher Singh.  His manners ain't exactly ingratiating at the
best of times, as you have more than once remarked to me, but when he
saw my unlucky hair, his language was positively improper.  You see, it
was my misfortune--and your very good fortune, I'm inclined to
think--that I wasn't you.  He even sent for water and had some of the
blood washed off my face, to make sure, I suppose, that we hadn't
exchanged wigs in the hope of deceiving him, and when he was quite sure
who I wasn't, I expected nothing better than to be cut into little bits
there and then.  But some one ventured to suggest something, and he
came at me with great fury and demanded whether I knew where Partab
Singh's hidden treasure was.  I know I ought to have struck a heroic
attitude and refused to speak, but as a matter of fact, I fainted.  It
was horribly ill-timed, for Sher Singh is bound to believe for ever
that it was sheer terror of his alarming aspect that did it, but it was
precious fortunate for me, for when I woke up I was in a palanquin, and
they had tied up my head and looked after me a bit.  Dear, good,
sympathetic souls! how they did try to make things pleasant for
me--always dinning into my ears that Sher Singh was fattening me for
the slaughter--the torture, I mean!  They used to congregate outside
and discuss tortures in the halts, when I might have had a chance to
get a little sleep if there had been any air, like a whole regiment of
Fat Boys."

"If we had only known you were alive, Bob!"

"Oh, don't think _I'm_ trying to make your flesh creep.  All's well
that ends well, and it's a useful experience to have been through.
Shows a fellow he can stand a good deal more than he ever thought he
could, I mean.  But perhaps it was just as well it was me and not you."

"Complimentary, as usual!"  Gerrard's laugh was a little forced.

"It's merely a question of nerves, old boy.  You would have been
picturing the details over and over again when the beggars were not
talking about 'em, whereas I was able to put them out of my mind.
Well, we got to Agpur at last, and once in the palace, Sher Singh set
to work to try kindness.  He let me take up my quarters--watched day
and night, of course--in your old Residency, which looks a good deal
the worse for wear since you left it.  The servants you left in charge
seem to have taken first choice when they heard you were hardly likely
to come back, and then the palace servants and the guards had their
turn.  Your books were all torn to pieces--they must have thought you
had gold-leaf hidden between the pages--and scattered all about the
place.  I camped in the ruins, and Sher Singh came to see me twice.  He
talked to me like a man and a brother, pointed out how important it was
for him to find the treasure, what a guarantee of peace it would be,
and how he was obviously the rightful owner now that his father and
brother were dead.  I agreed with him in everything, but declined
respectfully to say whether I knew where it was or not.  When he
proceeded to threats, I told him that he must think me as big a fool as
I was beginning to consider him.  I was not going to tell him whether I
knew the secret, because if I did know it, he would at once begin to
make things very unpleasant for me, and if I didn't, he might kill me
as useless.  On the other hand, he could not proceed to extremities
while he was still uncertain, because if I knew the hiding-place, he
would have killed the goose that laid the golden eggs, and if I didn't,
he would have thrown away uselessly his one chance of placating Antony.
That was just when Nisbet was beginning to thunder at the gates of
Agpur--or rather, a good way off them--so it appealed to him.  Of
course the flaw in the argument was that if he knew his business, his
torturer might contrive to extract the answer to the question, and the
secret, without killing me, but I had to treat that possibility as
absolutely non-existent.  Still, he found out the secret at last."

"Bob!" cried Gerrard anxiously.

"Sold again.  This was how he did it.  After dogging me all over the
place, trying to discover by my face where the treasure might be
hidden, they hit upon a new plan, by which, if the worst came to the
worst, they could produce my body quite free from marks of violence,
and so satisfy Antony.  It was a fiendish thing, Hal.  As soon as ever
I went to sleep, day or night, they woke me up, and asked me if I knew
where the treasure was.  I stood it for two days and nights, but if it
had gone on, I swear to you I must have given in; I was pretty near mad
then.  But curiously enough, Sher Singh discovered the treasury for
himself in an odd sort of way.  You know the great tank where the lotus
grows?  Well, one of Sher Singh's ladies brought some gold-fish with
her from Adamkot and turned them into it.  The fish all died--change of
diet, I suppose, but she swore that the deaf and dumb boatman had
killed them.  It was clearly a case of 'Off with his head!' for the
poor wretch couldn't defend himself, but he made signs that if they
would let him off he would show them something.  They were open to a
deal, and he took them across to the thicket of bamboos, and showed
them the door in the wall, making them understand somehow that old
Partab Singh used to go that way often at night.  They lost the scent
when they found that the door only led down to the wild beasts' pit,
but picked it up again by a very pretty bit of deduction.  It was quite
certain that the treasury couldn't be under the pit or under the tank,
so that the passage leading to it must pass between them, and it must
lie in the direction either of the palace or the Residency.  They broke
ground in the Residency direction first, sinking two or three shafts in
likely places, while I watched them with great interest, and asked
intelligent questions.  It was the one way I had of getting a little
bit even with them for what they were doing to me.  They held to the
Residency theory because they couldn't see otherwise how you managed to
get at the treasure for paying the soldiers without being discovered,
but Sher Singh never believed in it much.  Once when he was a small boy
his father let him come with him into the ordinary treasury under the
zenana, and he heard what sounded to him like men working underground
not very far off.  He couldn't make out where the sound came from, and
his father diddled him with some fairy-tale to account for it, but now
he remembered.  So he had every inch of the treasury walls examined,
and they came on the air-hole looking into the passage.  Then they had
only to break down the wall between, and there they were--and I give
you my word for it, Hal, I was thankful!  When they were all busy
watching what was being done, and the gold was being handed up through
a shaft that they dug, I just dropped down and went to sleep.  It
wasn't for long, but when I woke up I felt fit to face Sher Singh or
the devil himself."

"Pretty much the same thing, after all," said Gerrard grimly.

"I should rayther think so!  But the worst was over.  It seems that
they were uncommon disappointed in the amount of the treasure.  They
expected sufficient to make them all rich for life, and there was only
just about enough to settle Sher Singh comfortably on the _gaddi_."

"Just what I calculated--only it was for poor little Kharrak Singh."

"Well, they held palaver upon palaver to decide whether they should
hang the expense and plump for immediate war, beginning upon me.
Everybody talked very big about wanting to fight, but nobody really
cared about it.  The army have plenty of money left for the present,
and want to spend it, and the secret messengers sent to see whether the
Granthis generally would join in a rising against the English were not
encouraging.  It'll be just as well for Antony to know that they look
forward to a shindy before very long, but they ain't equal to kicking
it up in cold blood just yet.  The council had no illusions as to the
possibility of the Agpuris making head against us without allies, and
your old friend Dwarika Nath, who has come back as Diwan, was very
strong on the need of prudence."

"The old reprobate!" cried Gerrard.  "Master and man are pretty well
matched."

"So I should guess.  At last they did me the honour to call me into
consultation.  There was no parade of tenderness for my feelings, but
they did make it clear that while every man of them would have made it
his particular business to see that you underwent the longest and most
uncomfortable death that could be had, they considered me not half a
bad sort.  Therefore they did their best to frighten me into promising
them all sorts of concessions in Antony's name, and all I could do was
to invite them to kill me at once, since that would be far less painful
to my feelings than the consequences that would follow if I attempted
to negotiate treaties on my own responsibility.  At the same time I
dropped a hint that since the murder of a British officer was a
prominent count in the bill Nisbet was presenting, it would undoubtedly
be an extenuating circumstance if the said officer could be produced
alive and only superficially damaged.  We wrangled a good bit, but at
last I agreed to act as mediator on the basis of the execution of
Kharrak Singh's murderers, the retention by the Rani of her _jaghirs_
or their equivalent in cash, and a settlement of the frontier
question--all of them bitter pills for the Agpuris to swallow, but
indispensable, I assured them, if their professions of goodwill were to
be accepted."

"The execution of Kharrak Singh's murderers!  You were pretty cool to
demand that, and they must have been mad, or pretty well desperate, to
grant it."

"Why, you have picked out the easiest condition of the lot.  His
official murderers, I mean.  They confessed, four of them--what they
were paid for doing it I don't know--and I saw them blown from guns
myself.  But paying the Rani's jointure--that was a bitter pill, I
grant you.  I had to engage that any jewels or cash in her possession
when she dies--a natural death, of course, understood--shall return to
Sher Singh, before he would promise, and even then it was like bleeding
him white.  And the rectification of the frontier, on which Antony laid
such stress in his instructions to Nisbet, will be opposed by all Agpur
when they hear of it.  I hope our Mr James may be in power again when
it comes to be settled, to carry it through by sheer strength of will,
for I should be very sorry to be in charge of the negotiations unless I
had overwhelming force at hand in support."

"I suppose there's no doubt that Sir Edmund will accept Sher Singh's
submission on these terms?" asked Gerrard gloomily.

"None whatever, I should say, judging by the way he received them just
now."

"And this is the end of it, then!  Sher Singh gets all he wanted at the
price of a few rupees to the heirs of the _badmashes_ he has bribed to
take his guilt upon them."

"My dear fellow, you can prove nothing against him, and we have no
power to bring him to trial.  I believe you and I are fated to be the
instruments of exemplary vengeance upon him eventually, ain't we,
according to the Rani?  Till then we must be content to see him
flourishing like the green bay-tree."

"But we need not supply the bay-tree with water and the soil that suits
it, and with a gardener to look after it and railings to keep off the
goats," grumbled Gerrard.

"Oh, you are getting too horrid technical for me," said Charteris, with
a yawn.  "I don't know what you feel about turning in, Hal, but your
unfortunate servants will certainly think they ain't going home till
morning.  I have been riding all day, you know."

Gerrard laughed, and the sitting broke up.  The two friends hardly saw
each other the next day, so closely was Charteris closeted with Sir
Edmund Antony and his brother, discussing the affairs of Agpur, and
when he was released, Gerrard was sent for, to throw the light of his
experience on the present situation.  It was dark when he got back to
his quarters, and he started when Charteris bounced up out of the
depths of a long chair.

"I thought you were never coming!  Hal, I've seen her."

His tone was so instinct with rapture that Gerrard's heart stood still.
"Where?" he asked hoarsely.

"At the band.  Driving with her mother.  Lady Cinnamond was uncommon
kind--let me ride on her side of the carriage.  Hal, she
blushed--blushed when she saw me!  She was looking stunning--so pale
and cool; she never has much colour in her cheeks, has she?  She had on
one of those worked muslin gowns, and a big floppy hat with black
streamers to it, and black velvet round her neck--nothing pink or blue
to take your eyes from her face."

"Yes?" muttered Gerrard, as Charteris paused in blissful contemplation
of the picture he had evoked.

"Yes? oh, that was all.  I rode beside her, and looked at her, and her
hand lay on the side of the carriage quite close to me--I wanted to
kiss it, but I didn't dare.  And she let me hold it for a moment when I
bade them good-day--at least, perhaps she didn't let me, but I did,
anyhow--and she blushed, blushed divinely."

Gerrard sprang up and paced the verandah hastily.  Charteris woke from
his dream of bliss.

"Old boy, I'm sorry--'pon my word I am.  But after all, she is free to
choose, ain't she?  With any other girl one wouldn't think much of a
blush.  But one never sees her change colour, and I came upon her
suddenly, so she couldn't have been thinking of me before.  I thought
old Sir Arthur would never have done with congratulating me on my
escape, and that sort of thing--and a man can't be rude to his
prospective papa-in-law, can he?  But when I saw the greys coming down
the drive, and the two parasols in the carriage--why, I made myself
scarce in no time, and the old boy positively beamed upon my departure."

"And having made sure of the lady and her parents both, when do you
propose to clinch the matter?" demanded Gerrard savagely.

Charteris looked at him in surprise.  "Why, Hal, you don't imagine that
I meant to run away from our compact?  We'll draw lots who shall speak
first exactly as we arranged.  Unless"--with sudden fierce
suspicion--"you took your opportunity when you thought I was dead?"

"Bob!" cried Gerrard, so reproachfully that his friend could not doubt
him.  "I had given up all thoughts of it.  I never went near her
without talking of you."

"Oh!" said Charteris rather blankly.  "I hope you haven't made her
think I'm like a brute in a poetry-book?  Because if so, she'll be
disappointed."

"I can't help what she thinks," growled Gerrard.  "I told her nothing
that wasn't true."

"I don't suppose you did.  But it's the finishing touches that count in
these things, my boy.  And if she chooses to fit me out with a halo and
a pedestal--why, when she discovers the truth, I shall really be
_finished off_.  But after all," with reviving cheerfulness, "it ain't
my fault if she is kind enough to endow me with imaginary virtues.  She
blushed, anyhow.  And when a girl accepts a man, it's as if she gave
him leave to teach her the difference between creatures in books, and
fellows as they are.  And if she's agreeable, why, so am I; with all my
heart, says I.  That's my theory."

"Bob, you are really in earnest?  It isn't one of your jokes?"

"Jokes, indeed!" said Charteris, in high dudgeon.  "I'll show you how
much in earnest I am, Lieutenant Henry Gerrard.  We'll go to business
to-morrow, if you please."

"Then you wish to draw the lots to-night?"

"No, don't let us have any melodramatic nonsense with straws, or bits
of wood of different lengths.  We'll go down to the gateway to-morrow
between one and two, when there's scarcely a creature about, and one
shall look up the street, and the other down.  Whoever can count twenty
human beings first shall have first right to speak.  Are you agreeable?"

"All serene.  But what if we both call out at once?"

"Try again, of course.  It ain't likely to happen twice.  The sentry
will think we have got a wager on, so there won't be any fuss."

      *      *      *      *      *      *

Charteris proved successful in the counting competition, announcing his
twenty while Gerrard had only reached seventeen.  As he was dining with
the Cinnamonds that night, the fates seemed to be propitious.  But when
Gerrard came back from supping with the James Antonys, he found his
friend reclining on the verandah, in an attitude suggestive of
despondency.

"Sold again!" said a sepulchral voice from the recesses of the long
chair.

"You don't mean that she has refused you, Bob?"

"Oh, don't I?" the voice suggested something more than sulkiness.  "If
I don't, I'm very much mistaken.  She told me that I wasn't what she
expected, in a way that implied I was a very poor creature indeed.  If
that was acceptance, all I can say is, I hope you may be accepted too!"




CHAPTER XV.

MUTTERINGS OF THE STORM.

"Onora, my dearest little one, have you anything to tell me?"  Unable
to bear the suspense any longer, Lady Cinnamond had pursued her
daughter to her room.

"No, mamma; only that he is gone."

"But you have not sent him away?"

"I told him again that I could not marry him."

"But I thought you cared for him!"  Lady Cinnamond's regret was not
unmixed with indignation.  "When you thought he was dead, you said----"

It was Honour's turn to be indignant.  "I said I couldn't tell, mamma.
And I don't like him as much now as I did when I thought he was dead."

"These poor young men!" lamented her mother.  "Then is the unfortunate
Mr Gerrard to be made happy at last?  Or is it some one else?"

"It isn't any one!" cried Honour hotly.  "Is it my fault if they will
want to marry me?  I am sure I have made it clear to them over and over
again that I don't want to marry anybody."

"My child, that is a thing that nothing will make clear to a man," said
her mother solemnly--"especially when it is plain that you take
pleasure in his society."

"But I don't.  Mamma, I never told you, but long ago, more than a year,
I lent _Sintram_ to Mr Charteris, without telling him how fond I was of
it.  He gave it back to me all smelling of smoke, and said that he
couldn't make head or tail of it, but it struck him as uncommon silly."

"But, my dear, surely that ought to have warned you that your tastes
were not congenial.  What can have made you think your feelings had
changed?"

"Oh, mamma, I don't know."  Honour paused for a moment, then hurried
on.  "One doesn't remember that kind of thing when a person is dead,
you know.  And there seemed to be so many nice points about him that I
had never guessed----"

"But which Mr Gerrard brought out?  Well, your objection can't
apply----"  Lady Cinnamond broke off hastily.  "I won't worry you any
more to-night, dear."

"Good-night, mamma.  I am sorry I was cross."

Lady Cinnamond left her reluctantly, for the rest of the family were on
the tiptoe of expectation to hear what had happened, and she had
earnestly hoped to be able to silence their jeers with the announcement
that Honour was engaged like other people.

"Well, mamma, is he coming to see papa in the morning?" demanded Mrs
Cowper eagerly, as soon as her mother appeared.

"No, dear; I am sorry to say she has refused him again."

"Fastidious little puss!" chuckled Sir Arthur.  "Faith! it'll be the
other that will come to-morrow."

"Isn't Honour a queer quizzical sort of girl?" inquired Mrs Cowper
earnestly of her parents.  "Do you think she will accept Mr Gerrard,
mamma?"

"My dear, I am afraid to say, but I should fear not."

"Why should she, if she don't want him?" said Sir Arthur briskly.
"Rosita, I don't like to see this eagerness to get rid of your
daughters.  It reflects badly upon your bringing-up of them, ma'am."

"Oh no, papa; how can you say so?  It speaks well for mamma's happiness
in her married life."

"I see Charles hasn't cured you of your pertness yet, miss--ma'am, I
should say.  Poor fellow!  I wonder if I ought to have told him what he
was bringing upon himself?"

Justice demanded that Marian should immediately rise and pull her
father's hair, but in the middle of the operation she paused
tragically.  "Something has just struck me," she said.  "Why do we all
take it for granted that Honour must end by marrying one of these two
men?  It may be some one we have never thought of that she really cares
for."

"My dear, don't imagine fresh complications," said her mother in alarm.
"All the available young men have proposed, so that she could have had
any one she liked."

"Perhaps she was afraid of her cruel father," suggested Mrs Cowper,
deftly arranging Sir Arthur's hair into a curl in the middle of his
forehead.  "Don't touch that, papa, whatever you do.  I want Charley to
see it; it will give him a new view of your character.  Of course it is
the persistence of these two men that makes you feel that one of them
is fated to succeed.  Others come and others go, but they go on for
ever."

"Perhaps it would be as well to forbid them both the house," suggested
her victimised father.

"Not both at once, papa!  Why, neither we nor Honour should ever know
which was the right one, if they were both shut out together.  You must
do it in turn."

"And after making one welcome for a week or so, pick a quarrel with him
and install the other?  Precious undignified, my dear child, but a man
must make sacrifices for the sake of his family."

"Ah, but that's just what you don't do!" cried Marian, roused to
recollection of a grievance of her own.  "How could you all but promise
Charley that if a peaceful mission was sent to Agpur, he should command
the escort?"

"But surely, my dear, I was sacrificing my own comfort in promising to
spare him?"

"No, you were sacrificing me!" pouted his daughter.  "I was making
signs to you the whole time, not to let him go unless he would take me
with him, and he won't.  He has been horrid about it."

"My dear Marian, you could not possibly go, with the hot weather coming
on!" cried her mother, aghast.

"Nor in any weather whatever," said Sir Arthur firmly.  "Your signals
were lost on me, Marian, but nothing would induce me to consent to your
going to Agpur.  The place is clearly in a most disturbed state, and
the good faith of the new Rajah extremely doubtful."

"Then don't let Charley go," was the prompt rejoinder.

Sir Arthur raised his eyebrows.  "You must settle that with your
husband yourself, my dear.  I have promised to allow him leave for the
purpose if he wishes it."

"And he will say that you are depending on him to command the escort,
and I must settle it with you!" complained Marian.  "And nobody really
thinks about me at all."

"My dear, it will be an excellent opportunity for Charles to bring
himself into notice, whether the progress of the mission is peaceable
or not.  And if he goes, you and Honour shall have a run up to the
hills, if Lady Antony will be so good as to look after you.  But at
present it is quite uncertain whether a mission will be despatched at
all.  We may have war instead."

"Well, I think you might send one of Honour's young men, papa," said
Marian, half crying.  "She doesn't care about either of them, and if
anything happened to Charley I should die."

"Oh, my dear, we will hope she cares for Mr Gerrard," interposed Lady
Cinnamond hastily, seeing her husband's brow grow thunderous.  Marian
had transgressed the unwritten law which forbade the General's
womankind to meddle in the slightest degree with his professional
appointments, and had added to her misdeeds by weeping.

"She doesn't.  I don't believe she has it in her.  You'll see,
to-morrow," and with this Parthian shot Mrs Cowper quitted the room in
tears, meanly leaving her mother to allay the tempest she had raised.
On the morrow poor Lady Cinnamond was almost tempted to think as she
did with regard to Honour, for Gerrard, putting his fortune to the
touch without, as he assured himself, the slightest hope of success,
met the same fate as his friend.  Perhaps his way of broaching the
subject was unfortunate.

"Our lamentations over Charteris were rather premature, weren't they?"
he asked her, with an assumption of lightness which suited her mood as
little as his.

"How could you mislead me so dreadfully about him?" demanded Honour,
moved to indignation by her wrongs.

"Mislead you?  Why, I never said a word that wasn't true!"  Gerrard was
unfeignedly surprised.

"I suppose not," she admitted unwillingly.  "But you dwelt only on his
good points, and I--I almost thought I had misjudged him.  But when I
saw him there was no difference.  He brought a smell of smoke into the
room with him, and talked slang, just as he always did."

"But why should one recall obvious things like that?  Would you have
had me try to belittle him to you--if you must think worse of a man for
such trifles as smoking and using slang?"

"Trifles in your estimation, perhaps; not in mine."

"Well, at any rate it shows you can't care for him," said Gerrard
despairingly, "or you wouldn't notice them."

"I consider that remark extremely rude and uncalled-for," said Honour,
with spirit.  "You have no right whatever to pass judgment upon my
feelings."

"Pardon me, but how can I help it?  Perhaps you mean that if Bob left
off slang and smoking he would be all right?"

"And if I did, how would it concern you?"

"Oh, merely that I think you ought to tell him, or let me."

"You think he would do it?"

"Like winkin'.  Oh, I _beg_ your pardon.  I would, I know, just as I
would do any mortal thing you cared to ask me.  Ask me, Honour.  Can't
you give me a bit of hope?"

"How can I?  You would not be satisfied--either of you--if I said I
would marry you just to escape from unpleasantness of this kind.  I
mean"--hastily, as she caught sight of his face--"I dislike so much
hurting people's feelings, but with you and Mr Charteris I seem able to
do nothing else.  If you would only both take my answer as final, and
let us all be happy and friendly together as we were before this idea
came into your minds!"

"We weren't," said Gerrard doggedly.  "I was introduced to you two days
before Charteris was, and all that time I was in terror, guessing what
would happen as soon as he saw you.  And sure enough, he raved about
you all night, until I put a stop to it by throwing things across the
room."

"Please don't tell me things of that kind," said Honour, her colour
rising.  "They do not interest me.  You have a great influence over Mr
Charteris.  Why not use it to make him see things sensibly, and give up
these attempts?"

"Because I wouldn't do it myself.  If you could say that you felt the
least kindness towards one of us, then the other would withdraw--or
towards any one else, then both of us, I hope, would do the proper
thing and leave him in peace.  But while there's still a fair
chance--why, I shall hold on, and so will old Bob, if I know anything
of him."

"That is exactly what Mr Charteris said," remarked Honour musingly.
"Well, I am very sorry, and I wish I could get you to look at things
more sensibly, but really it is not my fault."

"You can't even hold out any hope for the future?"

"It would merely be unkindness if I did.  If you would only----"

"No, please, that's enough," said Gerrard, and withdrew.  Charteris was
waiting for him on their verandah.

"By the look of gloom on your ingenuous countenance, Hal----" he began.

"Oh, _bus, bus_[1]!" said Gerrard wearily.  "Yes, old boy, we're in the
same boat, as before."

"There's one comfort, she won't get her bachelor Governor-General for
some time," remarked Charteris; "for this man Blairgowrie that they're
sending out is married."

"I hate stale jokes!" muttered Gerrard.

"You seem to have come off rather worse than I did.  Look here, Hal;
I'm going to propose a modification of our agreement.  I've had first
try this time, and next time you shall have it, without drawing lots.
It's precious hard on you, if you are the right man, that you should
only be able to approach her when she's already been rubbed the wrong
way by my impudent pretensions."

"I ain't the right man.  No one is.  But you're a good chap, Bob, and
I'm not too proud to accept with thanks.  At this moment, I confess it,
I don't feel as if I should ever summon up courage to come to the
scratch again, but no doubt it'll be different in a year or so."

"I believe you, my boy--especially when you know that if you don't take
your chance, I shall.  But what stately form comes this way?  Our Mr
James, as I live!"

"I happened to be passing, and I thought I would look in to tell you
that it has been settled about Agpur," said James Antony, depositing
his massive form in the chair vacated for him.  "What! ain't there room
for me unless you stand, Charteris?  Shocking the luxury in which you
young fellows live nowadays!  Well, I'm glad the business is finished
somehow, since my brother will perhaps be contented to trot peaceably
back to the hills, but I can't say that your friend Sher Singh has got
anything like his deserts.  He is to be recognised and, within
reasonable limits, supported, provided he fulfils certain not very
onerous conditions.  Nisbet is to visit Agpur City and settle the
preliminaries of the frontier business and the affair of the Rani Gulab
Kur's jointure, and will probably remain there as Resident.  Well,
well! if Sher Singh ain't loyal to us in future, he ought to be!"

"I hope Nisbet will have a strong escort, sir," Gerrard ventured to
say, emboldened by the speaker's evident, though unexpressed,
dissatisfaction with the arrangement.  James Antony looked at him
severely from under bushy brows.  His loyalty to his more brilliant
brother never permitted him the luxury of criticising his decisions in
public, and he had gone farther than he intended in allowing his
feelings to appear.

"The escort will be sufficient, of course.  Charley Cowper goes in
command--has special leave for the purpose.  They start next week."

"Then I shall have to hurry back to Darwan," said Charteris.

"Just as well you should be on the spot," agreed James Antony.  "You go
to Habshiabad, I suppose, Gerrard?"

"I suppose so, sir."

"Precious little enthusiasm over the prospect, I see.  Well, it is a
come-down for the acting-Resident of Agpur."

"That was entirely a thing out of the usual run, sir." Gerrard roused
himself in self-defence.  "I was warned not to expect to continue on
that footing, and I didn't for a moment."

"I can find you plenty of work here, if you prefer it.  Ah, I see," he
laughed.  "The woman is spoiling Eden, as usual.  Get married, get
married, and you'll think no more about her."

"Thank you for your advice, sir.  Your own experience?" asked Charteris.

James Antony looked first furious, then almost contrite, and finally
gave way to a huge burst of laughter.  "Curious how one falls in with
other people's way of talking, when one knows it is absolutely false!"
he said.  "No, it is not my experience, and you know it, you young dog.
I married my wife because I couldn't do without her, and it has been
the same story from that day to this.  That's my experience, and you
can't do better than follow it."

