RUJUB, THE JUGGLER

By G. A. Henty.

CONTENTS

PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION.

“Rujub, the Juggler,” is mainly an historical tale for young and old,
dealing with the Sepoy Mutiny, in India, during the years 1857 to 1859.

This famous mutiny occurred while the reins of British rule in India were
in the hands of Lord Canning. Chupattees (cakes of flour and water) were
circulated among the natives, placards protesting against British rule
were posted at Delhi, and when the Enfield rifle with its greased
cartridges was introduced among the Sepoy soldiers serving the Queen it
was rumored that the cartridges were smeared with the forbidden pig's fat,
so that the power of the Sepoys might forever be destroyed.

Fanatical to the last degree, the Sepoys were not long in bringing the
mutiny to a head. The first outbreak occurred at Meerut, where were
stationed about two thousand English soldiers and three thousand native
troops. The native troops refused to use the cartridges supplied to them
and eighty-two were placed under arrest. On the day following the native
troops rebelled in a body, broke open the guardhouse and released the
prisoners, and a severe battle followed, and Meerut was given over to the
flames. The mutineers then marched upon Delhi, thirty-two miles away, and
took possession. At Bithoor the Rajah had always professed a strong
friendship for the English, but he secretly plotted against them, and,
later on, General Wheeler was compelled to surrender to the Rajah at
Cawnpore, and did so with the understanding that the lives of all in the
place should be spared. Shortly after the surrender the English officers
and soldiers were shot down, and all of the women and children butchered.

The mutiny was now at its height, and for a while it was feared that
British rule in India must cease. The Europeans at Lucknow were besieged
for about three months and were on the point of giving up, when they were
relieved through the heroic march of General Havelock. Sir Colin Campbell
followed, and soon the city was once more in the complete possession of
the British. Oude was speedily reduced to submission, many of the rebel
leaders were either shot or hanged, and gradually the mutiny, which had
cost the lives of thousands, was brought to an end.

The tale, however, is not all of war. In its pages are given many true to
life pictures of life in India, in the barracks of the soldiers and
elsewhere. A most important part is played by Rujub, the juggler, who is a
warm friend to the hero of the narrative. Rujub is no common conjuror, but
one of the higher men of mystery, who perform partly as a religious duty
and who accept no pay for such performances. The acts of these persons are
but little understood, even at this late day, and it is possible that many
of their arts will sooner or later be utterly lost to the world at large.
That they can do some wonderful things in juggling, mind reading, and in
second sight, is testified to by thousands of people who have witnessed
their performances in India; how they do these things has never yet been
explained.

Strange as it may seem, the hero of the tale is a natural born coward, who
cannot stand the noise of gunfire. He realizes his shortcomings, and they
are frequently brought home to him through the taunts of his fellow
soldiers. A doctor proves that the dread of noise is hereditary, but this
only adds to the young soldier's misery. To make himself brave he rushes
to the front in a most desperate fight, and engages in scout work which
means almost certain death. In the end he masters his fear, and gives a
practical lesson of what stern and unbending will power can accomplish.

In many respects “Rujub, the Juggler,” will be found one of the strongest
of Mr. Henty's works, and this is saying much when one considers all of
the many stories this well known author has already penned for the
entertainment of young and old. As a picture of life in the English Army
in India it is unexcelled.

CHAPTER I.

It would be difficult to find a fairer scene. Throughout the gardens
lanterns of many shapes and devices threw their light down upon the paths,
which were marked out by lines of little lamps suspended on wires a foot
above the ground. In a treble row they encircled a large tank or pond and
studded a little island in its center. Along the terraces were festoons
and arches of innumerable lamps, while behind was the Palace or Castle,
for it was called either; the Oriental doors and windows and the tracery
of its walls lit up below by the soft light, while the outline of the
upper part could scarce be made out. Eastern as the scene was, the actors
were for the most part English. Although the crowd that promenaded the
terrace was composed principally of men, of whom the majority were in
uniform of one sort or another, the rest in evening dress, there were many
ladies among them.

At the end of one of the terraces a band of the 103d Bengal Infantry was
playing, and when they ceased a band of native musicians, at the opposite
end of the terrace, took up the strains. Within, the palace was
brilliantly lighted, and at the tables in one of the large apartments a
few couples were still seated at supper. Among his guests moved the Rajah,
chatting in fluent English, laughing with the men, paying compliments to
the ladies, a thoroughly good fellow all round, as his guests agreed. The
affair had been a great success. There had first been a banquet to the
officers and civilians at the neighboring station. When this was over, the
ladies began to arrive, and for their amusement there had been a native
nautch upon a grand scale, followed by a fine display of fireworks, and
then by supper, at which the Rajah had made a speech expressive of his
deep admiration and affection for the British. This he had followed up by
proposing the health of the ladies in flowery terms. Never was there a
better fellow than the Rajah. He had English tastes, and often dined at
one or other of the officers' messes. He was a good shot, and could fairly
hold his own at billiards. He had first rate English horses in his
stables, and his turnout was perfect in all respects. He kept a few horses
for the races, and was present at every ball and entertainment. At Bithoor
he kept almost open house. There was a billiard room and racquet courts,
and once or twice a week there were luncheon parties, at which from twelve
to twenty officers were generally present. In all India there was no Rajah
with more pronounced English tastes or greater affection for English
people. The one regret of his life, he often declared, was that his color
and his religion prevented his entertaining the hope of obtaining an
English wife. All this, as everyone said, was the more remarkable and
praiseworthy, inasmuch as he had good grounds of complaint against the
British Government.

With the ladies he was an especial favorite; he was always ready to show
them courtesy. His carriages were at their service. He was ready to give
his aid and assistance to every gathering. His private band played
frequently on the promenade, and handsome presents of shawls and jewelry
were often made to those whom he held in highest favor. At present he was
talking to General Wheeler and some other officers.

“I warn you that I mean to win the cup at the races,” he said; “I have
just bought the horse that swept the board on the Bombay side; I have set
my heart on winning the cup, and so secured this horse. I am ready to back
it if any of you gentlemen are disposed to wager against it.”

“All in good time, Rajah,” one of the officers laughed; “we don't know
what will be entered against it yet, and we must wait to see what the
betting is, but I doubt whether we have anything that will beat the Bombay
crack on this side; I fancy you will have to lay odds on.”

“We shall see,” the Rajah said; “I have always been unlucky, but I mean to
win this time.”

“I don't think you take your losses much to heart, Rajah,” General Wheeler
said; “yet there is no doubt that your bets are generally somewhat rash
ones.”

“I mean to make a coup this time. That is your word for a big thing, I
think. The Government has treated me so badly I must try to take something
out of the pockets of its officers.”

“You do pretty well still,” the General laughed; “after this splendid
entertainment you have given us this evening you can hardly call yourself
a poor man.”

“I know I am rich. I have enough for my little pleasures—I do not
know that I could wish for more—still no one is ever quite content.”