"But then one of us would have to put the other out of the way--eh,
Hal?" said Charteris dolefully, as Mr James departed, his great
shoulders still heaving with laughter.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

When Mr Nisbet and Captain Cowper left Ranjitgarh the following week,
Gerrard went part of the way with them.  They travelled by water, their
respective escorts marching by land, and he would have a day or two to
wait at one of the riverside towns until his men came up.  The hot
weather would soon begin, and the river was low, so that the progress
of the boats was agreeably diversified by frequent groundings, now on
the shore and now on a sandbank, and the heat and the glare of the
water furnished an excuse for much grumbling.  Nisbet was a quiet,
inoffensive man, who found perpetual occupation and solace in writing,
reading, re-reading and annotating innumerable documents, of which he
seemed to carry a whole library about with him, but his contentment was
powerless to infect his companions.  Captain Cowper was low-spirited
owing to the parting from his wife, for after inducing Sir Edmund and
Lady Antony to postpone their return to the hills for two days that she
might see him off, Marian had disgraced herself and her parents by
making a scene--though happily not in public--at her husband's
departure.  Her frantic entreaties to him not to go, or if he must go,
to take her with him, her dire forebodings of evil, had made it very
hard for him to leave her; and when neither her father's anger, nor
Lady Cinnamond's warnings that she would do herself harm, were able to
quiet her sobs, Captain Cowper had been obliged to tear himself away
from her clinging hands without a proper farewell.  It was no comfort
to picture her lonely misery in the hills, with no one but Honour, of
whose tenderness he had the very lowest opinion, to act as confidant,
and her husband spent many hours daily in writing letters, and making
sketches of any object of interest that offered itself, for her benefit.

Little as he had in common with his two companions, Gerrard dreaded the
moment when he would step ashore on the left bank of the Bari, thence
to strike southwards and take up his new work at Habshiabad.  The
absolute isolation from men of his own colour which this would entail
was not a prospect he could face with any pleasure.  From Charteris he
would now be separated by the whole breadth of Agpur, unless they both
journeyed far to the south-west, where for a short distance the
boundaries of Darwan and Habshiabad ran along opposite banks of the
river Tindar, while of Nisbet and Cowper in Agpur itself it was
unlikely that he would see anything, as the frontier dispute with which
they were to deal concerned the other side of the state.  Moreover, it
was impossible not to feel that his work had been taken out of his
hands and given to them to do.  Whatever the situation in Agpur might
be, he had contributed, however involuntarily, to make it what it was,
and others were now about to take it in hand, without the advantage of
his past experience, and with the drawback of inheriting whatever odium
attached to him.

The evening before they were to reach Naoghat, Nawab Sadiq Ali's port
on the Bari, and separate, they fastened up to the bank at a spot where
there was no village, but only a few poor huts, and where a patch of
marshy jungle held out the promise of wildfowl.  Nisbet was busy with
his office Munshi, completing a catalogue of papers relating to the
affairs of Agpur, but Captain Cowper and Gerrard took their guns, and
set off along the bank in opposite directions.  The sport was poor, and
after shooting a brace and a half of birds and walking a long distance,
Gerrard was warned by the gathering darkness to retrace his steps.  A
white mass at the foot of a tree in one of the drier parts of the bog
attracted his attention in the distance, and on coming near enough to
see distinctly he found it was a respectably dressed elderly man
sitting there motionless.  As Gerrard approached, the old man rose and
salaamed courteously, and disclosed himself as the scribe of the Rani
Gulab Kur.

"O master of many hands, how is it I find you here?" asked Gerrard in
surprise.  "Are you waiting for a tiger to come and make a meal of you?"

"Nay, sahib, it is your honour I am awaiting.  I bear a message from my
mistress for your ear alone."

"But is her Highness in this neighbourhood?  I should wish to wait on
her and pay my respects."

"Her Highness is far away, sahib, but she does not forget the gratitude
due to your honour for your faithfulness to the dead.  When we passed
through Ranjitgarh, it was told her that there was a project of
marriage between your honour and the daughter of the General Sahib with
the white hair, and she bade this slave note down the name, that she
might, if opportunity offered, do good to the General Sahib and his
family for your honour's sake.  Hearing, then, that the Sahib who
commands the troops going to Agpur is sister's husband to the daughter
of the General Sahib, she judged it well to send a warning."

"Her Highness can hardly be so far away, after all, if she heard this
news in time to send you to meet me here, O venerable one," said
Gerrard.

"I speak but as I am bidden, sahib.  Her Highness entreats you to warn
that Sahib and his friend to put no trust in the fair words of Sher
Singh--and this not so much because he is treacherous, though
treacherous he is to the very depths of hell, as because he is weak.
He sees it is not to his interest to provoke a war with the English at
this moment, but he is entirely dependent on his Sirdars--by reason of
his faulty title to the throne, and his non-fulfilment of the promises
made to them before his accession--and they have no care for him and
his safety.  They have sent out messengers again, since those sent
throughout Granthistan returned without promises of help, and are
seeking to enlist Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia, promising him the
city of Shah Bagh, which is to him as the apple of his eye, if he will
invade Granthistan from the north when the rising begins.  Let the
Sahibs then beware, for blood once shed is not to be gathered up from
the ground, and Sher Singh is not the man to defend his guests if the
city be howling for their death."

"I will warn them," said Gerrard.  "And now come and lodge in our camp
for this night, and in the morning go your way and carry my respectful
thanks to her Highness."

"It is forbidden, sahib.  I depart immediately, to report to my
mistress that I have performed her errand."

"So be it, then.  Carry my deepest salaams to her Highness," and
Gerrard went on towards the camp.  After supper he told Nisbet and
Cowper of the warning he had received for them.  It caused no surprise.

"It's quite true about Abd-ur-Rashid," said Nisbet.  "Ronaldson caught
one of his messengers sneaking about in his camp near Shah Bagh, trying
to corrupt his escort.  That may have been in view of this very plan
for a general rising, but he thought it was one of the usual schemes
for getting hold of Shah Bagh again."

"If Abd-ur-Rashid and the Granthis can manage to agree, we are likely
to come off badly," said Cowper.

"But they won't," said Nisbet.  "The thieves are bound to fall out."

"After a time," said Gerrard, "but they may make it very unpleasant for
you first.  And suppose your Granthis take sides with the Agpuris?  I
took Granthis into Agpur and brought them out again, but then I had had
them for some time first.  I wish you knew more of your escort, and
they of you."

"My dear fellow," said Cowper, yawning, "we know at least that no
Granthi is to be trusted.  They are a set of _nimuk harams_,[2] and we
shan't trust them.  Sir Edmund chooses to trust Sher Singh, as he would
any native that ever walked, but that's all the goodness of his heart,
and we ain't going to be led away by it.  Forewarned is forearmed."



[1] Enough.

[2] Perfidious, false to their salt.




CHAPTER XVI.

THE MILD CONCERNS OF ORDINARY LIFE.

All too soon came the hour when Gerrard stood on the dilapidated
landing-stage at Naoghat, and waved farewell to his travelling
companions, after receiving Nisbet's urgent directions to send on at
once any despatches that might arrive while he remained there, and
Cowper's parting request to give his compliments to the old Habshi.
This disrespectful term applied to Nawab Sadiq Ali, who traced his
descent to a famous naval commander, a Habshi or Abyssinian, in the
service of one of the Mogul Emperors.  So much did the Badshah
appreciate the society of his admiral that he grudged him to the sea,
but compromised matters by bestowing on him a _jaghir_ with a river
frontage, which the Habshi's descendants, in the break-up of the
empire, contrived to erect into the independent state of Habshiabad.
Sadiq Ali was proud to reckon himself an old ally of the British, his
father having stood fast by them during the Mahratta troubles of the
early years of the nineteenth century, and a hostility equally ancient
existed between him and his Granthi neighbours across the Bari, more
especially those in Agpur.  Partab Singh and he had enjoyed many a
sharp tussle before they relapsed into reluctant peace, owing to the
fact that their forces were so nearly matched as to render it useless
for either to attack the other, and to the absence of border fighting
during late years the Kawab attributed the deterioration observable in
the spirit of his subjects.  A kind of dry-rot appeared to have set in,
under the influence of which the state was suffering, not only in
military, but also in civil matters, and this had culminated in a
regrettable incident which had only recently occurred.

When the Granthi War broke out, Sadiq Ali, equally unexpected and
undesired, hastened to join the banners of the Commander-in-Chief with
his horde of undisciplined followers, never doubting that he would be
received with the delight such an accession of strength would have
caused forty years before.  But the military affairs of British India
were differently organised nowadays, and native princes as allies were
regarded with disappointing indifference, so that the bad condition of
the Nawab's troops, rather than the good feeling he had displayed,
attracted attention.  When at a critical moment the advance of a
British brigade was delayed by the Habshiabadis' plundering in its
front, the Commander-in-Chief, who had learnt his soldiering in the
Peninsula, lost his temper and swore at Sadiq Ali--who understood his
meaning, if not his words--and threatened to clear his men out of the
way with grape.  The insulted Nawab withdrew his troops at once, and
was making the best of his way with them to the enemy's camp, when he
was overtaken by Major Edmund Antony, who, foreseeing the danger that
would be caused by his defection, took upon himself the responsibility
of speaking him fair and persuading him to delay.  No other man in
India could have induced Sadiq Ali to consent to spoil the effect of
his dramatic reprisals by encamping for one night instead of carrying
his indignation and his army over immediately to his hereditary
enemies.  Even the political officer whom all natives revered was
obliged to take his stand alone before the advancing cavalry, and to
warn the Nawab that if he joined the Granthi headquarters that night,
it must be over his body, but he succeeded in his mission.  The tents
were pitched, and all night Major Antony rode backwards and forwards
between the two peppery veterans, each of whom began by vowing that he
was well pleased to see the last of the other, and would never exchange
a word with him again.  Since they both assured Major Antony that he
was the sole human being they would have permitted to address a
remonstrance to them on the subject, it was clear that they were agreed
on one point, and the emissary laboured, not without success, to extend
the area of agreement.  With what every one in the British camp averred
was superhuman ingenuity, he induced the Commander-in-Chief to
apologise for his language, and to soothe the Nawab's wounded feelings
by a reference in general orders, while Sadiq Ali voluntarily placed a
body of picked troops under British command, and withdrew with the rest
to his state.  In the moment of his success Major Antony held out hopes
that an officer might eventually be spared to reorganise and train the
Habshiabad army, and since he had been at Ranjitgarh Sadiq Ali had
reminded him of his promise at least five times before he had any one
to send.  Now at last Gerrard was available, and a deputation of high
officials received him at Naoghat to express the Nawab's delight in his
arrival.

Sadiq Ali's impatience to behold his new adviser could scarcely brook
the delay caused by waiting for the escort to come up, and Gerrard
became accustomed to the sight of exhausted messengers clattering in in
clouds of dust to demand that he should start at once.  But his dignity
as Sir Edmund Antony's representative forbade this, and when he rode
into Habshiabad at last it was in the midst of his picked troop of
Granthis, who were obviously scornful of the military display with
which the Nawab was prepared to welcome them.  In his anxiety to
improve his army, poor old Sadiq Ali had handed it over of late to a
drunken European adventurer, who asserted that he had been in Ajit
Singh's service, but whom Gerrard suspected, from certain peculiarities
of equipment that he had introduced, of being a deserter from some
Scottish regiment.  This suspicion was deepened when it appeared that
General Desdichado, as he called himself, had recently been seized with
illness of such a severe character that it confined him entirely to his
house, and even to his zenana--whither, of course, no intrusive visitor
could follow him.  After vain attempts to obtain an interview, Gerrard
thought it well to leave his predecessor in peace with his
arrack-bottle, and take the army in hand from the beginning.  He had
not expected, when he heard they had a European instructor, to find
them ignorant even of the rudiments of drill as he understood it, and
he was confronted with the difficulty that he could not possibly drill
them all himself, and nothing would induce them to take orders from any
of his Granthis.  He thought of asking for a few Mohammedan
non-commissioned officers from the force at Ranjitgarh, but before he
could do so, Sadiq Ali, who followed him about in a state of admiring
wonder and affection, learned his difficulty and promised to meet it.

Gerrard had no very high hopes in this direction when he appeared at
the grand review arranged in honour of Queen Victoria's birthday, and
attended by all the Nawab's subsidiary chiefs and their followers as
well as by his own army, but his eye was quickly caught by a large body
of mounted men whose ordered movements contrasted strongly with the
free and easy methods of the Habshiabadis.  There was something
familiar in the aspect of the leader, and when he rode past the
saluting-point Gerrard recognised him at once.  It was Rukn-ud-din, and
of the two companies which he led one was composed of Rajputs, and the
other of the faithful remnant of the Agpur bodyguard.  Sadiq Ali smiled
to behold his ally's surprise, but declined mysteriously to say what
Rukn-ud-din and his men were doing on his parade-ground.  Jirad Sahib
would doubtless wish to make inquiries for himself, he said, and
Komadan Rukn-ud-din had already asked leave to pay his respects to him.
In the interval between the review and the banquet which was to wind up
the day, therefore, a gorgeous band of horsemen thronged the approach
to Gerrard's quarters, and Rukn-ud-din presented his officers, the
chief of whom was the Rajput Amrodh Chand, who was a cousin of the
Rani's.  Gerrard touched the sword-hilts they held forth, entertained
them with coffee and conversation of a strictly non-committal
character, and then withdrew from the verandah into his office for a
few moments' confidential talk with their leader.

"You are surely not one of the Nawab's Komadans, Rukn-ud-din?" he asked
him eagerly.

"Nay, sahib.  I still eat the salt of the widow of my master."

"Then it is the Rani Sahiba who is entertaining these troops of yours?
But is she not far away?"

"So far away as to be between this place and the river that parts it
from Agpur, sahib."

"This is very serious."  It was quite certain that Mr James Antony
would not approve of the Rani's taking up her residence so close to her
former capital, when she was supposed to be at Benares.  "You know that
I must report it to the Resident Sahib at Ranjitgarh?"

"Your honour will do as it is decreed you should do," said the
Mohammedan tranquilly.

"But what is her Highness's object?"

"To avenge the blood of her house, sahib.  She devotes herself wholly
to the practice of austerities, after the manner of the idolaters.  The
women say that to behold her is to behold the corpse of one that has
died in famine-time."

"You cannot mean that she is wholly destitute?  Yet what is she living
upon?  Her allowance has not been paid to her, because she has not
subscribed to the conditions upon which it was granted."

"Her Highness will never subscribe to those conditions, sahib.  She
will neither receive money at the hand of the murderer, nor covenant to
bequeath him a single anna that she possesses.  For her maintenance,
she received from Antni Sahib's brother at Ranjitgarh the ten thousand
rupees your honour carried with you to Adamkot from the treasury, and
of his grace he added to them, by way of an advance, a sum sufficient
to enable her to perform her pilgrimage to Kashi."  Gerrard suppressed
a smile when he realised that James Antony's eagerness to avert
political complications by getting the Rani safely out of Granthistan
had thus over-reached itself by giving her the means of remaining on
its borders.  "The sum was not a great one, to maintain the warriors
from her father's state who have vowed their swords to her vengeance,
as well as those who have remained faithful to their lord's memory, but
it will suffice for a month or two longer," added Rukn-ud-din; "and it
is the word of her Highness that this will be long enough.  The time is
near at hand."

"Will her Highness receive me?" asked Gerrard hastily, planning strong
remonstrances in his mind.  "You say she has returned to _pardah_?"

"She broke _pardah_ once, sahib, designing to expiate her shame when
she had seen justice done, but death and justice were alike denied her.
She will break it again when she leads her troops in the field against
the murderer, and that day she will rejoin her lord."

"Now look here, Rukn-ud-din; you are a sensible man and a follower of
Islam.  I want you to do your best to induce her Highness to allow me
to pay my respects through the curtain, so that I may try to get her to
lay aside these intentions."

"How could she do other than as she plans, sahib?  It is well for each
to observe the customs of his own people.  But I have a word for you
from her Highness's mouth.  'Entreat Jirad Sahib not to give me the
pain of shutting my gates against him, for I have no mind to be teased
with formulas of ceremony.  But when he takes the field against him
that may not be named, then let him send for me without apology, and I
will come at the head of my troops.  Until then let him use them as he
will in fitting the Nawab's army for the fight.'"

"And right glad I should be to have you," said Gerrard heartily.  "But
I cannot keep the Rani's residence a secret from Antony Sahib and his
brother.  At any moment Sher Singh may discover it, and accuse them,
though guiltless, of playing him false."

"I think he will not discover it, sahib.  We have a short way with
spies in Habshiabad.  But your honour will do as you think best, and
the men of my company are at your disposal to do with as you will."

The question was a perplexing one, and after dismissing Rukn-ud-din,
Gerrard considered it carefully.  He decided at last to write to James
Antony that it had come to his knowledge that the Rani was residing in
the Habshiabad state, and that he could if necessary convey to her the
documents awaiting her signature, though she refused to admit him to
her presence.  Having thus transferred the burden of responsibility to
other and eminently capable shoulders, he turned with an easier
conscience to take advantage of the help offered him in his task.  On
the very day after the review, Sadiq Ali's regiments, some swollen to
unwieldy size, others depleted to mere skeletons, were thoroughly
overhauled, and the ten smartest men picked out of each hundred.  These
were turned over to Rukn-ud-din's Mohammedans to be drilled, and after
a preliminary course set to drill their fellows.  The higher education
of the picked men proceeded side by side with the elementary training
of the rank and file, while Gerrard's Granthis and the Rani's Rajputs,
debarred from serving as instructors, proved most useful in
representing alternately hostile armies and better disciplined allies,
when something resembling manoeuvres was attempted.  The work was hard
and incessant, especially as the hot weather was now running its
course, but Gerrard welcomed it as tending to divert his mind from the
unsatisfactory state of his personal affairs.  The Nawab was overjoyed
to see his army really being licked into shape, and took to attending
the training in disguise--invariably discovering himself by frantic
abuse and promises of horrible punishment when anything went wrong.
Even General Desdichado, still officially confined to his bed and
unable to receive even a visit of condolence, mounted a telescope on
his roof, so it was whispered to Gerrard, and watched the proceedings
with breathless interest.  This war-fever could hardly last, and
Gerrard wondered when it would begin to die down.  The expected
outbreak at Agpur had not occurred, and in a short time Cowper's leave
would be up and another man would take his place as commander of the
escort.  Both James Antony's political forebodings and the Rani's
prophecies were proving unfounded.

Now came a messenger with a letter from Charteris, written in that
extreme south-western corner of his dominions where Darwan and
Habshiabad faced one another across the Tindar.


"Here I am, old boy, gazing hungrily across to you, while Tindar rolls
between.  Come and pay me a flying visit, I adjure you.  You shall
sleep each night on your own bank of the river if your scrupulous
conscience won't let you quit your own state without leave, but take
pity on an unfortunate chum doomed to go crusading--castle-destroying,
that is--in the hot weather.  I promised you one of Vixen's pups--as
nice little beggars all of them as you could wish to behold--and who am
I to presume to choose for you?  I am entertaining so many dogs
nowadays that I expect to be eaten out of house and home, so it's
serious, you see.  Happy thought--start a pack of hounds!  That's
another reason why you should come.  I can't offer to show you at the
present season 'the sport of kings, the image of war without its guilt,
and only five-and-twenty per cent. of its danger,' but at least we can
draw up an uncommon fine constitution for the hunt.  I know you'll
object that the conjunction of two such stars of chivalry as yourself
and yours truly in the same firmament has hitherto boded war, red war,
but was that our fault?  Surely it was merely a proof of our innate
foreknowledge of events that we managed to be in each other's
neighbourhood just when united action was needed.  Besides, there's no
combustible material in these parts.  That's waiting for the week after
next, when the Agpur frontier business comes up for settlement, and I
have to be back in the Adamkot direction.  Come and see me, Hal, if
it's only for a talk and a smoke.  Upon my word, I am des-s-s-perately
lonely!  Bring a tail as long as MacTavish's if you like, and we'll
indoctrinate them with the science of fox-hunting.  Your old Hubshee
would be something of a Jorrocks figure if we stuck him into a hunt
uniform, I'll be bound,--Yours,

ROBERT.

"_P.S._--Admire my self-restraint in keeping back so far the
all-important information that mine will of course be a _Bobbery_ pack."


Neither his friend's pathetic loneliness, nor the inducements he so
lavishly offered, would have tempted Gerrard to leave the capital had
it not been that he had ascertained from the Nawab that the _jaghir_
which he had granted to Rukn-ud-din as the Rani's representative lay in
the direction in which Charteris was now to be found.  James Antony had
replied with considerable asperity to the letter giving news of her
whereabouts, as was only natural, since his agents had for a month been
searching for her vainly in the neighbourhood of Benares.  He sent the
document which had been prepared for her signature, and directed
Gerrard to use all possible means to obtain a personal interview, in
which he was to assure her that no further steps would be taken to
secure the payment of her jointure until she disbanded her troops and
withdrew into British territory, where a suitable residence would be
provided for her.  This, as the natives would have phrased it, was an
order, and Gerrard prepared to carry it out immediately, though without
much hope of success.  The Nawab acquiesced reluctantly in his leaving
the city for a week, but was consoled by the prospect of his finding a
noticeable improvement in the army on his return, and he calculated
that by travelling chiefly at night he could do the journey
comfortably, and secure a day or more with Charteris.

The Rani's reception of Mr Antony's messenger was much what he had
expected.  She had taken up her abode in a half-ruined fort, which had
been repaired sufficiently for the purposes of defence, and was
garrisoned by a second company of Rajputs, and Gerrard was refused
admission at the closed gates.  His urgent messages brought the old
scribe down to parley with him, but the reproaches he addressed to the
Rani for neglecting the monitions of her husband's chosen councillor
were met by counter-upbraidings on the score of his neglect of the
Rani's own expressed wish to be left unmolested.  She would not receive
him, she would not disband her troops nor retire into British
territory, and least of all would she sign the document which was to
obtain from Sher Singh the payment of her jointure in return for her
promise to leave to him any savings of which she might die possessed.
In these circumstances, all that Gerrard could do was to leave the
paper for her consideration, with the most persuasive letter that he
and Munshi Somwar Mal could frame in collaboration, and announce that
he hoped to find her Highness in a better mind when he returned in
three or four days' time.

If his reception here was disappointing, there was nothing lacking in
the warmth of Charteris's welcome when he landed at his camp from the
undignified conveyance of a charpoy supported on _mashaks_[1]--a small
fleet of these vessels being in readiness to carry him and his train
across the river.  The puppies were duly exhibited after supper, and
Gerrard made his choice, and then, though it was still early, for the
crossing had to be made by daylight, Charteris dismissed him to sleep
off his fatigues, promising that he should be called well in the middle
of the night.

"To-morrow is a blank day as far as the administration of justice is
concerned," he said.  "I have threatened all my petitioners with
atrocious pains and penalties if they so much as show their noses in
camp, and you and I will go for a picnic.  I know a bank where the wild
thyme don't grow, but where one of my reformed robbers has a garden and
a spring of sweet water, and will make us welcome to enjoy _kaf_[2] for
a while."

Gerrard had his doubts as to the feasibility of this programme when he
was dressing the next morning by the light of a candle-end stuck into
the neck of a bottle.  A whisper outside the tent reached his ears.

"Brother, is the Sahib awake?"

"Which Sahib, O foolish one?"

"Our Sahib, the red Sahib, the mad Sahib."

"Aye, he is awake, but he rides forth before dawn."

"Bad for Bob!" thought Gerrard, as a rustle denoted the withdrawal of
the questioner, but he had not the heart to tell his friend of his
fears when they met for _choti haziri_, and he saw his high spirits.

"We'll take the dogs with us a little way--do the beggars no end of
good--and send 'em back to camp before the sun's up," said Charteris,
as they mounted.  "'Give the hounds a trot out by way of exercise'--eh?"

"Well, I hope it won't end in 'Dinner lost! 'ounds lost! self lost--all
lost together!'  What d'ye think of calling the hunt, old boy?"

"The Cut-'em-downs, if you're going to ride over my hounds," said
Charteris, as a heedless puppy blundered in front of Gerrard's horse.
"And call you Crasher."

"All right, Brusher!" laughed Gerrard, as they rode out into the cool
darkness, an anxious dog-boy having extricated his charge.  But before
they reached the outskirts of the camp, the way was barred by a row of
silent natives, some of them holding out papers, others extending empty
hands.

"What's this?" demanded Charteris ferociously.

"_Dohai_, sahib, _dohai_[3]!" was the general cry.

"Well, I'll do you justice to-morrow, as I told you.  Didn't I forbid
you to come to me to-day?"

"Alas, sahib, a day is but as a moment to the great, but to the poor it
is even as eternity," said an old man, who seemed to be regarded as
spokesman.

"It would be a different tale if I wanted you to do anything for me in
a hurry," growled Charteris.  "What do you say, Hal?"

"Oh, you have spoilt your subjects by dealing out justice too easily,"
said Gerrard, "so you can't in conscience refuse it them now.  Let us
have our ride, and go back at your usual hour.  The picnic must go.
You can accommodate me with a seat on the bench, and I'll pick holes in
your law."

"That you may well do."  Charteris paused to give the necessary
directions to the suppliants and his Munshis, and resumed as they rode
on.  "My law has too much common-sense about it to recommend itself to
your conventional mind.  Why, t'other day I had to decide the ownership
of a disputed piece of ground--as hard swearing as ever I heard, and
trains of mounted adherents and sympathisers riding with us to view the
plot, and perjuring themselves for their respective sides.  I saw it
was six of one and half-a-dozen of t'other, so when we were returning,
precious slow and stately, I gave a sudden view-halloa! and started
off.  They were bound to come too, and I should have died of laughing
to see those old liars bumping along and running foul of one another if
I hadn't been too busy.  I had the claimants one on each side of me,
and by judiciously boring either quad. when it seemed inclined to draw
ahead, I kept 'em fairly level.  When they had had as much as I thought
good for them, I pulled up, and several old codgers went over their
nags' heads, of course.  But all I said was that as the claimants had
come in level, it was clear the land was to be divided between them,
and we went back and did it there and then.  They had a shawl apiece to
sweeten the bargain, and I made a feast for the hangers-on, so
everybody was pleased."

"That's the sort of thing that makes them call you the mad sahib," said
Gerrard.  "Wonder they care to depend on you."

"That's only because you forget that 'mad' don't mean the same to them
as to us.  All Sahibs are mad, of course--and say that I am a little
madder than most.  But all mad people are directly inspired by Heaven.
Therefore the madder I am, the more surely am I inspired.  Twig?"

"It's a pretty deduction.  I wonder if Sadiq Ali would set me down as
inspired if I stood on my head before him when I go back?"

"No, because you couldn't do it!" said Charteris wickedly.  "Takes some
practice even to be effectively mad, my boy."

Whereupon Gerrard rode at him with upraised whip, and sensible
conversation was at a discount until they returned to camp.  Then the
long hot morning was devoted to hearing petitions and trying cases.
Charteris and Gerrard sat in one of the tents, with the complainants
under the awning before them, and the Munshis on the ground at the
side, while the witnesses perjured themselves and contradicted each
other with equal gusto.  In the course of the proceedings a panting
messenger pushed his way through the throng carrying a red official
bag, the colour showing that the letter it contained was urgent.
Charteris opened it, and it seemed to Gerrard that his tanned face
paled ever so little as he read.  Then he looked up sharply at the
messenger, whose eyes were fixed eagerly upon him.

"Sit down in the corner there, and wait until this case is finished,"
he said.  "Hal, I daresay you will like to look at this."  He passed
the letter lightly to Gerrard, but gave his fingers a warning grip
under cover of the paper.



[1] Inflated skins.

[2] Perfect leisure.

[3] Justice!




CHAPTER XVII.

THE ISSUES OF AN AWFUL MOMENT.

The letter was written roughly in pencil on a large sheet of rough and
discoloured paper:--


"To Lieutenant Robert Charteris, at Dera Gauleeb Khan or wherever he
may be.

"MY DEAR CHARTERIS,--I am sorry to say that the fat's in the fire at
last.  This morning the Rajah invited us to go out with him to his
garden-house, but did not send an elephant for us, as we expected.
However, we rode to meet him, with a small escort.  Honestly, I cannot
tell whether he is to blame for what happened, or not, but at the
beginning it certainly looked like an accident.  There was a certain
amount of confusion when we met on the way to the city gate, and the
respective escorts found some difficulty in clearing a path through the
crowds.  Suddenly a wild fanatic of some sort--an Akaulee I should
say--dashed at me from behind with a sword, and fairly knocked me off
my horse.  I have a cut on the head, but my hat turned the blade.
There was a horrid tumult, and soldiers and people were pressed this
way and that, forcing Cowper away from me.  I got two or three more
blows as I lay on the ground, but one of our horsemen dragged me to my
feet.  I saw that Sher Sing's hotties had turned tail and were in full
retreat, but it did not occur to me he was leaving us to our fate until
his horsemen charged back through the crowd and made straight for
Cowper.  He was cut down in an instant, and I saw them hacking at him
before I could rally the escort.  When we got through to him things
looked pretty bad, for the horsemen withdrew only to come down on us
afresh, and the crowd were siding with them, while all sorts of
missiles began to rain from the roofs.  Then old Sudda Sookhee turned
up and threw himself into the breach--ordered the troops back,
harangued the mob, and took us up on his own hotty.  He thought it
unsafe for us to go back to the Residency, in which I quite agreed with
him, in view of the attitude of Sher Sing and his guards, so I decided
that we should throw ourselves into the tomb of Rutton Sing outside the
walls, and hold it till assistance arrived.  Without Sudda Sookhee's
support we could never have got through the gate, and as it was, they
fired at us with matchlocks from the walls.  He took us straight to the
tomb, and then hurried back to see how things were going at the
Residency.  Before noon we were joined by the rest of our escort, who
had been turned out of the fort without ceremony, but allowed to march
through the city unmolested.  The native apothecary has done his best
for poor Cowper and me.  My hurts are merely scratches, but he is badly
cut about, though quite cheerful.  I need not ask you to relieve us as
soon as possible, as you will know that Rutton Sing's tomb is not a
first-rate position for defence.  I have sent a warm remonstrance to
the Rajah, demanding that he shall visit us in person and express his
regret for the outrage, but I repeat frankly that I do not understand
his attitude.  Still, you will see the importance of keeping a stiff
upper lip.  Cowper begs that Mrs Cowper may not be alarmed about him,
as he expects (he says) to be up and about again before you turn up.
We rely on you to arrive with all convenient speed.  It is possible
that the situation is more serious than appears.--Very sincerely yours,

RICHD. NISBET."


Gerrard read the letter through, turning the paper this way and that to
find the carefully numbered additions written in the margin or crossing
the sheet.  Poor Nisbet! how thoroughly he must have been thrown off
his balance before he would consent to send off a rough draft like this
instead of making a fair copy--such was his first involuntary
reflection.  Then his mind awakened suddenly to a realisation of the
perilous plight of the two men and their escort.  Ratan Singh's tomb!
it was the very tomb in the grove, within sight of the walls of Agpur,
where he himself had purposed to make a hopeless stand over Rajah
Partab Singh's dead body, in defence of Partab Singh's wife and son,
and where Charteris had appeared in the nick of time to save him.  The
place could not be held, there was no hope of that, even if it were
properly provisioned, and the letter was dated two days ago.  If Sher
Singh were indeed a traitor--and his conduct would need a good deal of
explanation if it was to be ascribed to mere cowardice--Nisbet and
Cowper's position was more than serious, it was desperate.  And there
sat Charteris, listening with knitted brows to the lucubrations of the
witnesses in this dispute over stolen cattle, pulling them up sharply
when their flights of imagination became more than usually daring, and
apparently oblivious alike of the disappointed messenger squatting in
the corner and of the men relying upon him outside Agpur.  Gerrard's
breath came faster, and he wondered whether he could frame a plausible
excuse for getting out of the tent and starting immediately on his
return journey to Habshiabad.  If Charteris was at a loss what to do,
Sadiq Ali and the Rani would joyfully send every fighting man they
possessed to deal a blow at Sher Singh.  Suddenly Charteris turned
round.

"You are precious bored by all this, I can see," he said casually.
"Never mind; it will soon be over now.  Take a cigar," and as he held
out the case, his fingers again met Gerrard's with that warning
pressure.  His friend accepted the cheroot, and resigned himself to
further waiting.  It was not for long.  Charteris's brief summing-up
was masterly, so incisive, so searching, so constantly punctuated with
popular proverbs and familiar references to the domestic affairs of the
litigants, that it drew applause from both sides.  Then he pronounced
judgment, and the winning side rent the air with their shouts, while
the losing party threw dust on their heads and lamented that they had
ever been born.  They went off peacefully enough, however, and
fraternised with their late opponents over a sheep sent out to them by
Charteris, while the two Englishmen, alone at last, faced one another
in the hot shade of the tent.

"Bob, I don't think you realise how bad it is," said Gerrard hurriedly.
"They can't hold out in Ratan Singh's tomb if they are attacked with
anything like vigour.  We have lost too much time already."

"Steady, old boy.  No harm done.  There's no starting until just before
sunset, unless you think sunstroke all round would improve the
efficiency of the relieving force.  We have all afternoon for making
arrangements."

"But we have wasted a full hour when we might have been laying our
plans."

"Plans are laid all right.  Got 'em here," said Charteris, tapping his
forehead.  "What! you thought I was wholly engrossed in my family of
perjurers?  Purely mechanical, my boy--interest and interruptions and
all.  Brain working like clockwork at more than railroad speed the
entire time.  Everything cut and dried.  Start to-night for Dera Galib
to pick up my men.  But those two poor chaps must have a letter to
hearten them up at once.  The _kasid_ can move faster than we can, so
we'll have him in and question him a little before writing.  Must pay
our Mr James the compliment of passing on the news, and enlightening
him as to our intentions, too."

"Just tell me first what part you have given me.  Am I to accompany you
with such men as I have?"

"No, you are to ride back to Habshiabad hell-for-leather, and create a
diversion by crossing the Ghara with every man you can lay your hands
on.  Even if I get to the city in time, I shall have to fight my way
back through hostile country, so if you can draw off the army by an
imposing demonstration in the other direction, it may save all our
lives."

"Old boy, I did you an injustice," said Gerrard.

"Don't apologise, my boy--quite used to it.  Knew I could depend on
you, though."

The messenger, summoned into the tent, could do little more than
confirm the contents of the letter, though he was able to add that of
late the Agpuris had been urged by various fanatics to resist the
impending rectification of frontier, and that much bad feeling had been
displayed towards the Feringhees.  He added that when the escort were
turned out of the fort, rumour said that a conference was going on at
the palace, in which the war party were making every effort to bring
over Sher Singh completely to their side, assuring him that he had gone
too far to retreat when he left the two wounded Englishmen to the
tender mercies of his guards and the mob.

The hot hours of the afternoon were spent in issuing orders and in
writing.  A letter to Nisbet and Cowper, assuring them that immediate
help was on its way, and adjuring them in no circumstances to surrender
themselves to Sher Singh; a report addressed to James Antony, detailing
the alarming news, and adding that Charteris was on the point of
crossing the Tindar with a relieving force, and had requested support
from Habshiabad; a formal invitation to Sadiq Ali to allow his troops
to co-operate in the rescue of the Englishmen, and to Gerrard to
accompany them; a proclamation to be made throughout Darwan, announcing
the treachery of Sher Singh, and inviting suitable men to enlist for
the purpose of punishing it; orders to the subordinate officials in
various parts of the province to be on their guard against Agpuri
emissaries, and to enrol and train any native Darwanis who applied to
them; and--though these, indeed, were despatched first of
all--directions to the troops Charteris intended to take with him to be
ready to start at any hour.  As the news of the preparations leaked
out, deputations began to come in from villages and tribes to assure
Charteris of their loyalty and entreat him to lead them against the
perjured Sher Singh, and these had to be received, entertained by
proxy, and dismissed, at the cost of much impatience and loss of
precious time.  But while Charteris was thus engaged, Gerrard and the
Munshis prepared papers for his signature, and the writing work was all
finished before Gerrard and his followers went down to the river on
their return journey.  Charteris could not even come down to see him
off, much less accompany him across and ride a little way with him, as
he had intended, but they promised themselves a speedy meeting before
Agpur--perhaps even in the palace itself, if the Rani's prophecy was
about to be fulfilled.

The men who paddled the _mashaks_ were stimulated to unwonted exertion
by the promise of large rewards, and the party, swimming their horses
by the bridles, crossed in less time than Gerrard had dared to hope.  A
brief halt to arrange loads, inspect girths and snatch a mouthful of
food, and Gerrard and his men were in the saddle, and riding steadily
into the gathering darkness.  The men would have ridden at top speed in
their eagerness to carry the news and hasten the vengeance, but Gerrard
held them back.  They had a long way to go, and hard work to do, and
the life of every horse, as well as of every trained man, might be of
inestimable value in the days to come.  When they had ridden for nearly
three hours, he called another halt, that the horses might be rubbed
down and have their mouths washed out with water, and the troopers
refresh themselves hastily with fragments of _chapati_.  The men were
mounted again, and he was about to give the order to march, when a
distant sound became audible--the sound of horses' hoofs in the
direction from which they had come.

"One man--or at most two.  Surely it is a messenger, sahib," said the
Granthi in command of the escort.

"We will wait to hear what news he brings.  It may be that the Rajah
has submitted already," said Gerrard, and was answered by a groan of
dismay from his men.  "Let two shots be fired at intervals," he went
on, "that the messenger may know where to find us."

The well-known border signal proved effectual, and the horsemen--it was
now clear that there were two of them--approached rapidly.  Gerrard
uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw by the moonlight that
one of them was a European, and rode back to meet him.

"Bob!" he exclaimed, in utter surprise, as Charteris slipped from his
exhausted horse.  "What is it?"

"Bad news.  No use going on."

"What!  They are not dead?"

"Murdered--both of 'em.  Tomb was shelled, but they held out.  Then
Sher Singh sent messengers to the escort--promised 'em double pay to
join him--pair of gold bracelets to Nihal Singh.  They accepted and
went over--left Nisbet and Cowper all alone, except for a few faithful
servants.  Cowper was too badly wounded to get up, he was lying on his
cot, and Nisbet sat beside him holding his hand.  There was no hope of
further resistance, and they told the servants to escape if they could.
One of 'em hid, and brought the news to me just now.  Sher Singh's men
burst in, with old Sarfaraz Khan at their head, shouting all the
wickedness he could lay his filthy old tongue to.  Nisbet told him he
might kill them, as they were only two to thousands, but that he might
be sure thousands of English would come and destroy Sher Singh and his
city."

"And they killed them?"

"Hacked 'em to pieces, and took their heads to Sher Singh."
Charteris's face twitched, and he turned away angrily.

"There's no possibility that the servant's tale is false, I suppose?"

"I wish to Heaven there were.  But why should Sher Singh make things
out worse when they were bad enough already?  Besides, I questioned the
fellow pretty sharply, and he was not to be shaken.  So I started at
once to catch you up."

"Thanks," said Gerrard absently.  "That poor little woman, Bob!  How
will she ever stand it?"

"Doesn't bear thinking of," said Charteris brusquely.  "Question is,
what are we going to do?"

"Why, what can we do?  Rescue their bodies, do you mean?"

"Not a bit of it.  Look here, Hal; I've been thinking it out as I came
along.  Sher Singh has drawn the sword and thrown away the scabbard
now--burnt his boats, in fact.  He can't stop where he is and take his
punishment quietly; he must call upon the Granthis generally to back
him up.  Remember, they wouldn't rise against us in cold blood, but now
that he has plucked up courage to give them a lead they'll go.  The
servant tells me that they called upon the escort to join them in the
name of God and the Guru, and the murderers were calling out _Wa Guru!_
and _Guru-ji ki Fatih!_ as they rushed in.  They'll make a religious
business of it, and every Granthi in Granthistan will join Sher Singh
unless he is nipped in the bud."

"Well, but he is nearer Granthistan than we are.  Who is going to nip
him in the bud?"

"You and I, if you are game."

"Oh, I'm game to do anything that's feasible."

"Are you game to take a big risk?  If Sher Singh is to be kept from
overrunning Granthistan, he must be stopped at once.  I believe that
you and I can do it."

"But how? with merely the Habshiabadis and your troops?"

"Precisely.  If we march on Agpur, they daren't leave the city
undefended with us in their rear.  They have no military genius to see
that the only chance lies in snapping us up before we can unite, and
straining every nerve to do it, and we can get together a large enough
force to give a very good account of anything less than the whole Agpur
army.  If we find ourselves faced with that, and luck's against us, we
shall probably go down, but we shall have done it more damage than Sher
Singh can repair before he finds a British force in his country."

"Honestly, Bob, I don't know what to say.  Your plan sounds reasonable
enough, but you must see that it's subversive of every rule of military
science."

"Hang military science!  If we can confine Sher Singh within the bounds
of his own state, prevent him from throwing down the gauntlet to
British power by invading Granthistan, and make him so anxious about
the safety of Agpur that we keep him there until we can get a siege
train from Farishtabad to batter the walls about his ears, ain't it
worth it?"

"I believe you, my boy! but can we do it?  If we try and fail, it means
ruin, utter and complete, for both of us."

"And if we try and succeed, it will save England and India a second
Granthi War."

"Right, Bob; I'll do it.  Give us your fist, old boy."

Charteris drew a long breath as they shook hands.  "I don't mind
telling you that if you wouldn't come in, I had made up my mind to try
it by myself," he said.  "And then, Hal, you might well have talked
about ruin utter and complete.  But as it is, why, I am proud to serve
under you, old boy, and if my Darwanis don't give a good account of
themselves under your command, you may call me a Dutchman."

"Under my command?  Nonsense, Bob!  I am going to serve under you, of
course.  Why, you are the man on the spot, holding a commission from
the Granthi Durbar, and obviously the proper person to punish its
rebellious vassal.  I am merely accompanying the troops of a friendly
state as a matter of curiosity."

"My dear Hal, it's no end good of you, but I am perfectly content.  You
have always been top-sawyer, you know."

"And a precious mess I should have made of things more than once, if
you had not been at hand.  Why, Bob, I couldn't conscientiously take
command in an affair like this.  It's your idea; I should not have
thought of it, and it isn't likely I should carry it out properly.  You
see your point and go straight at it through thick and thin, while I
plot out a plan for getting there on the lines of the best commanders,
with proper care for communications and supplies.  But if you will give
your orders, I'll carry them out or burst.  If I don't agree with 'em,
I promise you you shall hear about it."

"No doubt whatever about that.  Well, Hal, so be it.  Even if you don't
agree, you'll obey orders, I know.  Just a minute or two to worry out
our immediate moves, then back I go.  Got a light?  Take a squint at
this map of mine.  I propose to cross the Tindar about Kardi, so as to
threaten Agpur from the south-west, throw up such entrenchments as time
allows, and wait there for you.  You will cross the Ghara wherever you
find most convenient--the Habshi with his local knowledge will advise
you best there--remembering that if you can get far enough to the east
to give the impression of threatening the city from another side, so
much the better, but remembering also that unless you come up quickly,
I may have the whole Agpur army launched against me."

"My dear Bob, you forget the distance I shall have to march.  You will
be annihilated before I can reach you."

"Not if I know you, or myself and my Darwanis.  If I can hold the
Agpuris in front, while you come up and deliver a flank attack, I will,
but that circumstances must decide.  We will keep open communications
by means of _kasids_ if we can, but it is quite possible we may have to
act independently.  At any rate, I will not leave Kardi alive without
letting you know, and you won't let anything short of a signed message
from me persuade you that I have abandoned it?"

"Trust me.  But I wish we could both have made forced marches and met
at a point on the Ranjitgarh side of Agpur."

"So do I.  But if wishes were horses----!  The meanest intelligence,
even Sher Singh's, couldn't miss the propriety of attacking us in
detail if we trailed our toy armies separately past him with the force
we possess.  Don't think I labour under any delusion as to our powers.
We can't push Sher Singh back; we can only hold him back by fear for
the city.  We can't hope to conquer him, but we may make it impossible
for him to move until a British brigade with battering guns arrives to
eat him up."

"I see.  Less glorious, but possibly quite as useful."

"Just so.  And there's a private and personal advantage for us in being
on this side of the city rather than the other.  Our Mr James will
readily acknowledge that while there was a chance of rescuing our poor
fellows we were bound to cross into Agpur.  But when he hears they are
dead, I have a foreboding--I feel it in my bones--that he will
instantly order us back.  Of course I shall send him all
particulars--my reasons for invading the country, our force, our
anticipations of success, the exact reinforcement we need to finish the
job in style, and you will do the same before leaving Habshiabad.  But
it is a good long way for the messengers to go, both in your case and
mine, and it is also a good long way back, and the same address may not
always find us.  Therefore I trust that when we get our orders for
retreat, we shall be so far into Agpur that it is impossible to obey.
Even James Antony would allow a man a little discretion when to go
forward is safety, and to go back would mean destruction."

"You old fox!" cried Gerrard.  "I'll back you up, don't be afraid.
We'll put the telescope to the blind eye, and our careers may go hang!"

"That's the style.  We shall have you a swaggering dare-devil yet, old
boy.  And now it's boot and saddle again.  Good-bye, and come up in
time."

"Good-bye.  Take care of yourself, Bob."

Charteris laughed as he swung himself into the saddle.  He and his
orderly clattered off into the night, and the campaign of vengeance had
begun.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAMPAIGN OF VENGEANCE.

"To Lieutenant Henry Gerrard, wherever he may be.

"DEAR HAL,--For Heaven's sake bring up your guns by five o'clock
to-morrow afternoon.  I have nothing but zumboorucks,[1] and Chund Sing
with all the Augpoor artillery is in front of me.  I will maintain my
position at all costs till five, but if you have not come up then I
must retreat across the river--and my Grunthees will stay on this side
of it.--Yours,

R. CHARTERIS."


Charteris wrote the message in Greek characters, forming the letters
stiffly with unaccustomed fingers, and pausing now and then for
recollection.  Gerrard would be able to read it, but no native in India
could do so.  He made three copies, and despatched them by separate
messengers along different routes--by the river-bank, to the south and
to the south-east respectively--in the hope that one of them would
succeed in reaching his friend.

Charteris looked older and thinner than when he had parted from Gerrard
a fortnight before, and his face was tanned to a more pronounced red
than ever.  Many hours of gloom had been encountered in the fulfilment
of the task willed in that hour of insight.  Unforeseen difficulties of
various kinds had hindered him, and it was also quite certain that he
had underestimated the time necessary for Gerrard's arrival from
Habshiabad with the reinforcements.  On returning to his camp that
first evening, he had mounted a fresh horse, and ridden on at once
towards his headquarters at Dera Galib Khan, whither his messengers had
preceded him, warning the Granthi troops there to be ready to take the
field at once.  Fast though he travelled, however, reaching Dera Galib
in two nights of hard riding, he had been outstripped.  Emissaries from
Sher Singh had already been at work among the Granthis, calling upon
them to join their brethren who had betrayed Nisbet and Cowper, and
fight the English for the sake of God and the Guru.  Valuable gifts,
and the promise of doubled pay and unlimited loot, strengthened the
effect of the appeal, and the men were seething with disaffection when
Charteris came to them.  They had not quite arrived at the point of
murdering him and his lieutenants and marching to join Sher Singh, but
the thing was openly discussed, and very little was needed to
precipitate matters.  In face of this heavy blow, Charteris acted with
his customary despatch.  The disaffected infantry he took with him,
deciding that under his own eye they would be as safe on active service
as anywhere, but the artillery he left with a heavy heart at Dera
Galib.  He had counted much on their services, but he durst not take
the gunners where a bribe or two would double Sher Singh's present
strength, and there was no time to extemporise artillerists from among
the Darwanis.  These wild men rushed to his standard joyfully as soon
as they heard he needed recruits, and the robbers whom he had fined and
whose forts he had destroyed forsook the pursuits of peace and declared
themselves ready to follow him to the gates of hell if necessary.  Of
them he chose out those who already had relatives or fellow-clansmen in
his irregular corps to accompany him at once, leaving the rest under
the command of his subordinate Carpenter at Dera Galib, nominally for
drill, but also to serve as a check upon the disaffected artillery.

With his untrustworthy Granthis and his half-trained auxiliaries he
crossed the Tindar at Kardi, as he had intended, and employed the
former, to their intense disgust, in throwing up rough entrenchments
round the camp.  The Darwanis he sent out in raiding-parties (this
operation appeared under the more decorous name of "making
reconnaissances" in his reports to Ranjitgarh), with orders not to
penetrate more than a certain distance into the country, but to do as
much damage as possible, and bring back supplies for the force.  These
tactics had the result he anticipated.  Sher Singh's army, which was
organising itself, with much squabbling and mutual recrimination, for a
dash across the frontier, found its rear threatened, and perceived that
unless the capital was to be left open to attack, these impudent
intruders must be driven back to their own side of the river.  The
matter was complicated by the speedy appearance of the Habshiabad
troops in the south of the state, where Gerrard seized one of the
riverside towns, and held it by means of Rukn-ud-din's men and the most
serviceable of the Nawab's batteries of artillery, while he laboured
day and night, with Sadiq Ali, almost beside himself with joy,
hindering as much as helping him, to get the army into the field.
Happily the problem was not so complicated as it would have been in the
case of European troops, and the Nawab and his soldiers alike would
have scouted the idea of obtaining supplies otherwise than from the
country traversed, but weapons for the men and transport for the guns,
and ammunition for both, were necessaries difficult to improvise on the
spur of the moment.  The Habshiabadis took the field at last, in a
state that would have made a European commander tear his hair, and
Gerrard hustled them on, blooding them by a smart little engagement
with a force sent by Sher Singh's nearest governor to dispute their
passage.  The Rani joined them with every man she could bring as soon
as they were ready to cross the Ghara, but left the command of her
contingent to Rukn-ud-din, maintaining rigid seclusion on her elephant
with one or two faithful attendants.

Thus far, then, Charteris's bold scheme was justified.  Sher Singh's
power for mischief beyond his own borders was largely neutralised for
the present, and for so long as an active enemy remained in arms upon
his soil.  But the march from the Habshiabad frontier to Kardi was a
matter of seven days in favourable circumstances, and this was the hot
weather, and the partially trained troops disgraced their leader by
straggling, making unauthorised expeditions for the sake of plunder,
demanding longer halts and more frequent opportunities of meeting the
foe, and all manner of other military crimes.  The high officers who
accompanied them on gorgeous elephants, with long trains of attendants
and baggage-animals, were quite useless as an aid to discipline, and
Gerrard fell into the habit of issuing his orders first, and then
sending a special copy to be handed round among them.  It was not at
all the fulfilment of the ideal he had set before himself, the
reformation of the army through and with the help of its leaders, but
time was pressing, and far ahead, at Kardi, Bob Charteris was looking
out for him and wondering why he did not come.

The elements seemed to combine with troublesome humanity against
Charteris at this moment.  A sudden rise of the river, a week before
the usual date, flooded him out of his entrenchments and obliged him to
take up a less satisfactory position.  Moreover, at the same time,
Chand Singh, the Agpur general, after some painful vacillation as to
whether he should annihilate the western or the southern intruder
first, made up his mind suddenly, and marched with quite unexpected
speed upon Kardi, driving in the Darwani raiding-parties before him.
One fortunate result of his haste was that his guns were left behind,
and he was obliged to wait for them, but his army held the whole range
of ground in front of Charteris.  Charteris had requisitioned every
boat that could be found on the Darwan side, and kept them safely
guarded, but it would be quite easy to obtain others if Chand Singh
cared to try a naval action.  This he would probably combine with a
frontal attack all along the line as soon as his artillery arrived,
with the result that Charteris's force must choose between destruction
and being driven into the river, unless they retreated in time.  But
everything forbade this last course.  It would leave Gerrard's force
exposed to the full onslaught of the Agpur army, and even if they
succeeded in escaping across the river, would set Sher Singh free to
pursue his larger designs, which would probably begin with an invasion
of Darwan, and a joyful reception from the unsettled Granthi artillery
at Dera Galib.  Moreover, Charteris had a shrewd idea that somewhere on
that other bank would be lying in wait for him that despatch from
Ranjitgarh, the receipt of which he had hitherto successfully evaded,
but which was practically certain to contain a sharp order to return at
once into his own province.  Every possible consideration, therefore,
urged him to hold out at Kardi at all costs, but when on this
particular evening he wrote his notes to Gerrard, of whose whereabouts
and approach he had for several days received only vague rumours, he
was face to face with the necessity of retiring unless relieved.

This necessity was not to be made public, either to the unsatisfactory
Granthis or to the dispirited Darwanis, who were perpetually entreating
to be let loose against Chand Singh's array, which they were quite
certain they could drive away, if not destroy.  Charteris said nothing
of it, even to his sole European companion, whom Carpenter had
unselfishly sent to his assistance with a small reinforcement.  But in
view of the morrow even his iron nerve gave way, and he found himself
noting narrowly the colloguing of the Granthis round their camp-fires,
and their sudden silence when he approached, and wondering whether a
murderous attack in the night would be the end of it after all.  He
pulled himself together quickly.  He had done the best he could, what
he thought was right, and it had at any rate delayed Sher Singh long
enough to prevent his taking the British in Granthistan by surprise,
and when he did it he had known that he staked his life on the result.
To-morrow was bound to be a hard day, whatever happened, and he would
want every ounce of force that he possessed.  What folly to be sitting
up listening for murderers!  He added hastily the concluding words to
the report so scrupulously sent off day by day to James Antony, bade
Vixen keep guard, and lay down and slept.  Gerrard would not have been
able to sleep in these circumstances, and Charteris's lieutenant was
equally destitute of the capacity for repose.  He roused his chief
quite unnecessarily early in the morning, his flushed face and haggard
eyes telling of vain attempts at slumber, though he merely guessed at
what Charteris knew.