By this time the party was breaking up, and for the next half hour the
Rajah was occupied in bidding goodby to his guests. When the last had gone
he turned and entered the palace, passed through the great halls, and,
pushing aside a curtain, entered a small room. The walls and the columns
were of white marble, inlaid with arabesque work of colored stones. Four
golden lamps hung from the ceiling, the floor was covered with costly
carpets, and at one end ran a raised platform a foot in height, piled with
soft cushions. He took a turn or two up and down the room, and then struck
a silver bell. An attendant entered.

“Send Khoosheal and Imambux here.”

Two minutes later the men entered. Imambux commanded the Rajah's troops,
while Khoosheal was the master of his household.

“All has gone off well,” the Rajah said; “I am pleased with you,
Khoosheal. One more at most, and we shall have done with them. Little do
they think what their good friend Nana Sahib is preparing for them. What a
poor spirited creature they think me to kiss the hand that robbed me, to
be friends with those who have deprived me of my rights! But the day of
reckoning is not far off, and then woe to them all! Have any of your
messengers returned, Imambux?”

“Several have come in this evening, my lord; would you see them now, or
wait till morning?”

“I will see them now; I will get the memory of these chattering men and
these women with their bare shoulders out of my mind. Send the men in one
by one. I have no further occasion for you tonight; two are better than
three when men talk of matters upon which an empire depends.”

The two officers bowed and retired, and shortly afterwards the attendant
drew back the curtain again, and a native, in the rags of a mendicant,
entered, and bowed till his forehead touched the carpet. Then he remained
kneeling, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his head inclined in
the attitude of the deepest humility.

“Where have you been?” the Rajah asked.

“My lord's slave has been for three weeks at Meerut. I have obeyed orders.
I have distributed chupaties among the native regiments, with the words,
'Watch, the time is coming,' and have then gone before I could be
questioned. Then, in another disguise, I have gone through the bazaar, and
said in talk with many that the Sepoys were unclean and outcast, for that
they had bitten cartridges anointed with pig's fat, and that the
Government had purposely greased the cartridges with this fat in order
that the caste of all the Sepoys should be destroyed. When I had set men
talking about this I left; it will be sure to come to the Sepoys' ears.”

The Rajah nodded. “Come again tomorrow at noon; you will have your reward
then and further orders; but see that you keep silence; a single word, and
though you hid in the farthest corner of India you would not escape my
vengeance.”

Man after man entered. Some of them, like the first, were in mendicant's
attire, one or two were fakirs, one looked like a well to do merchant.
With the exception of the last, all had a similar tale to tell; they had
been visiting the various cantonments of the native army, everywhere
distributing chupaties and whispering tales of the intention of the
Government to destroy the caste of the Sepoys by greasing the cartridges
with pig's fat. The man dressed like a trader was the last to enter.

“How goes it, Mukdoomee?”

“It is well, my lord; I have traversed all the districts where we dwelt of
old, before the Feringhee stamped us out and sent scores to death and
hundreds to prison. Most of the latter whom death has spared are free now,
and with many of them have I talked. They are most of them old, and few
would take the road again, but scarce one but has trained up his son or
grandson to the work; not to practice it,—the hand of the whites was
too heavy before, and the gains are not large enough to tempt men to run
the risk—but they teach them for the love of the art. To a worshiper
of the goddess there is a joy in a cleverly contrived plan and in casting
the roomal round the neck of the victim, that can never die. Often in my
young days, when perhaps twelve of us were on the road in a party, we made
less than we could have done by labor, but none minded.

“We were sworn brothers; we were working for Kali, and so that we sent her
victims we cared little; and even after fifteen or twenty years spent in
the Feringhee's prisons, we love it still; none hate the white man as we
do; has he not destroyed our profession? We have two things to work for;
first, for vengeance; second, for the certainty that if the white man's
Raj were at an end, once again would the brotherhood follow their
profession, and reap booty for ourselves and victims for Kali; for,
assuredly, no native prince would dare to meddle with us. Therefore, upon
every man who was once a Thug, and upon his sons and grandsons, you may
depend. I do not say that they would be useful for fighting, for we have
never been fighters, but the stranglers will be of use. You can trust them
with missions, and send them where you choose. From their fathers' lips
they have learnt all about places and roads; they can decoy Feringhee
travelers, the Company's servants or soldiers, into quiet places, and slay
them. They can creep into compounds and into houses, and choose their
victims from the sleepers. You can trust them, Rajah, for they have
learned to hate, and each in his way will, when the times comes, aid to
stir up men to rise. The past had almost become a dream, but I have roused
it into life again, and upon the descendants of the stranglers throughout
India you can count surely.”

“You have not mentioned my name?” the Rajah said suddenly, looking closely
at the man as he put the question.

“Assuredly not, your highness; I have simply said deliverance is at hand;
the hour foretold for the end of the Raj of the men from beyond the sea
will soon strike, and they will disappear from the land like fallen
leaves; then will the glory of Kali return, then again will the
brotherhood take to the road and gather in victims. I can promise that
every one of those whose fathers or grandfathers or other kin died by the
hand of the Feringhee, or suffered in his prisons, will do his share of
the good work, and be ready to obey to the death the orders which will
reach him.”

“It is good,” the Rajah said; “you and your brethren will have a rich
harvest of victims, and the sacred cord need never be idle. Go; it is well
nigh morning, and I would sleep.”

But not for some time did the Rajah close his eyes; his brain was busy
with the schemes which he had long been maturing, but was only now
beginning to put into action.

“It must succeed,” he said to himself; “all through India the people will
take up arms when the Sepoys give the signal by rising against their
officers. The whites are wholly unsuspicious; they even believe that I, I
whom they have robbed, am their friend. Fools! I hold them in the hollow
of my hand; they shall trust me to the last, and then I will crush them.
Not one shall escape me! Would I were as certain of all the other stations
in India as I am of this. Oude, I know, will rise as one man; the Princes
of Delhi I have sounded; they will be the leaders, though the old King
will be the nominal head; but I shall pull the strings, and as Peishwa,
shall be an independent sovereign, and next in dignity to the Emperor.
Only nothing must be done until all is ready; not a movement must be made
until I feel sure that every native regiment from Calcutta to the North is
ready to rise.”

And so, until the day had fully broken, the Rajah of Bithoor thought over
his plans—the man who had a few hours before so sumptuously
entertained the military and civilians of Cawnpore, and the man who was
universally regarded as the firm friend of the British and one of the best
fellows going.

The days and weeks passed on, messengers came and went, the storm was
slowing brewing; and yet to all men it seemed that India was never more
contented nor the outlook more tranquil and assured.

CHAPTER II.

A young man in a suit of brown karkee, with a white puggaree wound round
his pith helmet, was just mounting in front of his bungalow at
Deennugghur, some forty miles from Cawnpore, when two others came up.

“Which way are you going to ride, Bathurst?”

“I am going out to Narkeet; there is a dispute between the villagers and a
Talookdar as to their limits. I have got to look into the case. Why do you
ask, Mr. Hunter?”