"Chand Singh's guns are beginning to come into camp," he announced
dramatically.

"Oh, all right.  Bound to come some time," was the sleepy response.
But Warner was not to be put off.

"The Granthis are all standing to arms already, and Bishen Ram is
sporting a pair of gold bracelets."

"Ah!" said Charteris sharply.  This was news indeed, for it was a gift
of gold bracelets to their commandant that had heralded the defection
of Nisbet and Cowper's escort to Sher Singh.  "Keep an eye on them from
the door here while I dress, Warner.  I have the _zamburaks_ trained on
them, so they can't take us by surprise."

Having succeeded in producing an impression, Warner was emboldened to
go further.  Nothing but making Charteris as nervous as himself would
have satisfied him, and yet it was not fear, but overwork and want of
sleep, that combined with anxiety to keep him tramping restlessly
about.  "I suppose you have full confidence in Gerrard?" he hazarded.

"Full confidence?" Charteris's voice, inside the tent, evidently issued
from the folds of a towel.  "Why, of course.  Every confidence that a
man could have in another."

"There was a story that you and he had quarrelled----"

"Well?" the word snapped out.

"Er--about some girl, I believe.  But quarrelled, anyhow.  You don't
think he would take this opportunity----?"

"To pay me out?  I would as soon believe that you had been bribed by
Chand Singh to try and discourage me."

"Well, that's pretty strong, I must say."  Warner's tone was injured.

"It is; and if you want it stronger, I'll say that I would sooner
believe it."  Charteris emerged from the tent as he spoke and looked
keenly at his subordinate.  "My dear fellow, your nerves are all to
pieces.  Steady, steady!  This is going to be one of the worst days you
ever had, and I mean you to come out of it with credit.  Take a couple
of orderlies to keep guard, and go down and get a good swim.  If you
feel inclined for a snooze afterwards, take an hour or two with my
blessing.  I will be responsible for this mighty array meanwhile.  No,
I really mean it.  Be off with you!"

Slightly ashamed, Warner obeyed, and Charteris rode through the Darwani
bivouac, and backed up the _zamburaks_ with a line of musketmen.
Passing on to where the Granthis had slept, he found them, as Warner
had said, standing to their arms, but there was evident to his eye a
certain amount of hesitation, as though his most recent precaution was
not entirely to their liking.  Without betraying any suspicion, he rode
straight up to Bishen Ram, the Sirdar, and complimented him upon the
alertness of his men.

"My Darwanis I must rouse, keen fighters though they are," he said,
"but I find my Granthis in arms before the order is even issued.  Well
for the commander who has such men under him!  And why are we so brave
to-day, Sirdar-ji?"

He indicated the bracelets upon the sinewy arms, and was aware of a
savage grin, instantly repressed, upon the faces of the men nearest at
hand.  Bishen Ram replied without the slightest embarrassment.  "It
appears to your honour's servants that to-day there will be a fight to
the death, and it is the custom of my unworthy house to meet death clad
as beseems a gentleman."

"A good custom indeed! and no ornament could better become a loyal
soldier," said Charteris, with just sufficient meaning in his voice to
leave the traitors uncertain whether he had penetrated their designs or
not.  He took advantage of their uncertainty to ride back in safety,
knowing that he was in most danger when he had his back to them, and
reached his tent unharmed, but persuaded of the critical nature of the
situation.  The treachery of the Granthis, whether actual or only
potential, practically neutralised the powers of the rest of his force.
If he ordered them to advance, they would promptly fraternise with the
foe, if he kept them in reserve, they would fall upon his rear, and if
he led the whole line into battle, they would turn their arms against
their comrades.  A day of inglorious waiting, with one half of his
force--for the better training of the Granthis compensated for the
smallness of their numbers--in arms against the other half, until
either Chand Singh came on in overwhelming strength or Gerrard
appeared, seemed to lie before him.

And so it turned out.  Throughout the sultry hours he held his
position, not daring to move his men save to drive back tentative
advances on the part of the enemy, which he knew were designed to cover
the movements of their artillery.  He could not press his attack home,
far less penetrate to the guns, and the range of his musketry would of
course be hopelessly inadequate when Chand Singh chose to begin to
pound him from a distance.  He did choose at last, about half-way
through the day, and to the tortures of inaction were added the lively
reproaches of the force.  Lying down to be a target for artillery fire
was not an exercise that commended itself to the native mind, and
Charteris became the unwilling centre of a group of protesting Granthis
and Darwanis, who had each of them his special plan for making the day
more interesting, and plucked at the European's sleeve when they were
tired of shrieking into his ears.  It was with a certain grim pleasure
that he received the remonstrances of the Granthis, whose plans must
all have been disarranged by his unexpected immobility.  Chand Singh's
cannon-balls fell as impartially among them as among their fellows,
perhaps as a gentle hint that if they were going to change sides they
might as well do it at once, but the distance that separated the armies
was sufficient to account for a good many of them if they were exposed
to Charteris's fire.  Yes, the Granthis deserved all they got, but his
heart bled for his Darwanis.  Less fitted, both by nature and training,
for passive endurance, they could not understand his inertness.
"Sahib, can you expect us to endure this?" they cried reproachfully, as
the round-shot crashed among them.  "We are here to die, but let us die
fighting, not crouching on the ground!"

Not until four o'clock was he able to seem to listen to their appeals,
and this was only because Chand Singh, apparently emboldened by the
passivity of his foe, deliberately advanced four guns to a spot little
beyond the reach of their musketry, and began to try the range.
Charteris detected at once the bait which was to draw him from his
position and give the Granthis their long-sought opportunity, and set
his teeth hard.  The line should not advance.  Turning his back on
Bishen Ram, whose protests were very nearly becoming threats, he called
up the heads of two Darwani clans, of late the fiercest and most
troublesome of his robber-vassals.

"You are willing to ride to death, brothers?"

A great shout answered him.  "Into hell itself, sahib!"

"I knew it.  But are you willing to turn back half-way, and return?"

"Never, sahib; never!"

"Then you are not the men for me."  He turned away with ostentatious
disappointment, only to feel his sleeves gripped on either side by
eager hands.

"We will do it, sahib, though it be more bitter than death."

"I thought I could count on you.  Listen then, brothers.  I want those
four guns dismounted, and rolled into the marsh near at hand.  We will
cover your charge by advancing within musket-shot of the guns, but
further we cannot go.  Can I trust you to return when your work is
done, without attempting to ride further?"

"Highness, you can."

"It is well.  The one who returns first, bringing his men with him,
shall receive my revolving pistol; to the other I will give my watch."

"The gifts of the Sahib are great as his fame," said the two Darwanis
together, as they raced off to their followers.  Charteris made his
dispositions hurriedly.  Twenty men, his best shots, were sent out
under Warner to wriggle through the long grass to within range of the
guns, and pick off the gunners when they attempted to fire.  The rest
of the Darwanis--such as possessed fire-arms, at least--were ordered to
load, but remain where they were, and the Granthis to fall back a
hundred yards.  The eyes of all were fixed upon the favoured few, who,
with upraised hands, were repeating the _Kalima_[2] before they set
forth upon their perilous ride, but Charteris managed to convey a brief
warning to the Darwani chiefs and officers near him.  The forlorn hope
burst forth from the low jungle that had served as cover all
day--starting on the left of the advanced party, so as not to mask its
fire, and as their progress was marked with shouts by their fellows,
his ear caught the sound he had expected, the ring of ramrods behind
him on the right.  The Granthis were loading without orders.

"To the right, turn.  Ready.  Present."  His voice rang out, and the
Darwanis nearest him looked to see if he had gone mad, that he should
bid them turn away from watching their champions' ride.  But as his
whistle reinforced the order, the chiefs whose minds he had prepared
rushed among their followers, and by voice and blows forced them to
obey.  The sight of the Granthis at work with their ramrods betrayed
the truth at once, and the wild men took a step forward with a howl,
and would have precipitated themselves upon their hereditary foes if
Charteris had not stopped them.  The Granthis, deprived of the
advantage they had anticipated, of pouring in a volley from behind on
their unsuspecting allies, looked foolish, and Charteris rode forward
and rated Bishen Ram, and bade him order his men to withdraw their
charges.  For a moment they hesitated whether to direct their fire on
him--the forlorn hope was happily out of range of their present
position--but the habit of discipline combined with the knowledge that
the Darwanis were thirsting to fire to induce them to obey.  The mask
was worn very thin now, however, and Charteris hardly dared turn his
eyes from them even to receive his returning heroes, who had duly
dashed at the guns, dismounted them and tumbled them into the swamp,
and ridden back--all that were left of them--under a heavy fire from
the concealed matchlockmen on the other side.  The promised rewards
were duly bestowed on two gory figures, and Charteris returned to the
bush which had afforded him partial shelter at intervals during the
day, and wondered how long the Granthis would maintain even the
pretence of obedience if Gerrard did not come.

As the thought passed through his mind, it seemed to him that a deeper
and more distant boom mingled with the sound of Chand Singh's cannon,
and the nearer popping of his musketry, and when he listened he heard
it again.  The two signal shots!  Yes, Gerrard was coming, was
evidently attacking the enemy's left, where their main camp was
situated.  At first there was no cessation either in the cannonade
poured into Charteris's force or in the musketry-fire, but gradually
both slackened.  Evidently Chand Singh was withdrawing his forces from
this front, but whether it was to employ them against Gerrard or to
make good his retreat there was no means of knowing.  The trying thing
was that even now Charteris could not venture to loose his Darwanis on
the foe, for the accession of the Granthis to Chand Singh's ranks might
turn the tide in the enemy's favour, and he was not sanguine enough to
hope that they would consent to remain neutral.  He could only trust
that the Habshiabadis were in a better condition to pursue--but when he
and Gerrard met he learned that it was not so.  On receiving
Charteris's message, Gerrard had come on with his artillery and an
escort, leaving the rest of his force to hold a detachment sent against
him by Chand Singh.

"Talk about the rules of military science, indeed!  Think of your
trailing cow-guns unsupported through a hostile country!" cried
Charteris.  "But it was a regular case of night or Bl�cher, old boy,
and I knew what a brick you were."

"A brick!  I feel like one," laughed Gerrard.  He and Charteris looked
at one another and laughed again.  They had both discarded their tunics
in favour of what they called blouses, loose holland garments like long
Norfolk jackets, and Gerrard had exchanged his cap for a hat of white
feathers lined with green, the precursor of the sun-helmet.

"Good job we ain't in Khemistan.  Old Harry Lennox would have
court-martialled us like winkin'," said Charteris.  "He wouldn't even
consider it an extenuating circumstance that we've won."

"Not very much of a win, since we can't follow it up."

"Well, I don't know.  Another fight like this will bring us in sight of
Agpur."



[1] Guns mounted on the backs of camels.

[2] The Mohammedan creed.




CHAPTER XIX.

AS OTHERS SEE US.

"I can't think why there was no letter for me!" lamented Marian Cowper.

"Perhaps it will come by a special runner to-morrow," suggested Honour.
"Papa would send it on, I am sure."

"But it ought to have come to-day.  Charley has never missed his proper
day before."

"Perhaps he was too busy to write."

"Too busy!  As if he would let anything keep him from writing to me!"

"I didn't mean that he would not wish to write, but that he might not
be able," explained Honour with care.

"Of course.  You needn't apologize for Charley to me, thank you.  If he
doesn't write it's because he can't, and any one else would understand
how I feel about it--especially when it is getting so near the time for
him to come back."  Marian's nerves were evidently on edge, as she
moved restlessly about the room, and shot out her sentences at her
sister like darts.  "I wish you wouldn't sit there so quietly.  You
don't sympathize a bit.  If Charley doesn't come up here next month as
he promised, I don't know what I shall do.  At any rate, if anything
happens it will be his fault."

"Oh, Marian, how can you be so unfair?" cried Honour, with her usual
earnestness.  "You know poor Charles will come if he possibly can.  And
how dreadful to say it would be his fault if anything went wrong!"

"I didn't say 'if anything went wrong'; I said 'if anything happened,'"
corrected Marian pettishly.  "And I don't know why you should say 'poor
Charles.'  He would be perfectly happy if he was here with me, and so
should I.  He understands things--oh, I do want him so!"

"Oh, don't cry," entreated Honour in alarm.  "Dear Marian, you will
only do yourself harm, you know, and you were so anxious he should find
you well and cheerful.  Just finish your letter to him, and then let us
sit out on the verandah a little before going to bed.  The Antonys'
guests will be leaving, and you know how pretty the torches look among
the hills."

"How can I finish my letter when I don't know whether there is anything
in his to answer?" complained Marian.  "Well, I will leave it unsealed,
and put in an extra sheet if necessary.  I'll come out in a minute.
I'm sorry I am so cross, Honour.  After all it isn't your fault that
you are not Charley."

"Of course not," said Honour indignantly, and there was more than a
suggestion of what was known, in those days of distended skirts, as
"flouncing" in the quick rustle with which she left the room.  Somehow
Marian and she seemed perpetually to rub one another the wrong way, and
every one thought it was her fault, because Marian was always so bright
and pleasant in public.  Marian received plenty of sympathy and wanted
more, but Honour felt that a little would be very pleasant to herself.
Yet why should her thoughts in this connection be suddenly discovered
to have flown to Gerrard?  "He understands," she said to herself, and
blushed hotly in the darkness to remember that these were the very
words Marian had used of her husband.  Giving herself a little shake,
as though to get rid of the momentary foolishness, she bent her
thoughts sternly to the subject of Sir Edmund and Lady Antony's
dinner-party.  Ladies in the hills whose husbands were on service did
not accept invitations in those benighted days, and Honour had
naturally remained with her sister.  Their bungalow stood a little
higher than the Resident's Lodge, and the effect of the torches by
which all the guests were lighted along the hill-paths was very pretty
from their verandah.

"Marian," she called out, "the people are beginning to leave.  Some one
is coming up our path."

"Oh, it is only the new people--a judge or something and his wife--who
have taken Hilltop Hall.  But I shall have finished before they pass
the gate.  I should like to see what they are like."

But long before the usual procession--a gentleman on a pony, a lady in
a _jampan_, and torchbearers and servants _ad libitum_--which Honour
was expecting could have reached the gate, it was opened and two people
came up the steep path to the bungalow.  By the light of the torch
carried before them by a servant, Honour recognised Lady Antony, with a
burnouse thrown over her evening dress, and her husband.  Her heart
stood still, for such a visit could only mean bad news.  Sir Edmund and
his wife were fond of dropping in informally on their young neighbours,
but to leave their guests, at an important entertainment in their own
house--this was unheard of.  Honour ran to the top of the steps to meet
them.

"Oh, what is it?" she cried, lowering her voice so that it should not
reach Marian.  "Is it papa?"

"Sir Arthur is well.  I have a letter from him," said Sir Edmund.
"Your mother is also in good health."

"Then who is it?" demanded Honour fearfully.  "Is it either of my
brothers?  Oh, not--not Charles?"

"Hush! let me break it to her," said Lady Antony, as Marian's pretty
sparkling face, the eyes wide with astonishment, appeared at the
window.  "Dear Marian," she took the girl's arm and led her back into
the room, "I have something to say to you."

"What was it--cholera?"  Honour was asking with dry lips of Sir Edmund
as they stood on the verandah.

"No, unfortunately."  Honour's eyes met his in perplexity.  "It was
murder.  This morning I received news that Captain Cowper and Mr Nisbet
had been wounded in a street-tumult at Agpur, but that Cowper's
injuries were so slight he did not wish his wife alarmed about them.
To-night your father sends a runner to say that the poor fellows were
pursued and murdered outside the city."

"How dreadful!" was all Honour could say.

"Dreadful indeed," said Sir Edmund gloomily.  "I have no doubt that
Sher Singh will be able to clear himself of any complicity in the
crime, but I fear he must have shown culpable weakness.  And weakness
is difficult to distinguish from wickedness at a time when men's
passions are excited, as they are bound to be by this news."

"But what does it signify about Sher Singh?  It is poor Charles we have
to think of, and poor, poor Marian!" cried Honour indignantly.  Sir
Edmund's eyes looked beyond her.

"Pardon me; we have the whole question of the treatment of native
states, the whole principle of justice to the native, to think of.
Eyes blinded by the natural, though unholy, desire for revenge are
little fitted to see clearly.  There is grave reason to fear that even
now hasty steps have been taken, which may compromise our future
action.  I understand that young Charteris crossed the frontier, or was
about to cross it, on the news of the outbreak.  My brother reports
that he has ordered him to return immediately, but it is almost
impossible that the harm has not been done."

"What harm?" demanded Honour.  "Mr Charteris hoped to save poor
Charles, of course.  Then, when he knew he was too late for that, he
would try to rescue his body."

Sir Edmund looked at her with a kind of despair for her feminine
obtuseness.  "That is quite out of the question," he said, "and
Charteris knows it.  If he went on, it would be----"

"You don't mean that Marian will never know where her husband is
buried--never be able to visit his grave?"

"It is highly probable.  My dear young lady, what can it signify where
our vile bodies lie?  They are in God's keeping, whether cast out on
the face of the ground or laid in a churchyard at home."

"Oh, don't!"  Honour could have shaken Sir Edmund.  "Can't you see?
Oh, please don't say anything of that kind to Marian, as if she had not
enough to bear already."

"I do not think I introduced the subject----"

"I must see how poor Marian is," interrupted Honour, and left him
hastily.  She had a momentary vision of her sister sobbing in Lady
Antony's arms, but a warning hand upraised forbade her to enter the
room, and she returned unwillingly to Sir Edmund, who had forgotten all
about the difference of opinion in the hurry of his thoughts.

"I shall go down to-morrow night," he said, as though speaking to
himself.  "I cannot be sure of James when it is a question of keeping
these young fellows in order.  Charteris must return at once, of
course, and one can only hope that he may not have done irreparable
harm."

"What harm could he do, with only a few men, against Sher Singh's whole
army?" demanded Honour.

"The harm of making it appear that the case has been prejudged.  Sher
Singh may have been innocent of all but cowardice, but to send an army
against him without inquiry will force him in self-defence to throw
himself into the arms of the war-party.  He must be approached without
show of force, and his life guaranteed to him if he will consent to
submit his conduct to an impartial court of inquiry--such as the Durbar
here."

"You think only of Sher Singh!" cried Honour hotly.  "I think of poor
Charley murdered, without a finger raised to save him.  I want Sher
Singh punished--do you hear?" with a stamp of her foot--"and I hope Mr
Charteris will do it, and not care what orders you send him!"

Sir Edmund had been looking at her as though she were a pigmy viewed
from a mountain-top, so she told herself indignantly, but now his eyes
flashed, and a tinge of colour crept into his sallow, haggard face.
"If, as I understand, you have some influence with Mr Charteris, I
would advise you, for his sake, not to make him acquainted with your
views, Miss Cinnamond," he said coldly.  "The natural warmth of a young
man's constitution is sufficiently powerful to lead him astray, without
being raised to fever-heat by the uninstructed interference of
sentimental females."

"I shall certainly not attempt to influence Mr Charteris, but I hope to
hear that he has acted as I would wish him without that," Honour
managed to say before the lump in her throat prevented her speaking.
With her head held very high, she walked away to the end of the
verandah, and finding a seat in the shadow of the creepers, hid herself
there and wept silently--for Charley Cowper lying unburied outside the
walls of Agpur, for Marian, bereaved of love and hope at nineteen, for
the child that its father would never see, and a little for Honour
Cinnamond, who had intended to do such great things, and was such a
failure all round.  Sir Edmund forgot her existence, as she knew he
would, and walked up and down the verandah with bent head and hands
clasped behind his back.  Sometimes he trod firmly and even whistled in
a meditative way, and then he would pull himself up suddenly and creep
backwards and forwards in silence, remembering the task in which his
wife was engaged.  It was long before Lady Antony came out, with
swollen eyes, and called softly to Honour before taking her husband's
offered arm.

"I have persuaded your sister to go to bed, and it would be kinder not
to disturb her again to-night.  Her good old ayah is with her, and I
hope she may get some rest."

"But I must go to her!" protested Honour.  "She would think it so
unkind."

"Better not, dear, I think.  In fact, I may say she begged not to be
disturbed.  I did not tell her, lest something should happen to prevent
it, but you will be glad to hear that the runner had orders to lay a
double _d�k_ for the Lady Memsahib at all the stations as he came, so I
hope we shall see your dear mother here some time to-morrow."

The news was inexpressibly welcome, but Honour bade good-night to Lady
Antony with distinct resentment.  As though Marian would not choose to
have her own sister beside her at this time of desolation instead of a
servant!  For a moment she thought of taking things into her own hands,
and bidding the ayah go to bed while she would watch, but peeping into
Marian's room she saw her lying exhausted on the bed, a tired sob
breaking from her at intervals, while the old Goanese woman rubbed her
mistress's feet gently, crooning a soft unintelligible song.  She could
not be banished, certainly, but at least Honour might share the watch,
and presently she made her appearance armed with pillows and a
coverlet, intending to lie down on the sofa in her sister's room.  Old
Anna looked at her warningly as she entered, but Marian heard the
rustling of the bedclothes and glanced up sharply.

"Please go to bed properly in your own room, Honour.  I want nobody but
Nanna."

"I will only lie down here, in case you call.  I won't say a word,"
said Honour, unmoved by the glitter in her sister's eyes, from which
the film of weariness had vanished.  Marian raised herself on her elbow.

"I will send Nanna if I want you.  Please go."  As Honour still
hesitated, her voice rose higher.  "Go, go!  I don't want you here.
You never appreciated my dear Charley."

"Go, missy, go!" entreated the old woman.  "Missus not know what she
done say."  But Honour was too deeply hurt.

"Oh, Marian, how can you say such a thing?  Why, if I had not liked him
for himself, I should have loved him because he was so fond of you,
dear fellow!"

"You said to mamma that he was so very ordinary.  I heard you through
the _chiks_," persisted Marian, holding her with accusing eyes.

"I didn't mean you to hear.  How could I tell you were there?  And I
learned to know him better afterwards--how good and kind he was."
Honour defended herself desperately.

"It was not my hearing you, but your saying it, that mattered.  I could
laugh at it at the time, knowing what he really was, but now--I can't
bear to have you in the room with me, to-night, at any rate, when you
misjudged him so."

"Oh, Marian, how can you be so unkind?  If I was in trouble, I would
not keep you away."

"You would not be in this kind of trouble.  You couldn't be.  It isn't
in you."  Marian hurled her shafts deliberately.  "You don't understand
what it is to care for any one as I care for Charley, and I believe you
never will.  You can let two men go on making love to you at once for
more than a year, because you can't make up your mind which of them you
like best."

"Is that my fault?  I don't like either of them in that way."

"No, but you like knowing that they think of you, and care for you, and
watch for the least crumb of kindness you are willing to throw them.
When you thought poor Charteris was dead, you luxuriated in misery with
that very foolish young Gerrard, who ought to have given you the choice
of taking him or leaving him there and then, and when Charteris came
back, you snubbed him.  And if Gerrard should be killed now, in trying
to save my dear Charley, I suppose you and Charteris would mingle your
tears over him.  No, Charteris has more sense.  He won't let himself be
treated----"

Honour's eyes were bright.  "Oh, do you mean that Mr Gerrard is helping
Mr Charteris?  Sir Edmund did not mention him."

"They are co-operating, Lady Antony told me--making forced marches in
the hot weather, to avenge Charley if they can't save him.  But you
don't care--or if you do, it's only because you like to think you can
be an inspiration to them without giving anything in return.  You don't
want to marry either of them, but you won't break with them so long as
they are willing to dangle about you."

"I don't want to marry either of them, it is true, but if they are
willing to be my friends still, why should I break with them, as you
call it?"

"Because each of them thinks that you will be willing to marry him one
day, and you know it.  You are rather proud of their constancy, and
your own firmness in not yielding to either of them.  But it is not a
thing to be proud of; it is a thing to be ashamed of and sorry for.
You could make far more of either of those men by coming down from your
pedestal and marrying him in an ordinary everyday way than by standing
up above him and giving him good advice.  I know you have some delusion
that it is better and higher to be as you are, but I tell you that I
had rather have married my Charley and known him as he really was
and--yes, and even lost him--than stood on high and given good advice
to a whole army.  Oh, Charley, my dear kind Charley--and I behaved so
badly to you when you went away!  I never kissed you!"

A fresh paroxysm of tears succeeded the angry words, and Honour yielded
to the ayah's whispered entreaties, and left the room.  Grief and
resentment combined to give her a very disturbed night, and when Lady
Cinnamond arrived, tired and travel-stained, about mid-day, after an
unbroken journey from Ranjitgarh, she was shocked at her daughter's
appearance.  But there was no time to think of Honour, for Marian,
hearing her mother's voice, had tottered to her door.

"Oh, dear mamma, I have wanted you so much!  You understand, you know
all about it."

Not until the evening did Honour see her mother again, and then Lady
Cinnamond crept out on tiptoe into the verandah.

"Honour, love, I have been so longing to speak to you, but I could not
leave poor Marian until she fell asleep.  I am very anxious about papa.
He has never been alone in the hot weather before, and he is so
terribly imprudent."

"You would like me to go down and take care of him?  I shall be
delighted, mamma.  I find I must be thankful if any one will let me
even stay near them."

"Dear little one, you must not think----"

"I do not think, mamma; I know.  I know that Marian has begged you to
send me away, and said she shall go mad if she sees me about.  She said
almost as much as that to me last night.  I suppose I deserve it
somehow, but I really don't see how."

"Onora, dear child, you must not misjudge poor Marian.  She has had a
fearful blow, and is hardly responsible for what she says.  You know
that I would never send you away from me.  But I see that I must stay
here with her for the present, and it makes me so unhappy to leave dear
papa----"

"And you do know how I long to be of use to any one, don't you, mamma?
I wanted to comfort Marian, but she would not let me.  Oh, mamma, she
said such cruel, unjust things.  And is it my fault if I can't--if I
can't----?"

"No, my love, certainly not.  And if you have been--well, not very
wise, in what you have done and said, no one who knew you could
possibly credit you with any but the best motives.  And you will take
care of papa, and see that he does not go out in the sun unnecessarily?
I feel that it is very cruel to send you down to Ranjitgarh again in
the heat, my precious one."