“I thought that you might be going that way. You know we have had several
reports of ravages by a man eater whose headquarters seem to be that big
jungle you pass through on your way to Narkeet. He has been paying visits
to several villages in its neighborhood, and has carried off two mail
runners. I should advise you to keep a sharp lookout.”

“Yes, I have heard plenty about him; it is unfortunate we have no one at
this station who goes in for tiger hunting. Young Bloxam was speaking to
me last night; he is very hot about it; but as he knows nothing about
shooting, and has never fired off a rifle in his life, except at the
military target, I told him that it was madness to think of it by himself,
and that he had better ride down to the regiment at Cawnpore, and get them
to form a party to come up to hunt the beast. I told him they need not
bring elephants with them; I could get as many as were necessary from some
of the Talookdars, and there will be no want of beaters. He said he would
write at once, but he doubted whether any of them would be able to get
away at present; the general inspection is just coming on. However, no
doubt they will be able to do so before long.”

“Well, if I were you I would put a pair of pistols into my holster,
Bathurst; it would be awfully awkward if you came across the beast.”

“I never carry firearms,” the young man said shortly; and then more
lightly, “I am a peaceful man by profession, as you are, Mr. Hunter, and I
leave firearms to those whose profession it is to use them. I have
hitherto never met with an occasion when I needed them, and am not likely
to do so. I always carry this heavy hunting whip, which I find useful
sometimes, when the village dogs rush out and pretend that they are going
to attack me; and I fancy that even an Oude swordsman would think twice
before attacking me when I had it in my hand. But, of course, there is no
fear about the tiger. I generally ride pretty fast; and even if he were
lying by the roadside waiting for a meal, I don't think he would be likely
to interfere with me.”

So saying, he lightly touched the horse's flanks with his spurs and
cantered off.

“He's a fine young fellow, Garnet,” Mr. Hunter said to his companion;
“full of energy, and, they say, the very best linguist in Oude.”

“Yes, he is all that,” the other agreed; “but he is a sort of fellow one
does not quite understand. I like a man who is like other fellows;
Bathurst isn't. He doesn't shoot, he doesn't ride—I mean he don't
care for pig sticking; he never goes in for any fun there may be on hand;
he just works—nothing else; he does not seem to mix with other
people; he is the sort of fellow one would say had got some sort of secret
connected with him.”

“If he has, I am certain it is nothing to his personal disadvantage,” Mr.
Hunter said warmly. “I have known him for the last six years—I won't
say very well, for I don't think anyone does that, except, perhaps, Doctor
Wade. When there was a wing of the regiment up here three years ago he and
Bathurst took to each other very much—perhaps because they were both
different from other people. But, anyhow, from what I know of Bathurst I
believe him to be a very fine character, though there is certainly an
amount of reserve about him altogether unusual. At any rate, the service
is a gainer by it. I never knew a fellow work so indefatigably. He will
take a very high place in the service before he has done.”

“I am not so sure of that,” the other said. “He is a man with opinions of
his own, and all sorts of crotchets and fads. He has been in hot water
with the Chief Commissioner more than once. When I was over at Lucknow
last I was chatting with two or three men, and his name happened to crop
up, and one of them said, 'Bathurst is a sort of knight errant, an
official Don Quixote. Perhaps the best officer in the province in some
respects, but hopelessly impracticable.'”

“Yes, that I can quite understand, Garnet. That sort of man is never
popular with the higher official, whose likings go to the man who does
neither too much nor too little, who does his work without questioning,
and never thinks of making suggestions, and is a mere official machine.
Men of Bathurst's type, who go to the bottom of things, protest against
what they consider unfair decisions, and send in memorandums showing that
their superiors are hopelessly ignorant and idiotically wrong, are always
cordially disliked. Still, they generally work their way to the front in
the long run. Well, I must be off.”

Bathurst rode to Narkeet without drawing rein. His horse at times
slackened its pace on its own accord, but an almost mechanical motion from
its rider's heel soon started it off again at the rapid pace at which its
rider ordinarily traveled. From the time he left Deennugghur to his
arrival at Narkeet no thought of the dreaded man eater entered Bathurst's
mind. He was deeply meditating on a memorandum he was about to draw up,
respecting a decision that had been arrived at in a case between a
Talookdar in his district and the Government, and in which, as it appeared
to him, a wholly erroneous and unjust view had been taken as to the merits
of the case; and he only roused himself when the horse broke into a walk
as it entered the village. Two or three of the head men, with many bows
and salutations of respect, came out to receive him.

“My lord sahib has seen nothing of the tiger?” the head man said; “our
hearts were melted with fear, for the evil beast was heard roaring in the
jungle not far from the road early this morning.”

“I never gave it a thought, one way or the other,” Bathurst said, as he
dismounted. “I fancy the horse would have let me know if the brute had
been anywhere near. See that he is tied up in the shed, and has food and
water, and put a boy to keep the flies from worrying him. And now let us
get to business. First of all, I must go through the village records and
documents; after that I will question four or five of the oldest
inhabitants, and then we must go over the ground. The whole question
turns, you know, upon whether the irrigation ditch mentioned in the
Talookdar's grant is the one that runs across at the foot of the rising
ground on his side, or whether it is the one that sweeps round on this
side of the grove with the little temple in it. Unfortunately most of the
best land lies between those ditches.”

For hours Bathurst listened to the statements of the old people of the
village, cross questioning them closely, and sparing no efforts to sift
the truth from their confused and often contradictory evidence. Then he
spent two hours going over the ground and endeavoring to satisfy himself
which of the two ditches was the one named in the village records. He had
two days before taken equal pains in sifting the evidence on the other
side.

“I trust that my lord sees there can be no doubt as to the justice of our
claim,” the head man said humbly, as he prepared to mount again.

“According to your point of view, there is no doubt about it, Childee; but
then there is equally no doubt the other way, according to the statements
they put forward. But that is generally the way in all these land
disputes. For good hard swearing your Hindoo cultivator can be matched
against the world. Unfortunately there is nothing either in your grant or
in your neighbors' that specifies unmistakably which of these ancient
ditches is the one referred to. My present impression is that it is
essentially a case for a compromise, but you know the final decision does
not rest on me. I shall be out here again next week, and I shall write to
the Talookdar to meet me here, and we will go over the ground together
again, and see if we cannot arrange some line that will be fair to both
parties. If we can do that, the matter would be settled without expense
and trouble; whereas, if it goes up to Lucknow it may all have to be gone
into again; and if the decision is given against you, and as far as I can
see it is just as likely to be one way as another, it will be a serious
thing for the village.”

“We are in my lord's hands,” the native said; “he is the protector of the
poor, and will do us justice.”

“I will do you justice, Childee, but I must do justice to the other side
too. Of course, neither of you will be satisfied, but that cannot be
helped.”

His perfect knowledge of their language, the pains he took to sift all
matters brought before him to the bottom, had rendered the young officer
very popular among the natives. They knew they could get justice from him
direct. There was no necessity to bribe underlings: he had the knack of
extracting the truth from the mass of lying evidence always forthcoming in
native cases; and even the defeated party admired the manner in which the
fabric of falsehood was pulled to pieces. But the main reason of his
popularity was his sympathy, the real interest which he showed in their
cases, and the patience with which he listened to their stories.