"What does it signify, mamma?  I am sure Marian would be rather pleased
if I died.  No, I ought not to have said that.  I am really glad to
have some idea what the hot weather is--even though I shall be in a
cool house, with every comfort.  They have nothing of that sort, have
they--marching in the heat to punish Charley's murderers?"

"Who--those two young men?  Oh, my dear child, is it always to be they,
and not he?"

"I don't know; how can I tell?  Oh, mamma, they are both so good, and
they do everything together, and I think it is so splendid of them both
to have risked everything like this.  If only they were both my
brothers!"

"I suppose I should have been too proud with two such sons added to
those I have.  One of them as a son-in-law would quite satisfy me, if
it satisfied you, dearest.  But that seems too much to hope for," said
Lady Cinnamond despairingly.

But when Honour reached Ranjitgarh, under the escort of Sir Edmund
Antony--who fell ill again the day after his arrival, and was promptly
ordered back to the hills by his doctors--she found that the general
opinion of Charteris's and Gerrard's conduct reflected his verdict
rather than hers.  Charteris was the head and front of the offending,
for Gerrard's self-suppression in placing himself under his orders had
had the unlooked-for effect of concentrating attention, and blame, on
the man nominally responsible.  Charteris had precipitated matters by
his hasty action, he was driving Sher Singh to revolt, he would set all
Granthistan in a blaze, and incidentally be wiped out himself--in which
case he would richly deserve his fate.  The confused rumours which came
through of the skirmishes preceding the battle near Kardi created an
atmosphere highly unfavourable to a cool consideration of his reports
when they arrived.  The rumours spoke of defeat, retreat, heavy
loss--the reports of positions maintained and a steady pressure on the
foe, and as such a measure of success, attained by unauthorised and
unprecedented means, was in itself most improbable, the rumours
received far greater credit.  The action of Lieutenant Charteris became
a public scandal, focussing Anglo-Indian attention on Granthistan to a
highly undesirable extent.  The newly arrived Governor-General, Lord
Blairgowrie, who possessed two supreme qualifications for his high
office in a total ignorance of things Indian and a splendid
self-confidence, wrote several of his well-known incisive letters to
the Antony brothers, reflecting upon the discipline of their
subordinates.  Unkindest cut of all, old Sir Henry Lennox grasped
joyfully at the chance of avenging a few of the wrongs he and his
Khemistan administration had suffered at the hands of Granthistan,
and--with the readiness to submit official matters to public
arbitrament which so curiously distinguished the men of his
day--addressed to the press a series of communications reflecting with
equal severity on Charteris's moral character and his military capacity.

A copy of the Bombay paper in which these letters appeared was sent to
Sir Arthur Cinnamond by a friend who thought he ought to know what was
being said, and it fell into Honour's hands.  Sir Arthur, dozing over a
cheroot in the hottest part of the day, was rudely awakened by the
apparition of the tragic figure of his daughter, holding out the
offending journal.

"Papa, have you read this?  Do you see what they say?"

"Eh, what, my dear?"  Sir Arthur groped for his glasses, and settled
them on his nose.  "Oh, that nonsense of Lennox's, I see--most improper
interference; like his--er--er--usual impudence to meddle in our
affairs."

"But the things he says about Mr Charteris, papa--that he ought to be
court-martialled!"

"Well, my dear, you need not be frightened.  Old Harry Lennox ain't
commanding in Granthistan."

"But it's just as bad if he only deserved to be court-martialled, and
we know he doesn't.  As if Mr Gerrard would ever have joined him if he
had been merely trying to bring himself into notoriety at the expense
of disobeying orders!"

"There's no doubt that he moved without orders, my dear girl.  And if
you ask me, I have a shrewd idea that he was in no hurry to open his
orders when they reached him, lest they should direct him to retire.
Ought to be broke, the young scamp!  But hang me if I wouldn't have
done the same in his place!"

"Oh, papa, I am so glad you feel like that!  You are writing to him?
Do you know, I was going to ask you to let me put in a note, that he
might see there was one person on his side."

"Oho, you sly little puss!" cried Sir Arthur, highly amused.  Honour
looked offended, and her father shifted his ground rapidly.  "No, no,
Honour, I couldn't think of it--without consulting your mother, at any
rate.  But I tell you what I will do--add a postscript that my family
send their kind regards to him and Gerrard.  Mustn't leave poor Gerrard
quite out in the cold, but I think they'll understand that--eh?"

"There is nothing to understand," said Honour, departing with dignity.

"So it's Charteris!" said Sir Arthur to himself.  "Somehow I had an
idea it was the other.  I'm almost sorry.  He will take it hard, poor
chap!"




CHAPTER XX.

A DAY OF VICTORY.

Sitting in Charteris's tent, in their shirt-sleeves, the two
inconvenient young men whose inconsiderate action was casting British
India into turmoil talked over their prospects.  The remainder of the
Habshiabad force had beaten off the detachment opposed to it, and
rejoined Gerrard and the guns, and Chand Singh and the Agpur army had
continued their precipitate flight.  On the evening of the battle, the
long-delayed despatches from Ranjitgarh caught up Charteris at last,
ordering him to retire forthwith into Darwan, since it would be
impossible during the hot weather to move reinforcements sufficient to
ensure the capture of Agpur.  Before they slept that night, he and
Gerrard had deliberately made up their minds to put the telescope to
the blind eye.  Retreat now would mean not only perfect liberty for
Sher Singh to move in any direction he chose, but also that that
direction would inevitably be Darwan, where the disaffected artillery
and Bishen Ram's Granthis would joyfully flock to his standard.  All
the work done in pacifying the country would then be wasted, and what
was worse, Sher Singh would be provided with a second base of
operations against Ranjitgarh, and a means of communication with his
desired ally, Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia.  Since to retire would be
to incur fresh danger, as well as to sacrifice the advantages already
won, they determined to advance, and boldly, though with all possible
respect, notified their decision to James Antony.  His reception of the
news astonished them, for their cool estimate of the chances against
them, and readiness to take the risk, seemed to have touched a
sympathetic chord in his iron nature.  In the letter which lay now on
the camp-table between them, the acting-Resident generously associated
himself with their resolution, approved of the measures by which they
had forced his hand, and promised to use his influence in trying to
induce the military authorities to send the desired reinforcements.

"Old boy," said Charteris with emphasis, after reading the letter once
more, "we are made men."

"If we succeed," Gerrard reminded him.  "If not, we drag down James
Antony as well as ourselves."

"The Colonel won't be in a forgiving mood," agreed Charteris.  "Strikes
me, Hal, that but for this latest illness of his we should find
ourselves in the wrong box even now."

"If he will only let us catch Sher Singh, he can try him as much as he
likes when we've got him," said Gerrard.  "We give no guarantees, but
we take him alive if we can.  That ought to meet Sir Edmund's wishes."

"Talking of taking Sher Singh alive is just a little bit like selling
the bear's skin before you've killed him, ain't it?  Any one viewing
our present situation impartially would say we were more likely to be
taken alive ourselves--and in that case I fear we shouldn't long remain
so."

"We can't very well stay as we are," said Gerrard drily.

"True, O most sapient Hal, and we can hardly expect Chand Singh to
attack us unprovoked.  He knows too well that his game is to stay quiet
in the plain there and wait for us to come down, like Colonel Carter's
'possum.  Therefore we must make the plain uncomfortable--not too hot
to hold him, for that we can't do, but simply rather warm.  I suggest
that you take two of your guns to-night round by that nullah on the
left, and tickle him up a bit in the morning.  It won't be a
particularly quiet corner for you, but you can post two other guns in
support, and we'll back you up.  If Chand Singh retreats again we'll
follow him, if he attacks we've got him."

"Quite so.  If he don't see how ill-mannered it is to block the road in
this way to two gentlemen in a hurry, he must be politely removed.  But
listen, Bob!  It sounds almost as if----  And yet they can't possibly
be attacking."

"Charteris, do you know that Chand Singh is advancing?" cried Warner,
coming in hastily.

"Advancing?  He must be mad."

"Advancing in line, with flags and music.  They say Sher Singh is there
too, on an elephant."

"Then he is delivered into our hands," said Charteris, and Gerrard and
he hurried out of the tent and looked over the plain, where the distant
dust-cloud, through the rifts in which came glimpses of colour and
flashing steel, and bursts of barbaric music, showed the approach of
the Agpuri host.  Rukn-ud-din came towards them as they gazed.

"Her Highness sends her salaams, sahib, and she will lead her troops
to-day."

"Ah, this is the day of vengeance, then?"

"So it would appear, sahib, since the brother-slayer yonder has
consulted a famous soothsayer of the unbelievers, who declares that
this day his arms shall be invincible."

"So that's why they are coming on!" said Charteris.  "Who's this?"  The
newcomer was a Habshiabadi in gorgeous raiment, who announced to
Gerrard that his Excellency Dilir Jang Bahadar sent his salaams, and
with Jirad Sahib's permission, would lead his master's forces into
battle.

"With all my heart," said Gerrard, and as the man moved off he observed
to Charteris, "This will leave me free to fight the guns for you, Bob,
if you wish it.  Funny to think of that old sinner Desdichado as fired
with martial ardour, ain't it?   Suppose he thinks it looks as if it
ought to be a soft job, but I only hope he'll be as good as his word,
for I hear that in the last fight before I joined you, when I came on
with the guns and left him in command, he spent the time under a tree
with a case-bottle of arrack, and the troops looked after themselves."

"You must supersede him promptly if he shows any signs of hanging back
to-day.  But I'm uncommon glad to have the guns in your hands, old boy,
even if it's only at the outset.  Hal, if we break up Sher Singh's army
to-day, they must send us our siege artillery and let us finish this
job--they must."

"I only wish they had sent it already--or even given the order.  The
news of that would have been enough.  Do you like the look of your
Granthis, Bob?"

"About as little as you do.  One could wish that our Mr James had shown
his affection in any other way than by sending us another Granthi
regiment, but it was impossible to refuse it.  It's one comfort that
with your fellows we are more than a match for them now if they turn
rusty, and by posting them on the right we can get them in flank with
our whole line.  You think we can't do better with the guns than keep
them where they are until we advance?  All right, then.  Warner will
lead the Darwanis, and the doctor will gallop for us."

The surgeon, who had been sent on by James Antony with the
reinforcements, was young and active, and having at present no
patients, since the native troops scouted him in favour of their own
hakims, was ready to take any part in the fighting, from heading a
cavalry charge to bringing up ammunition, but found himself relegated
to the post of galloper.  He took up his position behind Charteris in
the centre, Warner and General Desdichado commanding the nearer troops
on either hand, while Gerrard with the guns, and Bishen Ram with the
two Granthi regiments, occupied the extreme left and right
respectively, the whole position being roughly crescent-shaped.
Nothing but utter madness, it seemed, could lead an army into the
hollow it commanded, and Charteris sent out scouts to see whether Sher
Singh's advance was not a blind, intended to mask a flank attack.  But
the scouts returned periodically to say that there was no sign of any
other movement than the one in front, and as the enemy came closer, it
was clear that their whole force was in the field.  Gerrard allowed
them to approach until they were well within the horns of the crescent,
then, when with a final crash of music they quickened their step to
charge up the low hill in the centre, his guns opened with tremendous
effect.  But even the cannonade seemed to produce little diminution in
Sher Singh's crowded ranks, and they rolled on up the hill as though
they would overwhelm the defenders by sheer weight of numbers.
Gerrard, rushing from gun to gun to point each in turn, lest the
gunners in their excitement should fire upon Charteris's position,
urged his men on to load and fire with something like desperation.  The
enemy were not suffering as they should, beneath the fire of his guns
on the one hand and the musketry of the two Granthi regiments on the
other.  A sudden suspicion seized him, and he looked across through the
smoke at the opposite horn of the crescent.  But no; it was dotted with
white puffs.  Bishen Ram's men were firing with admirable precision and
coolness, but somehow their shots did not seem to take effect.  The
reason occurred to Gerrard suddenly; they were firing with powder only.
Dearly would he have liked to plant a shell or two among the
treacherous scoundrels, but just now he could not spare the time.  He
redoubled his efforts, and at last his half-incredulous eyes discerned
between the smoke-clouds that the tide was rolling back from the
centre.  Charteris was visible for a moment, standing in his stirrups
and waving his cap vigorously, and Gerrard fired once or twice into the
sullenly retreating Agpuris, to dissuade them gently from rallying and
facing the hill again.  But presently the doctor arrived in hot haste,
with orders to him to hold his fire for the present, since Charteris
meant to assail the enemy with successive charges of cavalry.  Almost
before the smoke had cleared away there was the rush of a torrent of
men and horses down the hill, and the confused mob of Agpuris was
cloven as though by a wedge.  The point of the wedge was a slender
figure on a black horse, an oddly shaped cloth, half brown and half
white, streaming behind it like a veil.  The Rani was heading the
avengers of her son.

There was no time to watch the prowess of the Rajputs and Rukn-ud-din's
Moslems, for Warner came galloping up.

"I am to fight your guns, Gerrard; you are wanted to lead the
Habshiabadis.  Their precious general took care to bring something with
him to keep his courage up, and when we nearly lost the hill just now,
I suppose he took too much of it.  At any rate, he's quite incapable,
and his men are demanding to go on alone."

Gerrard mounted his horse and galloped back to where Charteris, sword
in hand, was riding slowly up and down in front of the ranks of the
eager Habshiabadis, pressing back with the flat any man who pushed
forward.  He turned sharply to Gerrard.

"Look here, Hal; the Rani is going for vengeance, not victory--thinking
of nothing but cutting through to Sher Singh's elephant.  Her men will
be swallowed up, unless you can make a diversion.  Break the enemy up a
bit, and I'll bring the Darwanis down and finish 'em."

"Better ride round the hill and come at them from a different
direction," suggested Gerrard.

"All right.  I'll support you," and as Gerrard led the disgusted and
protesting Habshiabad cavalry away from the fight, Charteris sent off
the doctor to Bishen Ram, whose soldiers had remained inactive since
they had been ordered to cease firing for fear of hitting the Rani's
horsemen.  Now they were to advance and attack the portion of Sher
Singh's troops immediately below them, thus creating a diversion and
distracting attention from the direction in which Gerrard would make
his charge.  Charteris was watching the m�l�e in the plain rather than
the doctor's progress, but presently an exclamation from his Darwanis
made him look round.  The Granthis had risen to their feet, and before
the doctor could give his message, saluted him with a volley.  He
turned his horse and rode back, pursued by a dropping fire, some of the
bullets falling among the Darwanis, to their intense excitement.

"They fired at me!" he gasped indignantly.  "A bullet went through my
hat, and another grazed my leg.  My horse is hit, too."

"Well, don't be so precious injured about it," said Charteris.  "Most
men would think they were uncommon lucky to escape from the fire of two
regiments with nothing worse.  When you have finished counting your
bruises, just ride to Warner, and tell him to lay every gun he has dead
on the Granthis.  If they attempt to fire or to move down towards Sher
Singh, he is to fire upon them.  If they persist, let him mow them down
without mercy--plug into them with grape and canister and everything
he's got."

The doctor rode away, and Charteris turned his attention again to the
field, where the Rani, supported by a lessening phalanx of her men, was
steadily cutting her way towards Sher Singh.  Watching through his
glass, the Englishman saw a movement in the gilded howdah of the
Rajah's elephant, saw that a man in gleaming crimson and a golden
turban was taking careful aim with a long matchlock.  Charteris had
barely time to remember the tale of Sher Singh's skill in shooting
which he had heard at Adamkot before the Rani flung up her arms and
fell from her horse into the turmoil seething round her.  The man in
the howdah received a second gun from an attendant, and turned in
another direction, that in which Gerrard was just appearing at the head
of the Habshiabadis.  Charteris shouted a useless warning, realising as
the words left his lips that his voice could never carry across the din
of battle, but even while he shouted, Gerrard's sword flew from his
hand and he pitched forward on his horse's neck.  More Charteris could
not see, for the Granthis under Bishen Ram uttered a yell of triumph
and sprang forward to hurl themselves into the strife, but Warner was
ready for them, and a shell bursting in front of their line gave them
pause.  Another advance, another shell, and then a shower of grape,
adroitly directed at a stream of men trying to edge their way down into
the plain by a side-path, and after a half-hearted volley directed at
the guns over the heads of the fighters below, the Granthis gave up
their attempt to move.  It was now or never, for the Habshiabadis were
wavering, evidently uncertain whether to stay and succour Gerrard or to
continue their charge.  Charteris saw that if success was to be
attained he must risk every man he had, and pausing only to send the
doctor to tell Warner again to keep the Granthis back at all costs, he
hurled himself and his eager Darwanis into the fray.  The unsupported
guns and the disaffected regiments on the hill were the only portions
of his force left outside the _m�l�e_.  Before this desperate expedient
Sher Singh's spirit quailed.  He left his elephant, and mounting a
horse, spurred out of the battle towards Agpur.  Disgusted by his
disappearance, his men held out for a while, but Charteris and his wild
horsemen were riding them down on one side, and the rallied
Habshiabadis on the other, and they were without a leader.  They broke
at last, and made for Agpur in headlong flight, pursued so closely by
the Darwanis that Warner durst not fire upon them.  Charteris was
chasing his own men now, turning them back with praise and promises,
threats and curses, seizing one man by the arm and another by the
bridle, in deadly fear that they would carry the pursuit too far, and
be caught when Sher Singh's men turned at bay.  With the assistance of
their own chiefs, he succeeded at last in shepherding back all but a
few who had gone too far to be reached, and was met as he returned by a
deputation of Granthis, very stiff and austere in wounded dignity,
demanding why they had not been allowed to take part in the fight, and
why Warner Sahib had turned his guns on them.

Never was there so innocent and so deeply injured a body of men.  Asked
why they had fired at the doctor, they replied promptly that they
thought he was ordering them to retire from the position they held,
when they were anxious only to throw themselves upon Sher Singh's flank
and cut off his retreat, as the advance prevented by Warner could
witness.  Charteris declined to take their grievances too seriously.
Their behaviour had been most suspicious, and he was fairly certain
that if Sher Singh had shown signs of winning they would have joined
him at once, but it was possible that Gerrard held a different opinion,
and he wished to consult him before taking any definite step.
Promising to consider their protest and give them an answer on the
morrow, he rode on to look for his friend, but before he could reach
the spot where he had fallen, he was stopped by a little procession of
sorely wounded Rajputs, carrying on a litter of crossed spears a body
covered with a cloak.  Rukn-ud-din and several of his men, not one
unwounded, followed, and Charteris saluted as he met them.

"You carry her Highness's body to the burning?" he asked.

"Aye, sahib," answered the leader of the Rajputs, the Rani's cousin.
"Daughter and wife and mother of kings, she has died as a king should
die, and the burning of a king shall be made for her.  But I beseech
your honour to be witness to a certain thing."  He unwrapped from his
arm the discoloured cloth, dipped in her son's blood, which the Rani
had worn when she left Agpur to demand vengeance, and divided it
lengthwise with his sword.  "Half of this I will take, and the other
shall be borne by Komadan Rukn-ud-din, who has been faithful to his
lord and his lord's mother, and to the salt he has eaten.  As the dead
bore it, so will we bear it, until the blood of Kharrak Singh can be
blotted out in the blood of him who slew him."

Rukn-ud-din limped forward and received the ghastly trophy, and
Charteris saluted again and passed on.  The fight had raged hotly where
Gerrard had fallen, and it was some time before they found him.  The
doctor did what he could for him on the spot, and then advised his
being taken at once to the camp, where Sher Singh's bullet might be
extracted, and his other injuries properly treated.  His friend's
insensibility alarmed Charteris almost more than the actual wounds, and
he gave his horse to the groom, and walked beside the bearers, trying
to induce them to keep step, and not jar the patient unnecessarily.  It
was therefore an unfortunate moment for a large and frowsy--he would
almost have said snuffy--figure to lurch forward and clasp him in an
expansive embrace.

"Eh, man, that was a gran' fight, yon!" it hiccoughed, then relapsed
into dignity and Hindustani.  "What a battle we have had, sahib!  What
a victory we have won!"

"We, indeed!" said Charteris, releasing himself with strong disgust.
"General Desdichado, I suppose?"

But the General, apparently unconscious of his momentary lapse of
memory, was not responsive to English.  "The Sahib was pleased to
say----?" he inquired politely.

"I say this, you old villain, that you nearly lost us the battle, and
if Lieutenant Gerrard should die, I give you my word I'll have you shot
for neglect of duty in the face of the enemy!" cried Charteris
furiously.

"The Sahib is pleased to forget that I am accountable only to my own
master," said the General, and retired in good order, though with as
much haste as was compatible with a very unsteady walk.

The unpleasant business of extracting the bullet brought Gerrard to his
senses, and Charteris found his hand wrung almost to numbness as he
knelt by his side.  Those were the days before anaesthetics, and a
bullet in the shoulder required a good deal of torture before it could
be got rid of.

"I thought it was all up with me, Bob," whispered Gerrard when the
operation was over.

"Not just yet, old boy.  If it had been an inch or two more to one
side, now----"

"When I went down among the horses' feet, I meant.  It was you got me
out, old fellow, I know."

"Had to do a good many things first, I'm afraid, and it wasn't very
easy to find you.  Case of 'None could see Valerius, And none wist
where he lay.'  By the bye, Hal, should you say that those
_dangawalas_[1] of Granthis were playing fair to-day, or not?  Did they
fire as Sher Singh advanced?"

"Oh yes, they fired," said Gerrard dreamily.

"You don't mean that they fired at us?"

"No, they fired--all right--but----" his voice became weaker, and he
seemed satisfied not to finish.  The doctor made Charteris a sign not
to disturb him further, and he was obliged to give the Granthis the
benefit of the doubt.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

An attack of fever, complicated by his wounds, kept Gerrard from all
rational conversation for some time, but when he recovered his senses,
he thought that it was still the night of the battle.  On the roof of
the tent brooded the gigantic shadow of Charteris in his shirt-sleeves,
writing busily by the usual light of a candle-end stuck into the neck
of a bottle.

"Bob!" said Gerrard weakly.  Charteris was at his side in a moment.

"Want anything, old boy?  By Jove, I'm uncommon glad to hear your voice
again--talking sensibly, that is.

"But it's only a few hours since you brought me in here."

"A few fiddlesticks!  My dear fellow, it's three weeks."

"Bob, have they sent us the siege artillery?"

"No, and they won't.  Guns are too precious to move without escort, and
British troops are too expensive to cart about in the rains.  So here
we are, twiddling our thumbs till better times come."

"But what about the country--and Sher Singh?"

"Sher Singh is safe in Agpur.  We've got him shut up there, at any
rate.  But Granthistan is in a blaze, Hal.  The Commander-in-Chief is
on his way up-country.  It's another Granthi War--thanks to their
delay."

"And our Granthis?"

"Oh, they marched off bag and baggage to join Sher Singh the other
night, when the news came that we were not to be reinforced till the
cold weather.  I didn't hear of their going till they had nearly
reached Agpur, and I wasn't particularly anxious to stop them when I
did."

"Better rid of them.  You know they fired blank all day--the day of the
battle, I mean?"

"That was the trick, was it?  I couldn't get it out of you.  Not that
it would have made much difference if I had known, I suppose.  I tell
you, Hal, there was a moment when, if only the heavy artillery had come
up, we held Sher Singh in the hollow of our hands.  He was in such a
panic when he got back to Agpur that he actually fired on his own
troops when they crowded across the bridge after him.  They would have
handed him over to us like lambs if we could have threatened the city
then.  But it's no use crying over spilt milk.  I'm going to make use
of this interval in hostilities to send you to Ranjitgarh for a bit,
old boy.  If they won't use the river to send us our big guns, we may
use it to recruit our invalids a bit.  It can't be as hot at Ranjitgarh
as it is here.  But I put you on your honour to come back.  No one must
lead the Habshiabadis into Agpur but you.  You will find me relegated
to my original obscurity by that time, with a duly appointed
Brigadier--a _nya jawan_[2]--riding roughshod over my tenderest
feelings, but you can still swagger as the officer accompanying the
forces of a friendly state."

Gerrard had not been listening.  "Bob," he whispered, "I--I can't go to
Ranjitgarh."

"Why not, old boy'?"

"She may be there.  They will have fetched the ladies down from the
hills if there is trouble."

"I think not.  Old Cinnamond has taken the field, but there are plenty
of troops in Ranjitgarh.  But if she is there, Hal?"

"I might speak--I ain't master of myself, Bob."

"Well, my dear fellow, and why not?  Have you forgot what I said--that
you were to have the next turn?  Speak, by all means, and take her with
my blessing, if she'll take you."

"Bob, I won't have it.  I have been making a fool of myself when I
didn't know what I was saying, and you are behaving like a brick
because you are sorry for me."

"Ton my word, it's nothing of the sort.  I can say now what I wouldn't
say once, that I had rather see her happy with you than unhappy with
me.  I'm not going to let you outdo me there, you see, though I may be
a little bit late."

"Good old Bob!" said Gerrard weakly.

"Not a bit of it.  Ain't we chums, old boy?  Now remember, _pop_ goes
the weasel!"



[1] Mutineers.

[2] New hand.




CHAPTER XXI.

FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.

"My dear, I fear you will think I have been indiscreet."

Mrs James Antony looked up, and caught her husband's humourously
deprecating expression.  "Oh, James, I know that means you have done
something dreadful, and want me to get you out of the difficulty!" she
sighed.  "Well, love, what is it?"

"I have sent a _kasid_ to meet poor Gerrard, to tell him he is to come to
us, and we will take no refusal.  As soon as the man was gone, I
remembered that you would probably object to his being thrown into Miss
Cinnamond's company."

"But surely you must see for yourself, love, that it would be most
awkward for both of them?  I almost think I had better ask Mrs Jardine to
take in dear Honour for the time.  She would be delighted, I am sure."

"You know best, my dear.  If Lady Cinnamond would not mind finding
herself under such an obligation to Mrs Jardine, it is not for me to make
objections."

"She would dislike it extremely, love, as you well know.  But what else
is there to be done?"

"I don't myself see why there should be any awkwardness at all," said
James Antony sturdily.  "If Miss Cinnamond is going to marry Gerrard,
they had better come to an understanding and get it over, and if
not--why, they will have to meet in the future, and they may as well
begin now.  If the girl chooses to be silly about it, she had better go
back to her mother."

"But, James, love, you don't consider.  How could I let her go back,
knowing that poor dear Mrs Cowper has taken such a dislike to her sister?
Now that she has lost her babe, it would be terrible if they met before
time had softened her grief a little.  And it is not as if dear Honour
were in the least to blame.  I am sure she was keeping house for her
father most beautifully when he was compelled to take the field.  We are
indebted to the Cinnamonds for so many civilities that it would be hard
indeed if we could not help them out of a difficulty by entertaining the
poor girl for a while."