Bathurst himself, as he rode homewards, was still thinking of the case. Of
course there had been lying on both sides; but to that he was accustomed.
It was a question of importance—of greater importance, no doubt, to
the villagers than to their opponent, but still important to him—for
this tract of land was a valuable one, and of considerable extent, and
there was really nothing in the documents produced on either side to show
which ditch was intended by the original grants. Evidently, at the time
they were made, very many years before, one ditch or the other was not in
existence; but there was no proof as to which was the more recent,
although both sides professed that all traditions handed down to them
asserted the ditch on their side to be the more recent.

He was riding along the road through the great jungle, at his horse's own
pace, which happened for the moment to be a gentle trot, when a piercing
cry rang through the air a hundred yards ahead. Bathurst started from his
reverie, and spurred his horse sharply; the animal dashed forward at a
gallop. At a turn in the road he saw, twenty yards ahead of him, a tiger,
standing with a foot upon a prostrate figure, while a man in front of it
was gesticulating wildly. The tiger stood as if hesitating whether to
strike down the figure in front or to content itself with that already in
its power.

The wild shouts of the man had apparently drowned the sound of the horse's
feet upon the soft road, for the animal drew back half a pace as it
suddenly came into view.

The horse swerved at the sight, and reared high in the air as Bathurst
drove his spurs into it. As its feet touched the ground again, Bathurst
sprang off and rushed at the tiger, and brought down the heavy lash of his
whip with all his force across its head. With a fierce snarl it sprang
back two paces, but again and again the whip descended upon it, and
bewildered and amazed at the attack it turned swiftly and sprang through
the bushes.

Bathurst, knowing that there was no fear of its returning, turned at once
to the figure on the road. It was, as in even the momentary glance he had
noticed, a woman, or rather a girl of some fourteen or fifteen years of
age—the man had dropped on his knees beside her, moaning and
muttering incoherent words.

“I see no blood,” Bathurst said, and stooping, lifted the light figure.
“Her heart beats, man; I think she has only fainted. The tiger must have
knocked her down in its spring without striking her. So far as I can see
she is unhurt.”

He carried her to the horse, which stood trembling a few yards away, took
a flask from the holster, and poured a little brandy and water between her
lips.

Presently there was a faint sigh. “She is coming round,” he said to the
man, who was still kneeling, looking on with vacant eyes, as though he had
neither heard nor comprehended what Bathurst was doing. Presently the girl
moved slightly and opened her eyes. At first there was no expression in
them; then a vague wonder stole into them at the white face looking down
upon her.

She closed them again, and then reopened them, and then there was a slight
struggle to free herself. He allowed her to slip through his arms until
her feet touched the ground; then her eyes fell on the kneeling figure.

“Father!” she exclaimed. With a cry the man leaped to his feet, sprang to
her and seized her in his arms, and poured out words of endearment. Then
suddenly he released her and threw himself on the ground before Bathurst,
with ejaculations of gratitude and thankfulness.

“Get up, man, get up,” the latter said; “your daughter can scarce stand
alone, and the sooner we get away from this place the better; that savage
beast is not likely to return, but he may do so; let us be off.”

He mounted his horse again, brought it up to the side of the girl, and
then, leaning over, took her and swung her into the saddle in front of
him. The man took up a large box that was lying in the road and hoisted it
onto his shoulders, and then, at a foot's pace, they proceeded on their
way—Bathurst keeping a close watch on the jungle at the side on
which the tiger had entered it.

“How came you to travel along this road alone?” he asked the man. “The
natives only venture through in large parties, because of this tiger.”

“I am a stranger,” the man answered; “I heard at the village where we
slept last night that there was a tiger in this jungle, but I thought we
should be through it before nightfall, and therefore there was no danger.
If one heeded all they say about tigers one would never travel at all. I
am a juggler, and we are on our way down the country through Cawnpore and
Allahabad. Had it not been for the valor of my lord sahib, we should never
have got there; for had I lost my Rabda, the light of my heart, I should
have gone no further, but should have waited for the tiger to take me
also.”

“There was no particular valor about it,” Bathurst said shortly. “I saw
the beast with its foot on your daughter, and dismounted to beat it off
just as if it had been a dog, without thinking whether there was any
danger in it or not. Men do it with savage beasts in menageries every day.
They are cowardly brutes after all, and can't stand the lash. He was taken
altogether by surprise, too.”

“My lord has saved my daughter's life, and mine is at his service
henceforth,” the man said. “The mouse is a small beast, but he may warn
the lion. The white sahibs are brave and strong. Would one of my
countrymen have ventured his life to attack a tiger, armed only with a
whip, for the sake of the life of a poor wayfarer?”

“Yes, I think there are many who would have done so,” Bathurst replied.
“You do your countrymen injustice. There are plenty of brave men among
them, and I have heard before now of villagers, armed only with sticks,
attacking a tiger who has carried off a victim from among them. You
yourself were standing boldly before it when I came up.”

“My child was under its feet—besides, I never thought of myself. If
I had had a weapon I should not have drawn it. I had no thought of the
tiger; I only thought that my child was dead. She works with me, sahib;
since her mother died, five years ago, we have traveled together over the
country; she plays while I conjure. She takes round the saucer for the
money, and she acts with me in the tricks that require two persons; it is
she who disappears from the basket. We are everything to each other,
sahib. But what is my lord's name? Will he tell his servant, that he and
Rabda may think of him and talk of him as they tramp the roads together?”

“My name is Ralph Bathurst. I am District Officer at Deennugghur. How far
are you going this evening?”

“We shall sleep at the first village we come to, sahib; we have walked
many hours today, and this box, though its contents are not weighty, is
heavy to bear. We thought of going down tomorrow to Deennugghur, and
showing our performances to the sahib logue there.”

“Very well; but there is one thing—what is your name?”

“Rujub.”

“Well, Rujub, if you go on to Deennugghur tomorrow say nothing to anyone
there about this affair with the tiger; it is nothing to talk about. I am
not a shikari, but a hard working official, and I don't want to be talked
about.”

“The sahib's wish shall be obeyed,” the man said.

“You can come round to my bungalow and ask for me; I shall be glad to hear
whether your daughter is any the worse for her scare. How do you feel,
Rabda?”

“I feel as one in a dream, sahib. I saw a great yellow beast springing
through the air, and I cried out, and knew nothing more till I saw the
sahib's face; and now I have heard him and my father talking, but their
voices sound to me as if far away, though I know that you are holding me.”

“You will be all the better after a night's rest, child; no wonder you
feel strange and shaken. Another quarter of an hour and we shall be at the
village. I suppose, Rujub, you were born a conjurer.”

“Yes, sahib, it is always so; it goes down from father to son. As soon as
I was able to walk, I began to work with my father, and as I grew up he
initiated me in the secrets of our craft, which we may never divulge.”

“No, I know they are a mystery. Many of your tricks can be done by our
conjurers at home, but there are some that have never been solved.”

“I have been offered, more than once, large sums by English sahibs to tell
them how some of the feats were done, but I could not; we are bound by
terrible oaths, and; in no case has a juggler proved false to them. Were
one to do so he would be slain without mercy, and his fate in the next
world would be terrible; forever and forever his soul would pass through
the bodies of the foulest and lowest creatures, and there would be no
forgiveness for him. I would give my life for the sahib, but even to him I
would not divulge our mysteries.”

In a few minutes they came to the first village beyond the jungle. As they
approached it Bathurst checked his horse and lifted the girl down. She
took his hand and pressed her forehead to it.

“I shall see you tomorrow, then, Rujub,” he said, and shaking the reins,
went on at a canter.

“That is a new character for me to come out in,” he said bitterly; “I do
not know myself—I, of all men. But there was no bravery in it; it
never occurred to me to be afraid; I just thrashed him off as I should
beat off a dog who was killing a lamb; there was no noise, and it is noise
that frightens me; if the brute had roared I should assuredly have run; I
know it would have been so; I could not have helped it to have saved my
life. It is an awful curse that I am not as other men, and that I tremble
and shake like a girl at the sound of firearms. It would have been better
if I had been killed by the first shot fired in the Punjaub eight years
ago, or if I had blown my brains out at the end of the day. Good Heavens!
what have I suffered since. But I will not think of it. Thank God, I have
got my work; and as long as I keep my thoughts on that there is no room
for that other;” and then, by a great effort of will, Ralph Bathurst put
the past behind him, and concentrated his thoughts on the work on which he
had been that day engaged.

The juggler did not arrive on the following evening as he had expected,
but late in the afternoon a native boy brought in a message from him,
saying that his daughter was too shaken and ill to travel, but that they
would come when she recovered.

A week later, on returning from a long day's work, Bathurst was told that
a juggler was in the veranda waiting to see him.

“I told him, sahib,” the servant said, “that you cared not for such
entertainments, and that he had better go elsewhere; but he insisted that
you yourself had told him to come, and so I let him wait.”

“Has he a girl with him, Jafur?”

“Yes, sahib.”

Bathurst strolled round to the other side of the bungalow, where Rujub was
sitting patiently, with Rabda wrapped in her blue cloth beside him. They
rose to their feet.

“I am glad to see your daughter is better again, Rujub.”

“She is better, sahib; she has had fever, but is restored.”

“I cannot see your juggling tonight, Rujub. I have had a heavy day's work,
and am worn out, and have still much to do. You had better go round to
some of the other bungalows; though I don't think you will do much this
evening, for there is a dinner party at the Collector's, and almost
everyone will be there. My servants will give you food, and I shall be off
at seven o'clock in the morning, but shall be glad to see you before I
start. Are you in want of money?” and he put his hand in his pocket.

“No, sahib,” the juggler said. “We have money sufficient for all our
wants; we are not thinking of performing tonight, for Rabda is not equal
to it. Before sunrise we shall be on our way again; I must be at Cawnpore,
and we have delayed too long already. Could you give us but half an hour
tonight, sahib; we will come at any hour you like. I would show you things
that few Englishmen have seen. Not mere common tricks, sahib, but
mysteries such as are known to few even of us. Do not say no, sahib.”

“Well, if you wish it, Rujub, I will give you half an hour,” and Bathurst
looked at his watch. “It is seven now, and I have to dine. I have work to
do that will take me three hours at least, but at eleven I shall have
finished. You will see a light in my room; come straight to the open
window.”

“We will be there, sahib;” and with a salaam the juggler walked off,
followed by his daughter.

A few minutes before the appointed time Bathurst threw down his pen with a
little sigh of satisfaction.

The memo he had just finished was a most conclusive one; it seemed to him
unanswerable, and that the Department would have trouble in disputing his
facts and figures. He had not since he sat down to his work given another
thought to the juggler, and he almost started as a figure appeared in the
veranda at the open window.

“Ah, Rujub, is it you? I have just finished my work. Come in; is Rabda
with you?”

“She will remain outside until I want her,” the juggler said as he entered
and squatted himself on the floor. “I am not going to juggle, sahib. With
us there are two sorts of feats; there are those that are performed by
sleight of hand or by means of assistance. These are the juggler's tricks
we show in the verandas and compounds of the white sahibs, and in the
streets of the cities. There are others that are known only to the higher
order among us, that we show only on rare occasions. They have come to us
from the oldest times, and it is said they were brought by wise men from
Egypt; but that I know not.”

“I have always been interested in juggling, and have seen many things that
I cannot understand,” Bathurst said. “I have seen the basket trick done on
the road in front of the veranda, as well as in other places, and I cannot
in any way account for it.”

The juggler took from his basket a piece of wood about two feet in length
and some four inches in diameter.

“You see this?” he said.

Bathurst took it in his hand. “It looks like a bit sawn off a telegraph
pole,” he said.

“Will you come outside, sahib?”

The night was very dark, but the lamp on the table threw its light through
the window onto the drive in front of the veranda. Rujub took with him a
piece of wood about nine inches square, with a soft pad on the top. He
went out in the drive and placed the piece of pole upright, and laid the
wood with the cushion on the top.

“Now will you stand in the veranda a while?”

Bathurst stood back by the side of the window so as not to interfere with
the passage of the light. Rabda stole forward and sat down upon the
cushion.

“Now watch, sahib.”

Bathurst looked, and saw the block of wood apparently growing. Gradually
it rose until Rabda passed up beyond the light in the room.

“You may come out,” the juggler said, “but do not touch the pole. If you
do, it will cause a fall, which would be fatal to my child.”

Bathurst stepped out and looked up. He could but just make out the figure
of Rabda, seemingly already higher than the top of the bungalow. Gradually
it became more and more indistinct.

“You are there, Rabda?” her father said.

“I am here, father!” and the voice seemed to come from a considerable
distance.

Again and again the question was asked, and the answer became fainter and
fainter, although it sounded as if it was a distant cry in response to
Rujub's shout rather than spoken in an ordinary voice.

At last no response was heard.

“Now it shall descend,” the juggler said.

Two or three minutes passed, and then Bathurst, who was staring up into
the darkness, could make out the end of the pole with the seat upon it,
but Rabda was no longer there. Rapidly it sank, until it stood its
original height on the ground.

“Where is Rabda?” Bathurst exclaimed.

“She is here, my lord,” and as he spoke Rabda rose from a sitting position
on the balcony close to Bathurst.

“It is marvelous!” the latter exclaimed. “I have heard of that feat
before, but have never seen it. May I take up that piece of wood?”

“Assuredly, sahib.”

Bathurst took it up and carried it to the light. It was undoubtedly, as he
had before supposed, a piece of solid wood. The juggler had not touched
it, or he would have supposed he might have substituted for the piece he
first examined a sort of telescope of thin sheets of steel, but even that
would not have accounted for Rabda's disappearance.

“I will show you one other feat, my lord.”