"Quite so, my dear, but it would also be hard if the poor girl could not
help us by assisting to entertain a fellow-guest for a while.  In fact, I
consider that by bringing them to a mutual understanding we should be
doing a kindness not only to the young people themselves but to the
General and Lady Cinnamond."

"Certainly they have no objection to Lieutenant Gerrard," said Mrs Antony
meditatively.

"None whatever, my dear, so that we shall positively be furthering their
wishes.  Come, Jane; ain't I only wise in bringing my indiscretions to
you to set right, since you are such a dab at getting me out of a mess?"

"Fie, James, what slang!  Indeed I don't wonder you affect to consult me,
since it seems to me you will get your own way undisturbed."

James Antony might go on his way with his great laugh, and his wife shake
her head at him in purely simulated reproof, but the results of their
involuntary diplomacy were hardly as satisfactory to the objects thereof
as to themselves.  Gerrard's heart gave an ecstatic bound when his host
mentioned casually on meeting him that Miss Cinnamond was staying at the
Residency during the absence of her father at the front and her mother in
the hills.  All the way from the camp within sight of Agpur, during the
hot voyage diversified with interludes of sniping from the river-banks,
he had assured himself persistently that nothing should induce him to
take advantage of Bob's generosity.  But these good resolutions were
forgotten as he lay in the palanquin which conveyed him from the
landing-place to the Residency, listening, without comprehending what was
said, to James Antony's gruff voice firing off items of latest
intelligence like minute-guns.  In a few moments he would see Honour,
look into her frank eyes, hold her cool hand, begin the siege of her
heart in which his faithful love--freed from the disturbing influence of
Charteris's presence--must surely succeed in breaking down the rampart of
maiden coldness within which she had entrenched herself.  Yes, he was
glad of Charteris's absence; thankful for it.  Bob had bidden him of his
own free will to go ahead, and was he to waste the opportunity for which
he had so long yearned in vain?

But disappointment was waiting for him at the Residency.  Honour remained
so persistently in the background behind Mrs Antony that it seemed almost
as if she was hiding.  Her hand barely touched Gerrard's, her eyes
shunned his, and her manner was constrained--almost awkward.  Before
Gerrard had crossed the verandah he had divined a reason for this change:
she had read her own heart at last, and it was Bob Charteris that she
loved.  And here was he, lagging miserably superfluous on the stage for
three or four weeks, while Charteris was held fast by his duties before
Agpur, and was as unaware of his good fortune as he was unable to profit
by it.

Second thoughts brought, if not a degree of hope, at least a less
complete yielding to despair.  Perhaps it was not Charteris whose image
blinded Honour to the presence of her other lover.  It might only be that
people had been talking, that Mrs Jardine had presumed to offer Honour
some advice inconsistent with the delicate nature of the situation,
perhaps urged her to terminate it in Gerrard's favour, since she had,
unasked, taken his candidature under her wing.  That would be quite
sufficient to account for the girl's coolness and constraint.  The battle
was not, then, absolutely lost, and it might even yet be possible to turn
it into a victory.  Gerrard would be very cautious, very diplomatic, and
would keep their intercourse on the safe ground of their common
preferences in prose and poetry, until he had enabled her to dissociate
him in her mind from his too zealous champions.

Save in one respect, Honour responded to this treatment with a readiness
that was almost embarrassing.  Her novel shyness fell from her when it
became clear that Gerrard was not intending immediately to speak to her
of love, and in discussing the new Dickens and the latest Tennyson she
revealed herself to him almost as freely as of old.  James Antony
agonized his wife by portentous nods and winks behind their backs,
indicative of the complete and final understanding now in course of
accomplishment, but Mrs Antony was not so well satisfied, though she was
unaware of the exact nature of the rift in Gerrard's lute.  One day
Honour broke into a deep discussion of the social and educational topics
touched on in the _Princess_ with a question which had no relation to
them whatever.  It was clear that her thoughts were far from Gerrard's
exposition of his views, or why should she suddenly have asked how long
it took him to reach Charteris at Kardi with the guns after receiving his
note entreating him to hasten?  Gerrard set his teeth.  It was Charteris,
then.  He answered the question fully, and also the others by which it
was followed.  Honour's curiosity on the subject of the unauthorised
operations in Agpur seemed insatiable, and bit by bit she drew from him
the whole history of the campaign.  Following her lead, he made a loyal
endeavour to keep Charteris in the forefront of his narrative, smiling
bitterly to himself when once or twice she questioned him directly about
his own doings.  This was mere politeness, of course, it was Charteris in
whom she was really interested.

The irony of his own anticipations struck Gerrard forcibly after a
fortnight or so principally spent in talking about Charteris.  Outside
the air was filled with wars and rumours of wars, with reports that the
Granthi army was moving on Ranjitgarh, or that this or the other Sirdar
was about to cut the communications with Agpur, and in the society of
James Antony and his intimates these were the topics that everybody
discussed.  But spending the mid-day hours in the damp heat of the
drawing-room, where paper grew mouldy and the covers peeled off books,
under the influence of the rains, with Mrs Antony occupied at a discreet
distance with reading or letter-writing, Gerrard endured what would have
been martyrdom but for the bitter-sweet sense of Honour's
presence--possessing which he could not be wholly miserable.  Continually
there forced itself on him the change in her since the days when they had
lamented together the supposed death of Charteris.  She was restless,
prone to a curious impatience, and the literary interests which had first
drawn them together satisfied her no more.  Only one explanation could
fit the facts.  Bob Charteris was not literary in his tastes, and Honour,
with her heart awakened, had learnt to know that life was more than books.

As the time approached for Gerrard's return to active service, it struck
him that she had perceived her unconscious cruelty, and was endeavouring
to atone for it.  He loved her the better for the thought, though it made
him all the more miserable, since the tenderness in her voice, the tears
he sometimes surprised in her eyes, must spring from a pity that was not
at all akin to love.  No doubt, too, she was thinking of Charteris,
keeping the field in the rains, and extensively abused on all sides as
the cause of the war, and Gerrard would have liked to assure her that he
understood, and to prophesy a general revulsion of feeling when the Agpur
business had been brought to a successful conclusion.  But apparently
sympathy was at a discount with Honour, for the slightest attempt to
approach the subject--even an honest effort to assure her that Bob's
safety should be his first care in the future, for her sake--brought back
at once the sense of constraint, and made her manner hard and impatient,
not to say snappish.  Their final parting took place in public, but this
was Gerrard's own fault, for he could not trust himself alone with her.
He might have been a weak fool to hang about her for so long, but to
offer himself as a bearer of tender messages for Charteris was beyond
him.  She was very pale, and seemed to find difficulty in speaking, and
he guessed at once that she was envying him his good fortune in seeing
her lover so soon.  But his selfishness in refusing to volunteer as a
messenger was rightly punished, for Mrs Jardine, who had seen fit to
appear at the Residency to borrow a fancy-work pattern from Mrs Antony,
just as he was about to start, was not minded to leave things longer in
the uncertainty which had tried her so deeply.

"What! no message for poor Mr Charteris?" she inquired archly, as
Honour's hand touched Gerrard's to the accompaniment of a single murmured
word of farewell.

"Miss Cinnamond knows that I should feel honoured in carrying any message
of hers," he said stiffly.

Honour blushed red, though she looked annoyed.  "Oh, give him my best
wishes, please!" she said lightly.

"Very distant and suitable, I'm sure!" muttered Mrs Jardine, much
disappointed, but Honour did not hear her.

"_You_ have not asked for any message--for yourself," she murmured,
looking at Gerrard's sword-belt as if she had never seen one quite like
it before.

"I did not venture--it is only your kindness that makes you think of it,"
he stammered.

"Perhaps you would rather not have it?"  She raised her eyes for an
instant and looked at him bravely.  "My very best wishes--to you."

"_Bus, bus!_" shouted James Antony from the foot of the steps.  "Don't be
all day binding ladies' favours on your helm, Gerrard, my boy.  Get it
over; it ain't as bad as it looks."

He ran up the steps again, and his great hand descended heavily on
Gerrard's shoulder, and Gerrard, thrilled through by the glance Honour
had turned upon him, and with all his preconceived ideas shattered and
clashing under the impact of a wholly new thought, must perforce allow
himself to be hurried away, vaguely aware that Mrs Jardine, baulked of
her expected sensation, was apostrophizing the acting-Resident as a
"naughty man!"  At the foot of the steps he turned suddenly.  One word
with Honour, even in Mrs Jardine's hearing, and his doubts would be
resolved for ever.  But James Antony fairly dragged him on.

"No looking back now, my dear fellow.  You must make me your messenger if
you have anything to say.  Do you forget that they are waiting for you at
the _ghat_?"

Gerrard mounted his pony reluctantly, then looked eagerly round.
Honour's face might end his doubts as easily as her voice.  But she was
not to be seen; Mrs Jardine was nodding and smiling alone in the
verandah, rather to the disgust of Mrs Antony, who was dimly visible in
the doorway of the drawing-room.  Gerrard could not detect the form
crouched behind her spreading skirts, the face peering under her falling
sleeve, and once again doubt attained mastery over his mind.  If Honour
had meant really to rebuke him for his backwardness, then was he indeed
the most blessed of men, but perhaps she was only mildly chaffing
Charteris's friend.  It was not like her, but could one moment at parting
give the lie to the experience, the settled certainty, of weeks of close
intercourse?  And she had not cared to wait to see him ride away!

During the river voyage, despite the ample opportunity he enjoyed for
forming definite conclusions, Gerrard remained balanced between two
contradictory opinions, and he was still much tumbled up and down in his
mind when he landed and fell into the eminently bracing company of
Charteris.  British troops and siege-guns--not now to be spared from
Granthistan--had come and were still coming up from Bombay, and the lines
which had been fortified by the Darwanis and Habshiabad force were now
only part of an extensive position.  Charteris pointed out the various
spots, much changed now since the battle in which Gerrard had received
his wound, as they rode up to the camp.

"Then you are under the yoke again, Bob?" said Gerrard.

"Rayther, just a very few!  The Brigadier has determined in his own mind
that I am dead set upon presuming, so, to make it impossible, he snaps my
head off every time he sees me, and at once."

"Hard luck, old boy!"

"Oh, I share it with my betters.  By the bye, is it true that the
Governor-General has been powdering Sir Edmund's wig?"

"In a way.  Antony wanted to promise Sher Singh his life if he would
surrender, and the G.-G. came down upon him like a hundred of bricks.
Told him that if he had put forth any such proclamation he would have to
recall it, I believe, but happily things had not gone so far."

"I'm sorry for Sir Edmund, but I back Blairgowrie--which is jolly
handsome behaviour, since he has written some uncommon nasty things about
me.  'Pon my word, Hal, I'm right glad that they refused us our
siege-guns, and left us here tied by the leg for the hot weather."

Gerrard looked at him in astonishment.  "But if we had been able to stamp
out Sher Singh's rebellion--as we could have done if they had supported
us properly--it would have saved this second Granthi War, Bob."

"That's just it.  We should have gone on trying to govern through the
Durbar, and declaring that we were merely taking care of the country
until Lena Singh comes of age, knowing that if he ever reigned alone it
would mean the destruction of all we had done.  But now the farce is at
an end, and they must annex Granthistan.  Our _ikbal_[1] stands fairly
high, but it can't take the risk of a war bad enough to drag the C.-in-C.
from his Olympian retirement every two or three years.  I'm sorry for Sir
Edmund, who has done his very best to bolster up the Durbar, but facts
are too strong for him."

"He will take it hard," said Gerrard.  "Here is my camp, I see--my
_campoo_,[2] I should say," as they were met by a cluster of salaaming
Habshiabadis, who testified loudly their joy at his return.  "But why
shouldn't I report myself to the Brigadier at once, Bob, and then come
back and settle in?"

"Because you ain't wanted, my boy.  You don't go dropping in on your
General in that promiscuous style.  You wait till it's convenient to him
to send for you, and then you apologize for your existence in the most
abject terms at your command.  I happen to know--friend at court, you
see--that you'll be summoned about sunset, and if you behave very nicely,
and answer prettily when you're spoken to, you may even be honoured by an
invitation to dinner."

"Learning one's place!" said Gerrard, with a wry look.

"Exactly--as I have been doing.  Our days of independent action are over,
old boy.  If we had been allowed to capture Agpur it might have been
different, but I don't know.  Who wouldn't go from governing kingdoms to
take up regimental work again?"

Gerrard did not possess the art of banishing unpleasantness with a jest,
and his brow was clouded as they rode up to his tent between the lines of
the Habshiabadis.  For them, however, he had nothing but praise,
rejoicing their hearts by admiration of their discipline, and learning,
as he expected, that Charteris had continued their military education
during his absence.  General Desdichado was still maintaining a judicious
seclusion, owing to a fresh attack of illness, it seemed, and Charteris
remarked on the curious character of the ailment, which invariably became
acute when there was a question of the General's coming in contact with
any British officer.

"Scandal says that nothing but Sadiq Ali's direct command keeps him in
the field at all," he added.  "Otherwise he would sneak back to
Habshiabad, and drink himself to death there in peace."

They were inside the tent now, and Charteris turned suddenly on his
friend.  "Well, Hal, what news?  Is that blessing of mine wanted, or not?"

"It's no good pretending I don't know what you mean, but on my life, Bob,
I can't tell you."

"Can't tell--in a matter of this kind?  Nonsense!"

"It's this way.  Almost the whole of the time I was there I could have
sworn she cared for you.  We talked of nothing but you and your doings."

"Precious little in that.  You did just the same when you thought I was
dead, and it meant absolutely nothing."

"But it makes every possible difference when we both know you are alive.
At any rate, I was too jolly downhearted to court another refusal.  But
just as I came away, she looked at me in a way that made me think--and
something that she said----"

"And you didn't make sure?  My young friend, it strikes me that you fear
your fate a good deal."

"Our Mr James hurried me away.  But I am afraid--and I don't mind saying
so--of risking my last chance."

"Why your last?  I wish I were coxcomb enough to be sure it was your
last, and that you would lose it."

"But even if she refused us both again, you can't go on persecuting a
girl who has said no to you three times."

"Why not?  I shall go on asking her, if she says no a hundred times.
It's for her own good.  No girl can really wish to be an old maid."

"Rather than marry you or me, perhaps."

"That shows how little she knows about it.  But I give you my word she
ain't going to lose a good husband through any slackness of mine.  You
won't find me wasting my opportunities as you have been doing."

"You pitch it pretty strong, Bob, but I believe I deserve it.  Still, it
was not my fault that I could not settle things that last moment.  Will
you do this for me, old boy?  When we get back to Ranjitgarh, leave me
free to speak to her if I meet her first.  If I find that it is you after
all, I promise you to make no attempt to persuade her, and if you meet
her first, of course you will find out for yourself."

"I believe you, my boy!  And I only hope we may find out definitely.
This uncertainty plays the very mischief with a man when he has time to
think of it."

"My dear Bob, you don't mean to say you would rather know that all was up
with you than be able to go on hoping?"

"That I would!  One can set one's teeth then, and grin and bear it, but
it's horrid disturbing, when you're trying to give your mind to regular
hard grinding work, for the thought of all that kind of thing to be
always intruding."

"If I didn't know you better than you know yourself, old boy, I should
say not only that you didn't care a pin for her, but that you couldn't.
Why, how could one carry on work at all without those very thoughts to
help one?"

"You're getting libellous, Hal.  It's the uncertainty, not the thoughts,
that I find disturbing.  If she would take me--bless her!--I'll lay you
anything you like she would be the Commander-in-Chief's lady in the
shortest time on record."

"Bob, it's precious hard on both of us.  Whichever gets her, one of us
must be miserable."

"Let us make quite sure that she's happy, then.  But it's a little late
to be talking like this, ain't it?  What I find most cause to blame in
you, Hal, is a tendency to the sentimental.  Turn your mind strictly to
business--namely, to receiving the orderly who is about to summon you to
the presence of the high and mighty Speathley."

After the warning he had received, Gerrard was not likely to be late for
his appointment, but when he arrived at Major-General Speathley's
headquarters, it was evident that the Brigadier thought it salutary for
junior officers to cool their heels a little in his anteroom.  A number
of other men were hanging about, and a low buzz of conversation filled
the tent.  Gerrard was known by name to most of those present, and he was
soon in possession of the chief item of interest which was agitating the
camp.  That morning's reconnaissance had been pushed as far as Ratan
Singh's tomb, which had been occupied without opposition, and a careful
search had revealed the shallow grave in which the dishonoured remains of
Nisbet and Cowper had been hastily hidden after the tragedy in the spring.

"The old man swears he will turn out Ratan Singh--whoever he may have
been--and give the poor chaps a _pucca_ funeral in the shrine itself,"
said one youth.

"I was not aware that we fought with the dead," said Gerrard, rather
disgusted.

"Seems rayther a spicy idea to me," drawled another.  "They do our
fellows out of a grave, so we prig one of theirs for 'em."

"Surely we can do better for them than a second-hand tomb," said Gerrard,
more emphatically than he realised.  "Wouldn't it be more to the purpose
to leave Ratan Singh in peace, since he has done us no injury, and punish
the living who deserve it?"

"Eh--what?" demanded an explosive voice behind the group.  "And who may
you be, young sir, who think your opinion so well worth hearing?"

Gerrard turned to confront a short choleric man in uniform, whom he had
no difficulty in recognising to be the Brigadier.  "My name is Gerrard,
sir, and I am attached to the Habshiabad force."

"Oho!"  General Speathley drew out with some difficulty an eyeglass, and
fixing it in his eye, looked up at Gerrard as though he had been too
small to see without it.  "So this is another of the sucking Caesars who
command armies in Granthistan!  And what, pray, may be the nature of your
very valuable suggestion, sir?"

"I have acted as Resident at Agpur, sir, and know something about the
people, and I was about to say that they would be far more impressed with
the retribution if we buried our glorious dead in the very midst of the
city from which they were driven rather than in an old tomb outside it."

The astonishment on the General's face was reflected on those around him.
Clearly it was not often that Brigadier Speathley heard an opinion
different from his own.  "Proceed, sir, proceed!" he snapped ferociously.
"I'll be bound we haven't been favoured with the full extent of your
views yet."

The tone was intolerable, and Gerrard grew white with suppressed wrath.
"I have no more to say, sir, if the petty and unchristian course of
turning a dead man out of his grave has already been decided upon."

"I thought so!" cried the General in triumph.  "Antony's cursed
sentimental notions, of course--might have known it.  You are one of
those who prefer the blackfellows to your own people, sir, who think the
lives of the Company's servants are nothing compared with the fear of
displeasing the natives."

"At least, sir, I placed myself at Mr Charteris's disposal to rescue or
avenge Captain Cowper and Mr Nisbet, or your army might not have been
here to-day.  And you will permit me to add that I still consider my plan
likely to be more impressive, if less disgusting, to the natives than
yours."

"And you'll permit me to say, sir," roared the General, whose eyes were
protruding from his head, "that my plan will be carried out if every
pestilent political in Granthistan is opposed to it.  It's high time you
came back to duty, sir.  You seconded subalterns think no small beer of
yourselves, I know, but you'll learn better here, I can tell you, and
you'll find----  Eh, what's that?"

An unobtrusive aide-de-camp was presenting a paper at his elbow, and as
he read it his face changed, but by no means cleared.  "Hum--ha!" he
muttered, "it seems you have some fancy status here--political trick, I
suppose--some quibble about Habshiabad lying outside Granthistan.  But
it's all one.  If you ain't under my command, you don't get mentioned in
my despatches--see?  Eh, how does that suit you, sir?"

"I am honoured by the omission, sir," said Gerrard.



[1] Prestige.

[2] Native force under European leadership.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE TRIUMPH OF THE DEAD.

The siege of Agpur was in full swing, the big guns battering at the
walls from a distance, while the trenches crept nearer and nearer to
the outlying suburbs.  Nisbet and Cowper still slept in their
desecrated grave in the precincts of Ratan Singh's tomb, not because
the mind of General Speathley had yielded in the least to Gerrard's
arguments, but on account of the opportune arrival of the ammunition
for which the army had been waiting, and which enabled active work to
begin at once.  A chilly neutrality reigned between the Brigadier and
the officer accompanying the Habshiabad troops, who saw as little as
possible of one another, finding it advisable to communicate through a
third person.  This was usually Charteris, who stood aghast when he
found what a gulf had been established between them.

"If it had been me to go into a passion and use insubordinate language,
no one would have wondered," he lamented.  "But you, Hal--who have
barely lost your temper three times in your life!  And on a mere matter
of sentiment, too!"

"Didn't you yourself accuse me of a tendency to the sentimental?"

"That was in an affair in which it was more or less natural.  But when
it comes to being cut out of despatches for the sake of a dead
blackfellow----!  Seriously, old boy, it may be bad for you in the
future."

"You know as well as I do whether mention in despatches would have the
slightest weight with a certain lady if she cared for a man.  And if
she didn't, what in the world does it signify losing it?"

"Poor beggar, he's got 'em badly!" mused Charteris, as he left his
friend's tent.  His own sphere of influence being situated within the
confines of Granthistan, he was indubitably subordinate to General
Speathley, but a certain power of accommodating himself to his
surroundings had saved him from incurring the Brigadier's active
enmity.  He could never be wholly forgiven for taking on his own
account those preliminary steps which must always prevent the conquest
of Agpur from being ascribed to the Bombay Army, but he had sufficient
tact, or worldly wisdom, to refrain from such allusions to the fact as
Gerrard had let fall.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

The beleaguered garrison of Agpur were not minded to take their
punishment lying down.  At first Sher Singh had sent various
ambassadors professing his readiness to surrender if his life was
guaranteed, and when the authorities on the spot proved adamant,
indited heart-rending letters to Sir Edmund Antony, entreating his
intervention.  But the Governor-General had spoken too plainly to admit
any possibility of mistake, or even a loophole for mediation, and Sir
Edmund, wounded and resentful as he felt over the treatment meted out
to him, could only repeat the promise already given of a fair trial for
the Rajah if he surrendered, and protection for his women.  Thereupon
Sher Singh's attempts at negotiation ceased, and his followers applied
themselves with ardour to making the besiegers' position as
uncomfortable as possible, by means of sorties and surprise attacks.
There was always the chance of an outbreak of disease in the British
camp, or even a successful diversion on the part of the revolted
Granthistan army, such as might compel the raising of the siege.

For some nights there had been no attempt at a surprise, and the
trenches had been advanced to a point at which it was intended to erect
a new battery to assail the portion of the city walls best adapted for
breaching.  The construction of this battery was being busily pushed
forward in the dark, by the help of shaded lights, when the
working-party were fiercely assailed by a horde of the enemy, mounted
and on foot, who had poured silently through the gate nearest to the
threatened point, and almost reached the works before their presence
was detected.  The whole of the British force stood to its arms, but
salutary experience had taught the leaders that sorties seldom came
singly, and only the troops nearest the point of attack were moved to
repulse it.  On the further side of the city Gerrard had a hard task to
restrain the eagerness of his men, who could not see why they should be
kept out of the fight, and avenged themselves by detecting endless
imaginary sorties against their own position.  It was a night of
peculiar blackness, and General Desdichado, who had been drawn from his
seclusion by the alarm, evidently found it trying to his nerves.  His
agitation culminated at last in a wild charge into the darkness,
followed by as many of the Habshiabadis as could find their horses,
yelling and discharging their muskets into the night.  Gerrard, hoarse
with his vain exertions, half amused and half disgusted, was left with
Rukn-ud-din and the Rajput Amrodh Chand and their men to defend the
camp.  He turned to make an ironical remark to the former, but found
him standing like a statue, listening intently.

"Sahib, there come men from the city.  As they crossed the bridge, I
heard their horses' feet on the planks."

"Let us go forward a short distance," said Gerrard, and they went out
into the gloom, the tumult of the Habshiabadis' charge on the left
growing faint in their ears.  They could hear nothing of the advance
Rukn-ud-din thought he had detected, and Gerrard, concluding that the
man's ears had deceived him, was about to suggest returning to the
camp, when a distant flash of lightning, such as had been playing on
the horizon during the earlier part of the evening, lit up the
landscape, and showed a company of horsemen riding cautiously away from
the city.  Their aim was evidently to pass between the camp of the
Habshiabadis and that of the next besieging unit, and they had almost
accomplished their purpose when they were seen.

"The brother-slayer seeks to steal away by night!" cried Rukn-ud-din
fiercely, and without another word he and Gerrard turned and raced for
the camp.  One moment to despatch an orderly with a request to
Charteris to detail some of his Darwanis to guard the tents until
General Desdichado saw fit to return, and another to acquaint the
Brigadier with the importance of the crisis, and all the troop were in
their saddles and thundering out in pursuit.  There was no need for
secrecy, for the fugitives had now laid aside their caution, and could
be heard riding for all they were worth, and the result of the chase
would depend on speed, not cunning.  So thick was the darkness that
more than once Gerrard was obliged to draw rein, and in the silence
palpitating with the breath of excited men and horses, listen for the
pursued, but it was soon clear that they were maintaining a fairly
straight line for the north.  There they must sooner or later be
stopped by the river--unless, indeed, the plot included the bribing of
some of the native contractors supplying the British to have their
boats available, and Gerrard redoubled his efforts to catch them up
before they reached it.  Accidents arising from irrigation-canals or
unsuspected nullahs delayed him once or twice, but when the dawn broke
a shout of triumph burst from his weary men.  The fugitives were full
in view, and there were women among them.  Their horses were obviously
flagging, and the dark line which denoted the brink of the now flooded
river was still some distance in front.  Barely, however, had the
troopers given vent to their irrepressible joy at the prospect of so
important a capture, with the loot which would almost certainly
accompany it, when one of them, happening to look behind, uttered a cry
of surprise and disgust.  The pursuers were themselves pursued, a body
of Bombay cavalry following hard upon their heels.  Gerrard set his
teeth angrily as he looked round and verified the man's information.
General Speathley was determined not to allow even this minor exploit
to fall to the share of his allies.