He took a brass dish, placed a few pieces of wood and charcoal in it,
struck a match, and set the wood on fire, and then fanned it until the
wood had burned out, and the charcoal was in a glow; then he sprinkled
some powder upon it, and a dense white smoke rose.

“Now turn out the lamp, sahib.”

Bathurst did so. The glow of the charcoal enabled him still to see the
light smoke; this seemed to him to become clearer and clearer.

“Now for the past!” Rujub said. The smoke grew brighter and brighter, and
mixed with flashes of color; presently Bathurst saw clearly an Indian
scene. A village stood on a crest, jets of smoke darted up from between
the houses, and then a line of troops in scarlet uniform advanced against
the village, firing as they went. They paused for a moment, and then with
a rush went at the village and disappeared in the smoke over the crest.

“Good Heavens,” Bathurst muttered, “it is the battle of Chillianwalla!”

“The future!” Rujub said, and the colors on the smoke changed. Bathurst
saw a wall surrounding a courtyard. On one side was a house. It had
evidently been besieged, for in the upper part were many ragged holes, and
two of the windows were knocked into one. On the roof were men firing, and
there were one or two women among them. He could see their faces and
features distinctly. In the courtyard wall there was a gap, and through
this a crowd of Sepoys were making their way, while a handful of whites
were defending a breastwork. Among them he recognized his own figure. He
saw himself club his rifle and leap down into the middle of the Sepoys,
fighting furiously there. The colors faded away, and the room was in
darkness again. There was the crack of a match, and then Rujub said
quietly, “If you will lift off the globe again, I will light the lamp,
sahib.”

Bathurst almost mechanically did as he was told.

“Well, sahib, what do you think of the pictures?”

“The first was true,” Bathurst said quietly, “though, how you knew I was
with the regiment that stormed the village at Chillianwalla I know not.
The second is certainly not true.”

“You can never know what the future will be, sahib,” the juggler said
gravely.

“That is so,” Bathurst said; “but I know enough of myself to say that it
cannot be true. I do not say that the Sepoys can never be fighting against
whites, improbable as it seems, but that I was doing what that figure did
is, I know, impossible.”

“Time will show, sahib,” the juggler said; “the pictures never lie. Shall
I show you other things?”

“No, Rujub, you have shown me enough; you have astounded me. I want to see
no more tonight.”

“Then farewell, sahib; we shall meet again, I doubt not, and mayhap I may
be able to repay the debt I owe you;” and Rujub, lifting his basket, went
out through the window without another word.

CHAPTER III.

Some seven or eight officers were sitting round the table in the messroom
of the 103d Bengal Infantry at Cawnpore. It had been a guest night, but
the strangers had left, the lights had been turned out in the billiard
room overhead, the whist party had broken up, and the players had rejoined
three officers who had remained at table smoking and talking quietly.

Outside, through the open French windows, the ground looked as if
sprinkled with snow beneath the white light of the full moon. Two or three
of the mess servants were squatting in the veranda, talking in low voices.
A sentry walked backwards and forwards by the gate leading into the mess
house compound; beyond, the maidan stretched away flat and level to the
low huts of the native lines on the other side.

“So the Doctor comes back tomorrow, Major,” the Adjutant, who had been one
of the whist party, said. “I shall be very glad to have him back. In the
first place, he is a capital fellow, and keeps us all alive; secondly, he
is a good deal better doctor than the station surgeon who has been looking
after the men since we have been here; and lastly, if I had got anything
the matter with me myself, I would rather be in his hands than those of
anyone else I know.”

“Yes, I agree with you, Prothero; the Doctor is as good a fellow as ever
stepped. There is no doubt about his talent in his profession; and there
are a good many of us who owed our lives to him when we were down with
cholera, in that bad attack three years ago. He is good all round; he is
just as keen a shikari as he was when he joined the regiment, twenty years
ago; he is a good billiard player, and one of the best storytellers I ever
came across; but his best point is that he is such a thoroughly good
fellow—always ready to do a good turn to anyone, and to help a lame
dog over a stile. I could name a dozen men in India who owe their
commissions to him. I don't know what the regiment would do without him.”

“He went home on leave just after I joined,” one of the subalterns said.
“Of course, I know, from all I have heard of him, that he is an awfully
good fellow, but from the little I saw of him myself, he seemed always
growling and snapping.”

There was a general laugh from the others.

“Yes, that is his way, Thompson,” the Major said; “he believes himself to
be one of the most cynical and morose of men.”

“He was married, wasn't he, Major?”

“Yes, it was a sad business. It was only just after I joined. He is three
years senior to me in the regiment. He was appointed to it a month or two
after the Colonel joined. Well, as I say, a month or two after I came to
it, he went away on leave down to Calcutta, where he was to meet a young
lady who had been engaged to him before he left home. They were married,
and he brought her up country. Before she had been with us a month we had
one of those outbreaks of cholera. It wasn't a very severe one. I think we
only lost eight or ten men, and no officer; but the Doctor's young wife
was attacked, and in three or four hours she was carried off. It regularly
broke him down. However, he got over it, as we all do, I suppose; and now
I think he is married to the regiment. He could have had staff
appointments a score of times, but he has always refused them. His time is
up next year, and he could go home on full pay, but I don't suppose he
will.”

“And your niece arrives with him tomorrow, Major,” the Adjutant said.

“Yes, I am going to try petticoat government, Prothero. I don't know how
the experiment will succeed, but I am tired of an empty bungalow, and I
have been looking forward for some years to her being old enough to come
out and take charge. It is ten years since I was home, and she was a
little chit of eight years old at that time.”

“I think a vote of thanks ought to be passed to you, Major. We have only
married ladies in the regiment, and it will wake us up and do us good to
have Miss Hannay among us.”

“There are the Colonel's daughters,” the Major said, with a smile.

“Yes, there are, Major, but they hardly count; they are scarcely conscious
of the existence of poor creatures like us; nothing short of a Resident
or, at any rate, of a full blown Collector, will find favor in their
eyes.”

“Well, I warn you all fairly,” the Major said, “that I shall set my face
against all sorts of philandering and love making. I am bringing my niece
out here as my housekeeper and companion, and not as a prospective wife
for any of you youngsters. I hope she will turn out to be as plain as a
pikestaff, and then I may have some hopes of keeping her with me for a
time. The Doctor, in his letter from Calcutta, says nothing as to what she
is like, though he was good enough to remark that she seemed to have a
fair share of common sense, and has given him no more trouble on the
voyage than was to be expected under the circumstances. And now, lads, it
is nearly two o'clock, and as there is early parade tomorrow, it is high
time for you to be all in your beds. What a blessing it would be if the
sun would forget to shine for a bit on this portion of the world, and we
could have an Arctic night of seven or eight months with a full moon the
whole time!”

A few minutes later the messroom was empty, the lights turned out, and the
servants wrapped up in their blankets had disposed themselves for sleep in
the veranda.

As soon as morning parade was over Major Hannay went back to his bungalow,
looked round to see that his bachelor quarters were as bright and tidy as
possible, then got into a light suit and went down to the post house. A
quarter of an hour later a cloud of dust along the road betokened the
approach of the Dak Gharry, and two or three minutes later it dashed up at
full gallop amid a loud and continuous cracking of the driver's whip. The
wiry little horses were drawn up with a sudden jerk.

The Major opened the door. A little man sprang out and grasped him by the
hand.

“Glad to see you, Major—thoroughly glad to be back again. Here is
your niece; I deliver her safe and sound into your hands.” And between
them they helped a girl to alight from the vehicle.

“I am heartily glad to see you, my dear,” the Major said, as he kissed
her; “though I don't think I should have known you again.”

“I should think not, uncle,” the girl said. “In the first place, I was a
little girl in short frocks when I saw you last; and in the second place,
I am so covered with the dust that you can hardly see what I am like. I
think I should have known you; your visit made a great impression upon us,
though I can remember now how disappointed we were when you first arrived
that you hadn't a red coat and a sword, as we had expected.”

“Well, we may as well be off at once, Isobel; it is only five minutes'
walk to the bungalow. My man will see to your luggage being brought up.
Come along, Doctor. Of course you will put up with me until you can look
round and fix upon quarters. I told Rumzan to bring your things round with
my niece's. You have had a very pleasant voyage out, I hope, Isobel?” he
went on, as they started.

“Very pleasant, uncle, though I got rather tired of it at last.”

“That is generally the way—everyone is pleasant and agreeable at
first, but before they get to the end they take to quarreling like cats
and dogs.”

“We were not quite as bad as that,” the girl laughed, “but we certainly
weren't as amiable the last month or so as we were during the first part
of the voyage. Still, it was very pleasant all along, and nobody quarreled
with me.”

“Present company are always excepted,” the Doctor said. “I stood in loco
parentis, Major, and the result has been that I shall feel in future more
charitable towards mothers of marriageable daughters. Still, I am bound to
say that Miss Hannay has given me as little trouble as could be expected.”

“You frighten me, Doctor; if you found her so onerous only for a voyage,
what have I to look forward to?”

“Well, you can't say that I didn't warn you, Major; when you wrote home
and asked me to take charge of your niece on the way out, I told you
frankly that my opinion of your good sense was shaken.”

“Yes, you did express yourself with some strength,” the Major laughed;
“but then one is so accustomed to that, that I did not take it to heart as
I might otherwise have done.”

“That was before you knew me, Dr. Wade, otherwise I should feel very
hurt,” the girl put in.

“Yes, it was,” the Doctor said dryly.

“Don't mind him, my dear,” her uncle said; “we all know the Doctor of old.
This is my bungalow.”

“It is pretty, with all these flowers and shrubs round it,” she said
admiringly.

“Yes, we have been doing a good deal of watering the last few weeks, so as
to get it to look its best. This is your special attendant; she will take
you up to your room. By the time you have had a bath, your boxes will be
here. I told them to have a cup of tea ready for you upstairs. Breakfast
will be on the table by the time you are ready.”

“Well, old friend,” he said to the Doctor, when the girl had gone
upstairs, “no complications, I hope, on the voyage?”

“No, I think not,” the Doctor said. “Of course, there were lots of young
puppies on board, and as she was out and out the best looking girl in the
ship half of them were dancing attendance upon her all the voyage, but I
am bound to say that she acted like a sensible young woman; and though she
was pleasant with them all, she didn't get into any flirtation with one
more than another. I did my best to look after her, but, of course, that
would have been of no good if she had been disposed to go her own way. I
fancy about half of them proposed to her—not that she ever said as
much to me—but whenever I observed one looking sulky and giving
himself airs I could guess pretty well what had happened. These young
puppies are all alike, and we are not without experience of the species
out here.

“Seriously, Major, I think you are to be congratulated. I consider that
you ran a tremendous risk in asking a young woman, of whom you knew
nothing, to come out to you; still it has turned out well. If she had been
a frivolous, giggling thing, like most of them, I had made up my mind to
do you a good turn by helping to get her engaged on the voyage, and should
have seen her married offhand at Calcutta, and have come up and told you
that you were well out of the scrape. As, contrary to my expectations, she
turned out to be a sensible young woman, I did my best the other way. It
is likely enough you may have her on your hands some little time, for I
don't think she is likely to be caught by the first comer. Well, I must go
and have my bath; the dust has been awful coming up from Allahabad. That
is one advantage, and the only one as far as I can see, that they have got
in England. They don't know what dust is there.”

When the bell for breakfast rang, and Isobel made her appearance, looking
fresh and cool, in a light dress, the Major said, “You must take the head
of the table, my dear, and assume the reins of government forthwith.”

“Then I should say, uncle, that if any guidance is required, there will be
an upset in a very short time. No, that won't do at all. You must go on
just as you were before, and I shall look on and learn. As far as I can
see, everything is perfect just as it is. This is a charming room, and I
am sure there is no fault to be found with the arrangement of these
flowers on the table. As for the cooking, everything looks very nice, and
anyhow, if you have not been able to get them to cook to your taste, it is
of no use my attempting anything in that way. Besides, I suppose I must
learn something of the language before I can attempt to do anything. No,
uncle, I will sit in this chair if you like, and make tea and pour it out,
but that is the beginning and the end of my assumption of the head of the
establishment at present.”

“Well, Isobel, I hardly expected that you were going to run the
establishment just at first; indeed, as far as that goes, one's butler, if
he is a good man, has pretty well a free hand. He is generally
responsible, and is in fact what we should call at home housekeeper—he
and the cook between them arrange everything. I say to him, 'Three
gentlemen are coming to tiffen.' He nods and says 'Atcha, sahib,' which
means 'All right, sir,' and then I know it will be all right. If I have a
fancy for any special thing, of course I say so. Otherwise, I leave it to
them, and if the result is not satisfactory, I blow up. Nothing can be
more simple.”

“But how about bills, uncle?”

“Well, my dear, the butler gives them to me, and I pay them. He has been
with me a good many years, and will not let the others—that is to
say, the cook and the syce, the washerman, and so on, cheat me beyond a
reasonable amount. Do you, Rumzan?”

Rumzan, who was standing behind the Major's chair, in a white turban and
dress, with a red and white sash round his waist, smiled.

“Rumzan not let anyone rob his master.”

“Not to any great extent, you know, Rumzan. One doesn't expect more than
that.”

“It is just the same here, Miss Hannay, as it is everywhere else,” said
the Doctor; “only in big establishments in England they rob you of pounds,
while here they rob you of annas, which, as I have explained to you, are
two pence halfpennies. The person who undertakes to put down little
peculations enters upon a war in which he is sure to get the worst of it.
He wastes his time, spoils his temper, makes himself and everyone around
him uncomfortable, and after all he is robbed. Life is too short for it,
especially in a climate like this. Of course, in time you get to
understand the language; if you see anything in the bills that strikes you
as showing waste you can go into the thing, but as a rule you trust
entirely to your butler; if you cannot trust him, get another one. Rumzan
has been with your uncle ten years, so you are fortunate. If the Major had
gone home instead of me, and if you had had an entirely fresh
establishment of servants to look after, the case would have been
different; as it is, you will have no trouble that way.”