The Rani's contingent needed no words to induce them to get the utmost
out of their horses in order if possible to reach the fugitives first,
but the pursuers gained upon them steadily, and when the two parties
were actually riding level, and an orderly appeared at his elbow,
Gerrard was reluctantly forced to turn and accept a written order
desiring him to give up the pursuit into the hands of the officer
commanding the troops.  To share the honour would have been bad enough,
to lose it altogether was monstrous, and his men eyed the Bombay
troopers with such disfavour as made it evident that little was wanting
to bring about a fratricidal fight.  Gerrard was obliged to fling
himself into the breach, and argue and persuade his sullen sowars into
allowing themselves to be drawn off.  The incident had caused a slight
loss of time, and it was some consolation to the disappointed ones that
the fugitives had contrived to increase their distance before the
Bombay troop were in motion again.  Pride forbade Gerrard and his
followers to wait and see the result of the chase, and they turned
their horses' heads towards Agpur, disdaining to seek more definite
information than could be obtained by furtive glances backwards on the
part of the rear-rank men, whose observations percolated from one to
another until they reached their commander.  In this way Gerrard
learned that the fugitives had been caught up on, or at any rate near,
the very brink of the river, and that a brisk fight was proceeding.  He
had a resentful impulse to take his troop on at full speed, that they
might not behold the triumph of the interlopers, but the horses were
tired, and there was no sense in riding them hard now.  Without the
excitement of the chase to stimulate them, the men flagged after their
long night's work, and it was a dispirited and sulky-looking band that
watched the victorious Bombay troop ride proudly by, escorting their
captives.  The conquerors expressed their feelings by gestures of
derision, which Gerrard's men were too much crushed to return, and
vanished ahead in a cloud of dust.  But when the vanquished tailed
dolefully into camp some hours later, they were met by their
Habshiabadi comrades, eager to inform them that the triumph had not
been so complete after all.  The majority of the fugitives had been
captured, including Sher Singh's favourite wife and her attendants, but
the Rajah himself had spurred his horse into the river and been carried
quickly by the swollen current beyond reach of pursuit.  It would have
been too much to expect the Rani's men to feel any sorrow at this news,
but politeness demanded that they should express it, and fatigue was
forgotten in the delight of donning fresh clothes and paying visits of
condolence to the camp of the Bombay cavalry.  The keenest joy came
from the fact which was on every man's lips, that but for the delay
caused by the change of pursuers, Sher Singh's whole party might have
been surrounded and captured before it reached the brink of the river.

But if the disappointment of Sher Singh's escape was outweighed in the
men's minds by the fact that it was through their rivals' fingers he
had slipped, Gerrard was not able to console himself so easily.
Charteris, who had heard with burning indignation of the treatment he
had received, hurried to his tent to sympathize with him, and it seemed
as though the two men had exchanged characters, as Gerrard strode up
and down, breathing out furious threats against the Brigadier, while
his friend, seated precariously astride a camp-chair, sought to
interject counsels of prudence.

"It's not so much the insult to me personally that I resent, as the
loss of the opportunity of ending the campaign at a blow!" cried
Gerrard.

"Quite so.  You wouldn't," said Charteris soothingly.

"Though it's perfectly clear that he was merely pursuing his grudge
against me.  He even stoops to vilify my poor fellows in order to
justify himself.  I hear that he said it was impossible to entrust such
an important capture to an officer not under his authority, and to
troops which had probably been bribed already to let Sher Singh slip
past."

"You had visitors before I came, then?"

"A whole lot of 'em.  Uncommon sympathetic they were, too."

"Uncommon pleased to get up a row between you and old Speathley, I
should say.  Don't you listen to 'em, Hal."

"My dear Bob, there are some things one can't pass over.  We have
submitted to Speathley's caprices too long, and it's time to speak out.
Personal injustice may be forgiven----"

"Precious little forgiveness about you just now," muttered Charteris.

"But when it is a case of injury to the public service, it is necessary
to make a stand," concluded Gerrard impressively.

"Oh, all right; and what's your idea of making a stand?  Challenging
Speathley, or denouncing him to his face?"

"I shall write to the papers."

"Sort of thing Lennox and Keeling are always doing," said Charteris
carelessly.  "Not quite our style, eh?  But if your conscience impels
you to ruin your own career and justify the Brigadier's dislike of you,
I suppose I can't prevent it."

"But think what he has sacrificed!  Sher Singh will raise the country,
bring down the Granthi army upon us, perhaps----"

"It's quite possible.  But what I don't see is how your writing to the
papers is going to prevent it."

"It might lead to----  Hang it, Bob! is the fellow to go unpunished?"

"Won't he be punished enough when the story of Sher Singh's escape gets
about--not to speak of the additional trouble we may expect here?  Hal,
old boy, let him alone.  If you don't, you'll be sorry when you're
yourself again."

"For you to urge patience upon me is a novelty," said Gerrard, rather
bitterly, but his step was less resolute as he tramped about the tent.
Suddenly he sat down opposite Charteris.  "Bob, I begin to think you
are not so very far wrong.  At any rate I'll wait before doing it.
Who's that out there?" he cried sharply, as a shadow moved outside.

"Heaven-born!"  Rukn-ud-din rose from his crouching position and
saluted in the doorway.  "It was told in the ears of this slave that
your honour was very wrathful concerning the escape of the
brother-slayer, and he presumed to approach unbidden with news."

"And what is the news?" demanded Gerrard, still ruffled.

"That the man who escaped was not Rajah Sher Singh at all, sahib."

"What! you mean that he is among the prisoners?"

"Not so, sahib.  He has never left the city."

"But what--what reason have you for thinking so?"

"Does your honour think that the men who have been led by Sher Singh
into their present evil case would permit him to forsake them?  Surely
they would hold him fast."

"No doubt they would if they could, but I imagine he has given them the
slip.  Would he send his wife away without him?"

"Sahib, the woman says she is the Rani, but I think she is merely a
slave-girl playing a part.  If the Rajah wished the troops of the
Company to believe he had escaped, would he not have devised just such
a plot as this, sending forth a party intended for capture, that they
might bear the news?"

"It struck me as so characteristic of Sher Singh to sneak away and
leave his women to be captured that I should never have thought of
doubting it," said Gerrard in perplexity to Charteris, who took up the
questioning.

"But what good could it do to Sher Singh that we should think he had
escaped, Komadan-ji?"

"That your honours would not look for him in the city when it falls,"
replied Rukn-ud-din promptly.  "If there is some hiding-place in which
he may seek safety"--Gerrard's eyes met those of Charteris with sudden
enlightment--"he might remain there in peace, and creep out when all is
quiet again.  But do not take my word for it, sahib.  Only, if there is
no news of Sher Singh's seeking support in the north, and bringing an
army against us, remember what I have said."

"It is well.  We will remember," said Gerrard.  "Say nothing of this to
any one, unless it be to Amrodh Chand."

"It is an order, sahib."  Rukn-ud-din received leave to depart, and
melted silently away.  Gerrard looked at Charteris again.

"The treasury!" he cried breathlessly.

"'Pon my word, that's it.  Unless--I told you how they broke into the
passage, you know, and after the treasure was got out, Sher Singh
ordered the place to be destroyed."

"D'ye think he did it, Bob?"

"I don't, if you ask me.  I think it was a do."

"Exactly, and he has secured himself a comfortable underground retreat,
with two exits, both of which are known to us.  We shall catch him like
a rat in a trap, if we keep our own counsel."

"I believe you, my boy!  And now, what's your mature opinion of your
plan for showing up Speathley?  Ain't it ray-ther better to cover
yourself with glory by producing the missing Sher Singh than by
indulging a revengeful temper to put it out of your power to capture
him?  Old boy, he can't keep you out of despatches then!  And the best
of it is that you and I must do the thing all on our own hook, for the
very good reason that we are both sworn not to reveal the secret of the
treasury to a soul.  We shall have to take Rukn-ud-din and Amrodh Chand
into our confidence as far as the preliminaries go, and they'll be
delighted to help, but they must understand that the thing itself is a
Sahibs' job."

"Don't forget that the whole thing depends on Rukn-ud-din's being right
in saying that Sher Singh never left the city."

"Oh, don't _buck_.[1]  Of course he's right," said Charteris rudely.
And as time went on, it became clearer to the two young men that
Rukn-ud-din was right.  True, the garrison of Agpur made great capital
of the escape across the flooded river, and were continually condoling
with the besiegers on the slowness of their horses, or prophesying
great results from Sher Singh's personal influence in raising up
sympathisers in the north.  It was quite evident that they meant it to
be believed that Sher Singh was not in the city, but the actual news
from the north did not support them.  Lieutenant Ronaldson sent word
that an emissary from Sher Singh, sent to stir up his tribesmen against
the English, had unfortunately just slipped through his fingers, but
though intrigues were heard of in abundance from various quarters,
there were no tidings of the Rajah himself.  Meanwhile, the slow
progress of the siege continued, until it received a sudden
acceleration by means of a lucky shot from a howitzer, which dropped
into the enemy's chief magazine, and blew it up.  After this, events
came in quick succession.  The Agpuris were driven first from their
various positions outside the city walls, then from the suburbs, and a
rough road was levelled through the ruins, that the guns might be
brought to bear upon the palace fortress itself.  For the whole of one
day they pounded at the walls which Partab Singh had constructed as the
aid to his ambitious designs, and at night it was pronounced that the
breach was practicable for the next day.  But in the morning a flag of
truce came out, borne by old Sada Sukhi, a persona grata on account of
his loyalty to Nisbet and Cowper, and it was announced that the
garrison, commanded in the absence of the Rajah by the Diwan Dwarika
Nath, desired to surrender.  Before any terms could be granted, it was
required that Sarfaraz Khan and a number of others known to have been
concerned in the murder of the two Englishmen should be handed over,
and this was done, though merely the dead body of the treacherous
captain of the guard, who had poisoned himself with a drug concealed in
the hilt of his sword, could be carried out to the conquerors.  A
parley between Sada Sukhi and the political officer with the force
settled the terms of surrender for the fighting men and the civil
inhabitants, the cases of any who might hereafter prove to have taken
an active part in the murders being specially reserved, and the remains
of the Agpur army marched out, and were duly disarmed.

Much curiosity was evinced by the British troops forming part of the
besieging army as to the fortress which had held them at bay so long,
and Gerrard, wandering through the place when the transfer of authority
was complete, felt a sense of desecration when he discovered several
privates, looking, in their tight scarlet tunics, stiff stocks and
heavy shakos, most incongruously uncomfortable, taking their ease on
the divan in the tower where he had sat with Partab Singh.  Others were
trying to paddle the deaf and dumb man's boat about the lotus-covered
tank, their adventures affording high delight to their comrades on the
shore, and others again were teasing the wild beasts in the menagerie.
The first troops marching in had found the palace strewn with valuable
stuffs and other treasures, but these had now all been collected and
placed under guard, as were the women's apartments, and there was
nothing left to tempt the cupidity of the soldiers, though they found a
good deal that was capable of injury, and promptly injured it.  The
Residency, in which Gerrard had passed so many lonely days, was badly
knocked about, and strewn with the dishonoured remnants of Nisbet and
Cowper's belongings.  Evidently Sher Singh and his adherents had
wreaked their vengeance even upon the house where the murdered men had
lived, for the place was little more than a ruin.  In the enclosed
garden, where he had dreamt of seeing Honour walking, Gerrard came upon
the political officer, whom he knew well as one of Sir Edmund Antony's
most trusted lieutenants.

"Glad to see you, Gerrard.  Curious you should have come upon me just
here.  Wasn't it you who got into trouble with Speathley by saying that
poor Nisbet and Cowper ought to be buried in the city instead of in
Ratan Singh's tomb?"

"Yes, but I don't know how you heard of it."

"Other people have heard of it as well.  You have impressed the
sensitive imagination of no less a person than the Governor-General, my
dear fellow.  Your suggestion got through to him somehow--some one who
was there writing to some one else, I suppose--and he has sent
peremptory orders for it to be carried out.  Ever since the news
arrived, the pet aide-de-camp has been labouring to convince Speathley
that he originated the idea himself, and was only angry with you
because you took the words out of his mouth, and he is just coming to
believe it."

"Very wise, in the circumstances."

"Uncommonly so.  Well, what do you think of this place for the grave?
It is inside the palace enclosure, and yet quite separated from the
palace itself.  Even if we set up a new Rajah, I suppose we shall keep
a garrison in the town, and a sentry can always be mounted here.  No
future Resident would care to live so close to the palace after what
has happened, I should say."

"I suppose you can't do better," agreed Gerrard reluctantly, looking at
the overgrown wilderness which represented his carefully kept garden.
"Yes, make a cemetery of the place by all means, Rawson.  It looks as
if it had a curse on it."

"What an uncommon romantic fellow you are!" said Rawson
good-humouredly.  "This was my chief reason for choosing the spot.
Look here!"

He took Gerrard by the elbow and turned him round.  From where they
stood they looked straight through the breach made by the guns, and
along the rough track formed by levelling the houses from the chasm in
the outer to that in the inner wall.

"See that?  Almost a straight line, ain't it?  Well, if we bring 'em in
through the double breach, along that road, and bury them here in the
heart of the palace, will it, or will it not, produce a fine moral
effect?"

"Magnificent!" murmured Gerrard, the dramatic force of the idea
gripping him.  "Regular time's revenge."

Two or three days later time's revenge was completed.  The bodies of
Nisbet and Cowper, removed reverently from their desecrated grave and
wrapped in the costliest Kashmir shawls to be discovered among Sher
Singh's treasures, were borne through the breach in the city wall,
attended by representatives of every unit of the besieging force,
across the devastated town and through the ruined defences of the
palace, to be laid to rest in the secluded garden with every possible
military honour.  As the last echoes of the firing over the grave died
away, Gerrard turned to Charteris with quickened breath.

"Bob," he murmured, "they have made a way for a corpse through the
great wall of Agpur."



[1] In modern parlance, "gas."




CHAPTER XXIII.

RUN TO EARTH.

On the evening of the day when the bodies of the two murdered
Englishmen had been laid in the grave with all imaginable honour, four
figures crept stealthily through the shadows at the base of the
ramparts of the palace.  After the funeral, in the course of a stroll
round the walls, Gerrard and Charteris had refreshed their memory of
the various localities.  Long ago they had satisfied themselves as to
the identity of the tree which masked the exit of the secret passage,
and on looking from the parapet they discovered that it had survived
the siege uninjured.  But the hole it concealed was by no means easy to
reach, since it was about half-way up the great face of wall, which was
much higher on the outside than the inside.  True, the stones on the
surface were rough-hewn and much weathered, and vegetation of all sorts
had struck its roots between them during the recent rains, but they
were not too firmly fixed in their places, as a gap here and there
showed.  The adventurers agreed that it would be impossible to make
their attempt from the inside of the fortress, owing to the strict
watch maintained there, and since this decision implied a climb up the
sheer crumbling wall-face from below, the help of a rope was very
necessary.  Since to lower one from above would have attracted
attention, it was clear that it must in some way be raised from below,
and the two friends had set their wits to work, with the result that
when they paused--to all appearance quite casually--on the parapet and
looked over at the tree, each of them drew furtively from his pocket a
ball of twine.  Charteris laughed.

"At any rate I'm glad you haven't beat me, Hal.  I could think of
nothing better than unwinding the string and dropping one end on each
side of the tree, in the hope that it might remain untouched till
to-night.  No, by Jove!  I have thought of a better way.  Give us your
ball."

He knotted the two ends of twine, and dropped the balls dexterously one
on either side of the tree, the string thus remaining steadied against
possible winds by the weight at the bottom.  Then, talking carelessly,
he led his friend on, both hoping that no acquisitive small boy might
chance to poke about along the base of the wall during the afternoon.
Rukn-ud-din and Amrodh Chand had already been informed that their
services were desired that night, and at the appointed time they
slipped away from their quarters into the darkness and joined the two
Englishmen.  Caution was necessary in passing through the narrow lanes
of the city, not only lest implacable partisans of Sher Singh should
seize the opportunity of avenging their master's fall, but lest a
British patrol should be encountered.  Charteris and Gerrard knew the
password, but the composition of their party was certain to rouse
curiosity, and lead to the suspicion that something strange was on
foot.  By dint of effacing themselves deftly round corners, and hiding
in doorways, they managed to avoid notice, and reached the appointed
spot at the desired time, when the moon, rising behind the palace
itself, threw this portion of the wall, and the ground at its foot,
into the deepest shadow.  Sentries were posted both within and without
the walls, and it was necessary to wait until the one on this beat had
turned his back, and then run singly from one patch of shade to
another.  All once safely assembled at the foot of the wall, Charteris
produced a dark lantern, and while the rest stood so as to shield him
from observation, hunted for the two little balls of twine.  They had
fallen not far from one another, and by pulling at the strings it
became evident that they were still knotted over the projecting
tree-trunk.  To one of them the end of a stout rope was attached, and
then the other was pulled, so that the rope might be, as the twine now
was, passed over the tree.  When the two ends of the rope hung level,
forming as it were a double handrail, Charteris seized them, and began
to climb, supporting himself by the ropes at each step as he felt for a
higher rest for his foot.  The slight sound he made, gradually growing
more distant, was the only guide those below had as to his position,
but at last there came a tug upon each rope, which was to be the sign
that he had reached the tree and found the entrance of the passage
practicable.  Before following him, Gerrard turned to the two natives.

"Brothers, you know that we hope to seize this night him who has been
guilty of so many crimes, that he may be brought to a fair trial.  You
know also that a vow of secrecy forbids us to share our knowledge of
this place with you.  Swear to me, then, that after to-night it shall
be to you as though it did not exist, whatever may happen to us."

"We swear it, sahib," said both men, but Rukn-ud-din added, "Provided
that if your honour should call to us for help, we are at liberty to
follow you."

"In that case you may certainly come up," said Gerrard gravely, and he
followed Charteris up the wall.  Amrodh Chand's eyes sought
Rukn-ud-din's in the darkness.

"His vow is safe, brother; but what of our vow of vengeance?"

"Aye; we know what is meant by these trials.  Antni Sahib loves Sher
Singh and will not have him slain, and the judges will know it.  They
will appoint a pleader to gain him his life by false words."

"And we, brother--we who have sworn to wash out the stain from the
severed cloth in the blood of the brother-slayer?  We shall be baulked,
and the women will laugh at us in the streets."

"Aye; men will mock at our beards," said Rukn-ud-din bitterly.  "Has
Jirad Sahib forgotten all that has passed?"

Amrodh Chand's head approached his comrade's closely.  "I think Jirad
Sahib has remembered our vow.  Did he not make us swear that _after
this night_ the place should be to us as though it was not?  What,
then, of to-night?"

Rukn-ud-din pondered sagely this most undeserved aspersion on Gerrard's
sincerity.  "It is well thought of," he said.  "Moreover, it seemed to
me but now that I heard a cry or gasp.  What if it were Jirad Sahib's
voice calling to us, and we have failed him?"

"We will succour him at once," said Amrodh Chand.  "See, brother, I
will knot the ends of the rope under this projecting stone, and follow
thee up."

All unconscious of the insubordinate reasoning of his followers,
Gerrard had made his way up the wall, and reaching the tree, peered
into the blackness in search of Charteris.  There was no sign of the
lantern, but not far off he could hear curious muffled sounds, as
though a struggle was taking place in resolute silence.  Feeling along
the tree-trunk with his hands, he discovered the opening in the wall,
and squeezed himself past the roots into it--rather nervous work in
pitch darkness and with the rope left behind.  He found himself in a
narrow passage, the roof and sides of which he could easily touch, and
close in front of him was going on the struggle he had heard.  Two or
more men must be rolling over one another on the floor, wrestling
desperately, but in silence.  Gerrard durst not interfere, lest he
should seize the wrong man, and he ventured only to say, "Here, Bob!"
in a low voice during a pause in the fighting, for fear of betraying
their presence to others.  Suddenly a horrible thud, followed by a
gasping "Ah-h-h!" from Charteris, proclaimed that the contest was over,
and Gerrard was nearly knocked down by some one who cannoned into him
backwards.  A hand was on his throat in a moment, but when the fingers
came in contact with his collar they released their grip, and Charteris
whispered with a hoarse laugh--

"Why, Hal, I nearly strangled you.  Thought you were a comrade of the
fellow here.  Step over him and shield the light.  We must make sure."

Gerrard obeyed--not without an uneasy feeling of exposing himself to
unseen foes--and jumped violently when his foot came in contact with
some portion of the body of Charteris's late foe.  But no attempt was
made to seize him, and he stood upright, filling the passage as far as
possible, while Charteris opened the lantern the merest slit, and
turned it on the man's face.

"He's safe.  I thought that knock I gave him on the floor must have
damaged him considerably.  It was him or me.  He sprang at me as soon
as I got inside, and if I hadn't got my hand over his mouth he would
have given the alarm.  That handicapped me, too--having to hold him, I
mean--and he wriggled like an eel.  Well, come on.  Now look here, Hal;
you ain't going to walk behind me down this passage with your sword
drawn.  You'd have me spitted like a lark if we were attacked either in
front or behind.  I'll go first with my sword, you'll come after with
the lantern--shut, if you please.  If I want light, I'll tell you fast
enough.  Got your Colt ready--not out?"

Gerrard's revolver was ready to his hand, but he realised that it was
out of the question to hold it as he felt his way in the dark, and
after making sure that his sword was loose in its sheath, he followed
Charteris, carrying only the lantern.  When they had explored the
passage before, with plenty of light, it had seemed to them that the
walls and floor were astonishingly smooth, but now, feeling and groping
their way along in pitch darkness, the number of obstacles over which
they stumbled, and projections with which they came into violent
contact, was extraordinary.  The air of the place was close, too, and
between their exertions and their anxiety, they were soon dripping with
perspiration.  Charteris called a halt at last.

"By Jove, it's just struck me what a do it would be if they had laid a
trap for us!" he muttered.  "Quite a shallow hole would bring us down
on top of on another, and we should be at their mercy."

"Oh, go on, and don't _buck_!" said Gerrard irritably.

"Why, your voice is shaking, Hal!  'Pon my word, if I didn't know you,
I should think----"  He stopped abruptly, for Gerrard had gripped his
shoulder.

"Bob, did you hear something?"

"Not I.  You heard your heart beating, perhaps."

"Oh, drop it!  It sounded like the ring of metal on stone--as if a
sword had knocked against the wall."

"Kuku-ud-din or Amrodh Chand may have followed us."

"They swore they wouldn't.  Besides, Bob, it was quite near at hand,
and they could not have caught us up in the dark.  There was no sign of
them at the entrance."

"Quite so.  Well, shall we wait and trip him up?"

"No, he will hear--guess we are there.  We can't stay all night looking
for him in the dark."  Gerrard spoke roughly, fighting down the horror
of such a watch as he suggested, and Charteris yielded, recognising
that his friend's nerves were dangerously strained.

"I should have preferred to make our rear safe, but he will hardly
venture to attack us single-handed.  Give me the lantern, old boy, and
you lead for a bit."

Shamefacedly Gerrard obeyed, realising that the dread of a stealthy
step behind had not for Charteris the paralyzing terror it had for him,
and they groped their way on, trying to assure one another that the
sounds which reached them when they paused were merely the echoes of
their own movements.  At length a very faint glimmer became visible far
in front, and they crept towards it.  It seemed to come from a doorway
on the left-hand side of the passage, and co-ordinating their former
knowledge of the place with the distance they had now come, they saw
that it must proceed from the open door of the secret treasury.
Creeping up to this with the utmost precaution, they paused for a
moment in the shadow to reconnoitre.  The light came from a dim lamp in
the middle of the room, round which they could discern the sleeping
forms of several men--five or six, perhaps, but their mufflings made it
difficult to distinguish them clearly.  One rather removed from the
rest, and lying on a charpoy instead of the floor, was evidently Sher
Singh himself.  Charteris put the lantern deliberately into his pocket,
and drawing swords and revolvers, he and Gerrard stepped into the
doorway.

"Your Highness is tracked!  Surrender!" were the words that pealed into
the room and roused the sleepers.

"Maharaj, fear not!  There are but two Feringhees here!" cried another
voice from behind, and instantly the man nearest to the lamp threw a
quilt over it.  There was a clash of arms as the men roused from sleep
seized the weapons they had laid beside them, but through it Gerrard's
ear detected another sound, a grinding noise on the floor, coming from
behind.  He recognised it at once; it was the grating of the
turning-stone as it closed.  The man who had tracked them and given the
alarm was cutting off their retreat.  Gerrard turned mechanically, and
putting out his hand, felt the stone beginning to fill the doorway
behind him.  Stooping, he groped for the stone doorpost, and snatching
off his cap, thrust it across the corner where the outer edge of the
doorpost met the floor.  The cap was iron-framed, and padded to turn a
sword-cut, and he heard the stone grate more harshly, then stick, so
that at least he and Charteris were not imprisoned without hope of
release.  As he rose, he was aware of a muttered exclamation of disgust
from the other side of the door, and guessed that the man who had set
the stone turning had found that it would not shut.

"Shoulder to shoulder, Hal!" said Charteris sharply.  The moment so
full of thought and action for Gerrard had for him been filled only
with intensest listening for every movement of the enemies in front,
and he had no idea of the foe behind.  Something struck the edge of the
doorpost as it passed through the slit left open, and Gerrard fired at
the sound.  Charteris jumped forward a little as the point of a long
dagger grazed his shoulder, and the noise of the shot was followed by a
choking cry in the passage.

"Thanks, old boy.  Ready, watch!"  Charteris took the lantern from his
pocket, and flashed it slowly round.  Gerrard had a momentary
impression of shining weapons and gleaming eyeballs, all apparently
petrified into immobility by the sudden illumination.  Before the enemy
could take advantage of the light to spring, he had snatched the
lantern from Charteris's hand, and set it on a little stone bracket,
evidently left for some such purpose, above the doorway, so that the
two Englishmen were in shadow, while their opponents were clearly
visible.

"Now, Bob, back to back!" he cried.

Three of the armed men in front made at them at once, while Sher Singh
and the others conferred in the background.  Neither Gerrard nor
Charteris had time to do more than notice this ominous confabulation,
for their adversaries gave them plenty of work.  They were as agile as
cats, and the chance was small indeed of getting in a telling blow.
One man went down with a bullet from Gerrard's revolver in his brain,
but his place was instantly taken by one of those at the back, and the
next few minutes saw several shots wasted.  Suddenly another sound than
the clash of arms struck on Gerrard's ear--the grinding noise made by
the turning-stone.  He had barely time to shout a warning to Charteris
before a shot, sounding like the report of a cannon in the confined
space, smashed and extinguished the lantern, and at the same moment two
hands grasped his ankles and threw him into the middle of the floor,
with Charteris--as he guessed by the clatter of a revolver on the
ground--upon him.

"Sahib, it is I--Rukn-ud-din," yelled a lamentable voice from the door.
"Speak, that I may know where you are."

Gerrard had just breath enough left to shout "Here!" and sufficient
presence of mind to wriggle as far as he could when he had done it.
The instant swish of a sword, delivered with such good will that it
smashed on the stone floor where he had lain but a moment before,
showed his wisdom, and he tried to roll out of the fray, but Charteris,
who must have struck his head in falling, lay a dead weight across his
legs.  While he tried first to lift his friend, and then to drag
himself from under him, a fierce battle was raging above and across
their prostrate forms, and feet, bare or booted, trod upon or tripped
over them.  At length Charteris stirred and groaned, and Gerrard shook
him desperately.

"Bob, get up!  Get off me, anyhow!"

A hand seized his shoulder as he shouted, and he imagined a sword
descending on his head, and thought his last hour had come.  But the
hand came down to meet his, and a voice cried, "Well done, sahib.  Up!"
and helped by Rukn-ud-din, he was on his feet again, and set with his
back to the wall.  Stooping, he found Charteris struggling into a
sitting position, and dragged him back also, then realised that the
fight had suddenly slackened, and that the sound of panting breaths had
replaced the clash of swords.  Before he could ask himself what this
meant, Rukn-ud-din's voice broke the stillness.

"Brother, is it done?"

"It is done, brother," replied the voice of Amrodh Chand from the other
side of the place.  "Partab Singh Rajah and his son and the mother of
his son are avenged."

A wild howl rent the air, as the servants of Sher Singh flung
themselves furiously in the direction of the voice, but the Rajput had
slipped round close to the wall, and Gerrard found him at his side,
half-delirious with joy.

"Slay! slay! slay!" he chanted.  "Wipe out the whole brood from the
earth.  Let all those who served the brother-slayer bear him company in
death."

"Stay!  Let them surrender if they will," cried Gerrard.  "Let the
servants of Sher Singh lay down their arms, and taste the mercy of the
Government."

"That for the mercy of the Sarkar!" was the answer, as a vicious cut
was made in Gerrard's direction from the floor, but Rukn-ud-din warded
it off, and seizing the tulwar as it fell from the severed hand of the
man who had wielded it, gave it to his commander.  Then, advancing in
line across the room, they drove the surviving servants of Sher Singh
before them until, brought up by the opposite wall, they threw down
their arms and cried for quarter.  Then Rukn-ud-din went back along the
passage for the piece of burning match in a metal holder by means of
which he and Amrodh Chandh had made their way to the fight, the sounds
of which had stirred their blood, and the extinguished lamp was found
and relighted.  Sher Singh's body was crouched on the charpoy, in a
listening attitude, the matchlock with which he had shot at the lantern
slipping from his hands.  Four of his men were killed outright, besides
the one outside who had tried to close the door, and whom Gerrard had
shot through the opening, and the other two were badly wounded, while
the victors bore abundant traces of the struggle.  But there was no
time for binding up their hurts just yet, for hurried footsteps and
excited voices could be heard faintly overhead, though no words were
distinguishable.

"The sentries are disturbed in their minds, and have turned out the
guard," said Charteris.  "And no wonder; that shot of Sher Singh's must
have sounded uncommonly like a distant mine exploding.  Well, we had
better appear amongst them by way of the lions' cage and explain
matters, I suppose.  What d'ye think of taking the prisoners with us,
and leaving everything else as it is, Hal?"

"I don't see that it matters.  Wouldn't it be better to make them carry
out Sher Singh's body?" said Gerrard.

"My dear fellow, it does matter, very much.  I should say leave things
exactly as they are.  Otherwise we may get into trouble.  Don't touch
the Rajah, Rukn-ud-din!" he cried sharply.  "Oh, I see; it's a case of
'Is not the gown washed white?'"

The two natives had unwound the discoloured fragments of the Rani's
cloth which they wore wrapped round their waists, and were dipping them
in Sher Singh's blood.

"Our vow, sahib!" said Amrodh Chand proudly.  "Now our faces are white
once more, for all has fallen out as it was spoken, and the innocent
blood is avenged."

"All very well, but our faces are likely to be particularly black,"
muttered Charteris morosely.  "Take the prisoners on.  Look here, Hal,"
as they obeyed; "don't you perceive that we may find ourselves in a
very nasty fix?  If we had been able to produce Sher Singh alive to
stand his trial, nothing would have been too good for us, but as it is,
we have deprived the ruling powers of the opportunity for a tremendous
object-lesson in justice and clemency.  Our only chance is to make it
perfectly clear what a fight we have had.  They may say we ought to
have taken a larger force, but they can't very well blame us for acting
in self-defence.  And if the bodies have obviously not been touched----"

"You mean that otherwise Speathley is quite capable of accusing us of
looting?  Bob, if he attempts anything of the kind, I have done with
the Company for good and all.  I have had about enough.  I daresay the
old Habshi will take me into his service."

"Vice General Desdichado dead of drink?  I think I see you playing the
part, old boy.  No, stick to your colour--and your colours.  We two are
in the same box, and whatever happens we'll keep together.  I was
merely recommending caution.  But here we are at the massy portal.
What'll you take that the lions were killed for food in the siege?  No,
there they are.  Sold again!"

Pride forbade Rukn-ud-din and Amrodh Chand to testify any alarm at the
place where they found themselves, but they hustled their willing
captives to the front of the cage with great celerity, hastened by the
growls which proclaimed that the lions had been awakened by the light.
The beasts seemed sluggish and disinclined to move, and Gerrard called
Charteris back with the lamp, that he might see better to perform the
complicated movements which closed the door.  Almost as he did so, he
felt himself seized and flung violently sideways, Charteris following
and almost falling against him, while a heavy body descended violently
upon the very spot where they had been standing.

"What's up?" demanded Gerrard, between surprise and indignation.

"Oh, only the lion.  Clear out of this, or we shall have the lioness on
us next.  You don't seem to twig, my boy.  Sher Singh has had the
chains lengthened!"




CHAPTER XXIV.

HONOUR AND HONOURS.

The course of events proved Charteris to be a good prophet.
Condemnation of the method adopted by Gerrard in attempting the arrest
of Sher Singh was universal.  It was not the Brigadier alone who
pointed out, with much wealth of language, that the proper course would
have been to report his suspicions as to the Rajah's hiding-place, and
leave it to his superiors to detail a sufficient force--of which he
himself might or might not have formed a part--to effect the capture,
for the whole army were on the same side.  The charitable said that
Gerrard was vilely selfish in trying to secure all the honour and glory
for himself alone, the malicious that even if there was no question of
loot--which was hardly to be imagined--it was pretty clear that he had
been on the look-out to avenge the slights put upon him by Sher Singh
when he was acting-Resident at Agpur, and that he had achieved his
object by murdering the unfortunate Rajah in a hole.  It was in vain
that Charteris pointed out to every one he could induce to listen to
him that the idea of surprising the Rajah in his concealment had been
his originally, and that he had taken a prominent part in the affair;
the comment, as soon as his back was turned, was that the two natives
concerned in it both belonged to Gerrard's force, which looked bad, and
that the friendship which linked Charteris himself with Gerrard was of
a character to rise superior to mere accuracy.  This uncharitable view
of the exploit penetrated to Ranjitgarh, and drew from Sir Edmund
Antony a grieved and reproachful letter such as even Gerrard's
veneration for his chief could not brook with meekness.  He replied
with so warm a remonstrance as made Charteris shrug his shoulders in
despair, though he acknowledged, on the receipt of a hearty and ample
apology, that his friend knew Sir Edmund better than he did.

Since Sher Singh was dead, and not to be restored to life, the
Government was in reality freed from a very serious embarrassment.  One
of his numerous youthful sons was chosen as the representative of the
family, but not seated on the _gaddi_, since all Granthi institutions
were in a state of flux for the present, and it was highly probable
that the titular Rajah of Agpur would in future lead a secluded and
uneventful existence as a pensioner on the Company's bounty.  The new
bearer of the title, with Sher Singh's wives and remaining children,
was removed a safe distance into British territory, and the work of
pacifying the state, by hunting down the remains of the insurgent army
and of the revolted Granthi regiments, proceeded apace.  In fact, it
was so quickly done that new force was given to a body of opinion that
was gradually gathering strength.  Now that the Agpur campaign could be
viewed as a successful whole, men began to contrast it with that other
warfare which was engaging the energies of the Commander-in-Chief and
the entire Bengal Army.  Sher Singh's revolt had really been nipped in
the bud, since he and his army had been strictly confined within the
limits, first of his state and then of his capital, from the moment of
the outbreak.  Had he been allowed to sweep unchecked across his
borders, and uniting with Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia, stir up the
western half of Granthistan against the Durbar and the British, as the
discontented Granthi Sirdars and soldiers of fortune had raised the
eastern portion, how would it have been possible to cope with the
situation?  That it had not arisen was due to the insight and
initiative of one man, Lieutenant Robert Charteris of the Bengal
Fusiliers, who had had the skill to plan, and the courage to execute,
the necessary measures, in independence, even in disregard, of the
orders sent him.

Lieutenant Robert Charteris became a hero, for public opinion, once
reversed in his favour, was not minded to do things by halves.
Moreover, the growing tide was swollen by the arrival of advices from
England, showing that the lords of the East at the India House, and
military circles generally, had conceived, on the strength of the
reports of Charteris's doings up to the time he was superseded by
Brigadier Speathley, the view of his exploits to which India itself was
just coming round.  The home authorities backed their opinion by
tangible marks of favour.  The greatest living soldier, mention from
whose lips was in itself an honour, recommended Lieutenant Charteris to
her Majesty for promotion, and her Majesty was pleased also to confer
upon him a Commandership of the Bath, while the India Board decided to
present him with a gold medal suitably inscribed.  These distinctions
were enumerated with due solemnity in a General Order of the Government
of India, which contained also a passing reference to "the praiseworthy
co-operation afforded by the troops of H.H. the Nuwaub of Hubsheeabad,
accompanied by Lieutenant Henry Gerrard, Engineers."  That was all.

The General Order and the news it enshrined were received with much
more equanimity by Gerrard than by his fortunate friend.  Charteris
could not contain himself, and Gerrard's calmness only increased his
indignation.

"It's a sell, it's a do, it's an unmitigated chouse!" he proclaimed.
"And why don't you put it down to me, Hal?  Any other fellow would have
done that long ago."

"Because I saw your reports, old boy, and I know that ain't the reason.
It's only what I had to expect."

"But the disgusting unfairness of it--in our circumstances especially!"
lamented Charteris.  "I can't get over that."

"My dear fellow, you know that the person of whom we are both thinking
would no more be influenced by a gold medal or a C.B. than by a diamond
necklace.  No, hang it! the plan was yours, and the execution was
yours.  I backed you up, you say?  Well, then, put on my tombstone, 'He
was a good second,' and I ask no more."

But Charteris could not bring himself to take this philosophic view of
the case, and went about abusing the authorities and cursing the
injustice of fate, until he drew down upon himself a rebuke from James
Antony.

"Since you can neither refuse your honours nor share them, my good
fellow, you may as well wear them gracefully," he said.  "As it is, you
are doing Gerrard no good.  He was unlucky in his first post, which has
told against him, but he is a capable man, and bound to come to the
front eventually, provided his friends don't spoil his chances."

The shrewd common-sense of the advice silenced Charteris's murmurs, and
he faced with less outward rebelliousness the prospect of a week or two
at Ranjitgarh.  This was a mere interlude before plunging again into
the main current of battle.  The Governor-General was coming to the
Granthi capital to take counsel with the Commander-in-Chief as to the
further course of the war, which had not hitherto been conducted with
conspicuous success, and the honours for the Agpur campaign were to be
conferred.  The cantonments and the Residency were full, and
Brevet-Major Charteris, C.B., was glad to share his former restricted
quarters with Gerrard.  The Edmund Antonys were in occupation of the
house again, James Antony and his wife retiring into two rooms of the
main block, while Lady Cinnamond was once more at Government House.
With her had come down from the hills Marian Cowper, a sorrowful figure
in the heavy weeds then worn by even the youngest widows, but taking up
the burden of life again bravely.  If she still shrank from Honour, it
was only they and their mother who could perceive it.  Sir Arthur
Cinnamond arrived from the front with the Commander-in-Chief for a week
about Christmas time, and it so happened that Gerrard came suddenly
upon Honour riding with her father the day after his arrival.  She wore
a habit made like the uniform of Sir Arthur's famous Peninsular
regiment--a fashion which probably owed its vogue to the semi-military
costume adopted by the young Queen Victoria for reviews.  Civilian
ladies--whose husbands had no uniform to be copied--called it fast, or
at least 'spirited,' (Gerrard had heard Mrs James Antony animadverting
upon it only that morning,) but the severe lines of the coat suited
Honour well in combination with the long trailing skirt and the broad
hat with its drooping feather.  As he rode up to the pair, and noted
the serious face and the firm lines of the mouth, it struck Gerrard as
curiously ironical that to a girl of this type should have fallen such
a prolonged period of indecision as Honour had undergone between the
claims of Charteris and himself.  The thought was still in his mind
when she glanced round and saw him, and the change in her face was like
the waking into life of a statue.  The lines softened, the eyes
dropped, and a wave of crimson flooded forehead and cheeks.  Sir Arthur
shouted a hearty welcome to Gerrard, commanded him to dinner that
evening, to meet his eldest son, who was on the Headquarters Staff, and
turned judiciously to speak to some one else.  Honour's eyes were on
her horse's mane, Gerrard's were devouring her face, but for the moment
both of them were tongue-tied.  Honour recovered herself first, and
spoke with a desperate effort.

"And--and how is Major Charteris?" she asked, and Gerrard's revived
hope died on the spot.  He could not understand afterwards why he did
not fall from his horse.  What he answered he never knew, but it seemed
that he had laughed aloud, for Sir Arthur turned quickly and looked at
him.  A certain severity, disappointment, puzzled inquiry, were in the
glance, but Gerrard had wrenched his horse round and was riding away,
leaving the General still looking after him.  He rode headlong back to
the Residency, and with the impulse of a wounded creature seeking
concealment, made straight for his own quarters in the inner courtyard.
On the verandah he paused abruptly, for Charteris was sitting there
reading a tattered number of _Bell's Life_.  He tried to speak, but no
words would come, and Charteris looked up and saw him.

"Why, Hal!" he cried.  Gerrard brushed past him hastily.

"I've seen her.  It's you, Bob," he jerked out, and threw himself on
his cot.  Charteris had sprung from his chair, but turned back on the
verandah step.

"Hal, old boy, I'm uncommon sorry.  You do believe it, don't you?"

"I do.  And you know you are the only man----"

Charteris's hand was on his shoulder a moment as the words failed him,
and then his ringing footsteps went down into the courtyard, and
Gerrard heard him shouting for his horse.  The man who had all went out
into the sunshine, the man who had nothing was left.  To keep himself
from tracing the sound of the horse's feet growing faint in the
distance as the happy lover rode away, Gerrard forced himself to plan
for the future.  He must leave Ranjitgarh, and at once; he could not
stay and watch the happiness of the pair, lest he should grow to hate
them both.  Bob would understand, Bob would not expect it.  Some day he
might be able to stand it, but now----  He had not realised how firmly
he was building on Honour's parting words; he had not doubted that the
blush just now was for him.  But it was for Bob, and Bob was worthy of
any woman's love, even of that of the woman of women.  "Heaven bless
them both!" groaned Gerrard, and rolled over with his face to the wall
to make his plans.  He must wait to wring Bob's hand when he returned
triumphant, but after that he would go.  Bob would take his place at
the Cinnamonds' dinner-table, would sit next to Honour, would----  No,
it did not bear thinking of; that way madness lay.  To his own plans!
He would go back to his Habshiabadis, and move heaven and earth to get
the help of the contingent accepted by the Commander-in-Chief.  If not,
and when the war was over--no, he could not face the solitude of his
position at Habshiabad again.  Had he not General Desdichado as a
warning of the depths to which an isolated European, without hope and
without ambition, could sink?  There was a place for him elsewhere.
Coming events were casting their shadows before them, and there could
be little doubt that the close of the war would see the annexation of
Granthistan.  Sir Edmund Antony, who had striven so zealously and with
such a single eye against annexation, would not stay to see it; his
brother James would be the man of the hour when the step was taken.
The Governor-General would be just, even delicate, in his treatment of
the vanquished; Sir Edmund would not be shelved, but transferred to
some other post where his tenderness for native susceptibilities would
be an advantage instead of a drawback.  Thither Gerrard would accompany
him.  Had not Sir Edmund said to him that morning, almost wistfully, "I
should like to have you with me, Gerrard, when I am kicked out of
Granthistan"? and he had answered eagerly that he could desire nothing
better--then paused suddenly, remembering that there might be some one
else to consult as to the ordering of his life.

There were steps in the courtyard, a foot on the verandah.  Gerrard lay
still and pretended to be asleep.  He could not face Bob at this
moment, when the realisation of all he had lost had returned upon him
with such overwhelming force.  But Charteris strode across to him and
shook him savagely.

"You everlasting fool, it's you!"

He pulled him off the cot, and Gerrard sat on the edge and stared at
him stupidly.  Charteris was standing with his back to him, very busy
about a buckle.

"Well?" he barked out.  "You ain't going to do anything--eh?  Think it
was a pleasant thing for a girl to have to tell the wrong man?  Going
to leave her to think about it?"

"Of course not.  I am going to her," said Gerrard wonderingly.
Something astonishing had happened, but he could not for the moment
realise what it was.  He had got as far as the verandah step when he
felt Charteris's hands on his shoulders, and was forcibly dragged back.

"Of all the fools!" said an exasperated voice.  "Off you go, with no
cap, and a head like a haystack.  Do you remember that they have a
_burra khana_[1] on?  Do you want to be turned back for a lunatic?
Dress first and get there early, and then speak to her.  Call your boy,
can't you?  Why I should have to dry-nurse you----!"

Gerrard obeyed meekly, grateful to Charteris for giving the bearer his
orders and presiding over his execution of them.  The bearer, on the
contrary, was much insulted.  His master was like a lay-figure in his
hands, but Chatar Sahib must needs take it upon himself to direct and
correct operations in an unpleasant parade voice, causing many
unnecessary starts and much perturbation of mind to a highly efficient
servant who had most definite ideas on the subject of what his Sahib
should wear to a burra khana.  Gerrard's horse and groom came round,
and Charteris's self-imposed task was not over until he had seen him
safely mounted.  Before starting, Gerrard turned and held out his hand.

"Bob, old boy?"

"Hang it, Hal! go in and win."

Some sense of reality began to return to Gerrard's mind as he rode
forth under the archway, but it made little impression upon his brain
when Mrs James Antony ran out upon the verandah he was passing.

"James, how late you are, love!  Oh, Mr Gerrard, if you meet my
husband, pray beg him to make haste.  We are dining at the General's,
and he has not returned from his ride."

Gerrard promised mechanically, and forgot all about the promise as soon
as it was uttered.  He arrived at Government House somehow, and
immediately became the cause of much disturbance of mind to the
servants, who were scandalized at his early arrival, and still more so
at his demand to see the Miss Sahib.  Honour's own ayah was fetched to
assure him that "Missy Sahib done dress," which meant exactly the
opposite of what it sounded like, and the highly responsible
head-bearer ventured to advise the Sahib to take a little ride, and
return in half an hour or so.  But Gerrard was not to be so easily
dismissed.

"Tell the Miss Sahib that I will wait as long as she chooses, but that
I must speak to her before dinner," he said.

"_Shabash_,[2] Gerrard!  Nothing like putting your foot down in good
time," cried James Antony, charging out of the house and mounting his
waiting pony.  "If only the General and I had done it, we should not
both be in fear of our lives at this moment.  You owe me a good turn
for making him late."

If Sir Arthur was late in dressing, his daughter must have been very
early, for Gerrard had not been sitting long in the smaller
drawing-room, sadly incommoding the servants who were lighting the
candles in their glass shades, when Honour came into the room,
fastening her short gloves, with a defiant swish of white silk flounces.

"You sent me a very peremptory message just now, Mr Gerrard."

Any one less preoccupied than Gerrard would have detected a suspicion
of trembling in the clear tones, but he was too much taken aback by the
accusation hurled at him.

"I am very sorry.  Nothing could have been further----"

"So I just came to tell you that I am not accustomed to messages of
that kind, and to beg you not to do it again."  Holding her head very
high, she turned to sweep out of the room, but Gerrard was at the door
before her.

"No, not without letting me speak!" he entreated incoherently.  "If you
knew what it means to me, how long I have looked forward----!  That
noble fellow Charteris gave me your message----"

"I think you must be dreaming, Mr Gerrard!"  The chilly indignation of
her tone brought him to himself.  "I send you a message by Major
Charteris?  Never!"

"Forgive me; I hardly know what I am saying.  He told me you had
refused him, and I thought that it might be because--that there might
be some one else."

"But even then?"  She still faced him bravely, though the affectation
of polite interest in her tones was very difficult to keep up.

"You can't pretend not to understand--after everything----"

"But it might not be----"

"Oh no, no!" the pain in his voice brought the tears to her eyes.
"Don't say it's some one else!  I could have given you up to him, but
not----  You know something of what he is; there is no braver or better
fellow in India, and now that his name is known, there's no saying how
far he will go.  You could not have refused him--unless----"

Honour was opening and closing recklessly the cameo clasp that fastened
her black velvet bracelet.  "Did you come here to plead Major
Charteris's cause?" she asked in a very small voice.  "What if I--if I
told you your--your pleading had convinced me?"

"I should say you had chosen the better man," said Gerrard steadily.

A hand touched his for a moment, and was snatched away immediately.  "I
have chosen the better man," murmured Honour.  "But it is not Major
Charteris," and the hand allowed itself to be captured.

"I was certain of it!" cried Gerrard triumphantly.  Honour withdrew her
hand hastily.  "Certain? certain of what?" she demanded.  Gerrard was
horrified.

"Miss Cinnamond--Honour--my dearest one--what have I done?  I am an
unlucky fellow!  Have I offended you?"

"You said you were certain," explained Honour, with impatient
deliberateness.  "What were you certain of?"

"Why, that you could not have refused Charteris--splendid fellow that
he is, and with all his honours and successes--unless there was a
little sneaking kindness in your heart for some one else, and I hoped
it might be for a poor wretched failure who has nothing to lay at your
feet beyond his love and fidelity."

Honour surrendered her hand again.  "You are so absurd!" she said, with
a catch in her voice.  "Of course, if pity is all you want----"

"Pity is not to be despised.  It made a good beginning----"

"It did not!" cried Honour sharply.  "How blind you are!  And I thought
you understood!  When you came to the Residency in the rains, were you
to be pitied then?"

"I thought so.  You would hardly look at me."

"Oh, stupid! how could I?"

"You had begun to care then?  But, dearest, how could I guess?  You
talked about nothing but Charteris."

"It was the only way I could get you to talk about yourself.  You had
to tell me little bits about your own doings when you were describing
all he had done."

"If I had only known, it would have saved a lot of misery, both to poor
old Bob and me," mused Gerrard ruefully.  "But how could I possibly
tell!  When you asked so much about Charteris, of course I thought you
cared for him."

"As if I could ever have talked about him to you if I had cared for
him!" said Honour in disdain.  Gerrard mused upon this revelation for a
moment.

"Well, I don't see how I could have known," he said at last.

"Why, I told you!" cried Honour--"when you went away."

"I thought you must have meant that--just for a moment.  But then you
ran away, and would not even say good-bye to me."

"How could I, when I had just told you--shouted it out before
everybody?  But I hid behind Mrs Antony and watched you go.  I--I
kissed my hand to you," shamefacedly.

"And I was bustled off, and never knew!  Dear one, you have only
yourself and my stupidity to thank if you marry a failure.  What might
I not have done if I had known you cared!"

"Perhaps you might not have known it then as well as you do now,"
whispered Honour shyly.  "It--it must be you, you know, not your
success, or----"

"So it is!  But you won't insist on my remaining a failure always, for
I'm hanged if I do.  With you to inspire--to help----"

Could it be the silent, reserved Honour whose transfigured face was
raised to his.  "Oh, you will let me, you think I can?" she breathed.
"I wanted, so dreadfully, to help people when I first came out, but no
one seemed to want it--or else they just asked me to marry them----"

"But so have I.  At least, that was my intention."

"Oh, you!  But you are different.  And I may try to help?"

A deprecating ayah, who had been making signs in vain from the
verandah, advanced in desperation.  "Lady Memsahib done say wish done
see Missy Sahib," she murmured, with downcast eyes.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

"Well, is it all serene?" inquired Charteris, as Gerrard returned to
their quarters that night.

"All right--thanks to you, Bob."

"Oh, shut up!  Seventh heaven?"

"Seventy times seventh."

"I believe you, my boy!  Papa and mamma agreeable?"

"They were most kind.  Sir Arthur would have preferred you, Bob--I
can't help seeing that--but he was quite decent.  I even saw poor
little Mrs Cowper for a moment.  She cried, and said how glad she was."

"Uncommon affecting!  And she, herself?"

"She's--she's--I can't express what she is, even to you, Bob.  Hang it!
I believe I could talk of her all night, and get no nearer.  She is an
angel from heaven."

"Question is, has she made up her mind at last--no more
shilly-shallying?  Hope I don't intrude in asking it."

"Made up her mind----  Are you trying to throw doubts----?  Oh, I see.
But it's a thousand years since then, Bob.  You yourself could have no
doubt, if you saw her."

"All right; I'm quite satisfied.  If a doleful beggar like yourself can
feel free from doubt----"

"I could no more doubt her than the sun at noon.  Bob, I'll tell you.
She will go with me to Central India when Sir Edmund goes."

Charteris sat up in his chair.  "Nonsense!" he said sharply.  "What
folly is this?  You are talking of leaving Granthistan?"

"I had made up my mind to it before you came to me this afternoon, and
she agrees with me that it is the right thing."

"My dear fellow, you don't know.  I was talking to the G.-G.'s military
secretary to-night, and he let slip that there would be a local
majority for you at the next distribution of honours.  If you leave
Granthistan, of course that falls through."

"Then I must wait till it comes in the natural course of things."

"You don't seem to realise that Sir Arthur's influence won't help you
outside Granthistan, and will be very little use in any line but the
military.  What's taken you?"

"It's simply that I mean to stick to Sir Edmund.  My views as to the
treatment of the natives were learnt from him, and I can work better
with him than with our Mr James, much as I respect him."

"James Antony is the coming man, and the man for me.  But if you will
choose the losing side--why, I suppose you must.  It's like her, too."

"It is, indeed--since she chose me and not you.  Bob, I'm still lost in
wonder over that."

Charteris moved impatiently.  "Shows her wisdom.  I don't mind telling
you, Hal--it may make you more comfortable to hear it--that I had
misgivings.  Not about my own happiness--Heaven knows that I could ask
nothing better--but whether I could make her happy.  I can't spout
Tennyson to her, or appreciate her pretty little German tales about
knights and water-nymphs--the _New Sporting Magazine_ and _Lays of
Ancient Rome_ are more my number.  Evidently I am cut out for pacifying
Darwan rather than for domestic joys.  And after all, two years ago I
would have given my ears to be where I am now.  You have Honour, and I
have honours, you see"--with a fairly creditable laugh--"and so
everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds."



[1] Big dinner.

[2] Bravo.



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