“Then what are my duties to be, uncle?”

“Your chief duties, my dear, are to look pleasant, which will evidently be
no trouble to you; to amuse me and keep me in a good temper as far as
possible; to keep on as good terms as may be with the other ladies of the
station; and, what will perhaps be the most difficult part of your work,
to snub and keep in order the young officers of our own and other corps.”

Isobel laughed. “That doesn't sound a very difficult programme, uncle,
except the last item; I have already had a little experience that way,
haven't I, Doctor? I hope I shall have the benefit of your assistance in
the future, as I had aboard the ship.”

“I will do my best,” the Doctor said grimly; “but the British subaltern is
pretty well impervious to snubs; he belongs to the pachydermatous family
of animals; his armor of self conceit renders him invulnerable against the
milder forms of raillery. However, I think you can be trusted to hold your
own with him, Miss Hannay, without much assistance from the Major or
myself. Your real difficulty will lie rather in your struggle against the
united female forces of the station.”

“But why shall I have to struggle with them?” Isobel asked, in surprise,
while her uncle broke into a laugh.

“Don't frighten her, Doctor.”

“She is not so easily frightened, Major; it is just as well that she
should be prepared. Well, my dear Miss Hannay, Indian society has this
peculiarity, that the women never grow old. At least,” he continued, in
reply to the girl's look of surprise, “they are never conscious of growing
old. At home a woman's family grows up about her, and are constant
reminders that she is becoming a matron. Here the children are sent away
when they get four or five years old, and do not appear on the scene again
until they are grown up. Then, too, ladies are greatly in the minority,
and they are accustomed to be made vastly more of than they are at home,
and the consequence is that the amount of envy, hatred, jealousy, and all
uncharitableness is appalling.”

“No, no, Doctor, not as bad as that,” the Major remonstrated.

“Every bit as bad as that,” the Doctor said stoutly. “I am not a woman
hater, far from it; but I have felt sometimes that if John Company, in its
beneficence, would pass a decree absolutely excluding the importation of
white women into India it would be an unmixed blessing.”

“For shame, Doctor,” Isobel Hannay said; “and to think that I should have
such a high opinion of you up to now.”

“I can't help it, my dear; my experience is that for ninety-nine out of
every hundred unpleasantnesses that take place out here, women are in one
way or another responsible. They get up sets and cliques, and break up
what might be otherwise pleasant society into sections. Talk about caste
amongst natives; it is nothing to the caste among women out here. The wife
of a civilian of high rank looks down upon the wives of military men, the
general's wife looks down upon a captain's, and so right through from the
top to the bottom.

“It is not so among the men, or at any rate to a very much smaller extent.
Of course, some men are pompous fools, but, as a rule, if two men meet,
and both are gentlemen, they care nothing as to what their respective
ranks may be. A man may be a lord or a doctor, a millionaire or a
struggling barrister, but they meet on equal terms in society; but out
here it is certainly not so among the women—they stand upon their
husband's dignity in a way that would be pitiable if it were not
exasperating. Of course, there are plenty of good women among them, as
there are everywhere—women whom even India can't spoil; but what
with exclusiveness, and with the amount of admiration and adulation they
get, and what with the want of occupation for their thoughts and minds, it
is very hard for them to avoid getting spoilt.”

“Well, I hope I shan't get spoilt, Doctor; and I hope, if you see that I
am getting spoilt, you will make a point of telling me so at once.”

The Doctor grunted. “Theoretically, people are always ready to receive
good advice, Miss Hannay; practically they are always offended by it.
However, in your case I will risk it, and I am bound to say that hitherto
you have proved yourself more amenable in that way than most young women I
have come across.”

“And now, if we have done, we will go out on the veranda,” the Major said.
“I am sure the Doctor must be dying for a cheroot.”

“The Doctor has smoked pretty continuously since we left Allahabad,”
Isobel said. “He wanted to sit up with the driver, but, of course, I would
not have that. I had got pretty well accustomed to smoke coming out, and
even if I had not been I would much rather have been almost suffocated
than have been in there by myself. I thought a dozen times the vehicle was
going to upset, and what with the bumping and the shouting and the
cracking of the whip—especially when the horses wouldn't start,
which was generally the case at first—I should have been frightened
out of my life had I been alone. It seemed to me that something dreadful
was always going to happen.”

“You can take it easy this morning, Isobel,” the Major said, when they
were comfortably seated in the bamboo lounges in the veranda. “You want
have any callers today, as it will be known you traveled all night. People
will imagine that you want a quiet day before you are on show.”

“What a horrid expression, uncle!”

“Well, my dear, it represents the truth. The arrival of a fresh lady from
England, especially of a 'spin,' which is short for spinster or unmarried
woman, is an event of some importance in an Indian station. Not, of
course, so much in a place like this, because this is the center of a
large district, but in a small station it is an event of the first
importance. The men are anxious to see what a newcomer is like for
herself; the women, to look at her dresses and see the latest fashions
from home, and also to ascertain whether she is likely to turn out a
formidable rival. However, today you can enjoy quiet; tomorrow you must
attire yourself in your most becoming costume, and I will trot you round.”

“Trot me round, uncle?”

“Yes, my dear. In India the order of procedure is reversed, and newcomers
call in the first place upon residents.”

“What a very unpleasant custom, uncle; especially as some of the residents
may not want to know them.”

“Well, everyone must know everyone else in a station, my dear, though they
may not wish to be intimate. So, about half past one tomorrow we will
start.”

“What, in the heat of the day, uncle?”

“Yes, my dear. That is another of the inscrutable freaks of Indian
fashion. The hours for calling are from about half past twelve to half
past two, just in the hottest hours. I don't pretend to account for it.”

“How many ladies are there in the regiment?”

“There is the Colonel's wife, Mrs. Cromarty. She has two grown up red
headed girls,” replied the Doctor. “She is a distant relation—a
second cousin—of some Scotch lord or other, and, on the strength of
that and her husband's colonelcy, gives herself prodigious airs. Three of
the captains are married. Mrs. Doolan is a merry little Irish woman. You
will like her. She has two or three children. She is a general favorite in
the regiment.

“Mrs. Rintoul—I suppose she is here still, Major, and unchanged? Ah,
I thought so. She is a washed-out woman, without a spark of energy in her
composition.-' She believes that she is a chronic invalid, and sends for
me on an average once a week. But there is nothing really the matter with
her, if she would but only believe it. Mrs. Roberts—”

“Don't be ill natured, Doctor,” the Major broke in. “Mrs. Roberts, my
dear, is a good-looking woman, and a general flirt. I don't think there is
any harm in her whatever. Mrs. Prothero, the Adjutant's wife, has only
been out here eighteen months, and is a pretty little woman, and in all
respects nice.-There is only one other, Mrs. Scarsdale; she came out six
months ago. She is a quiet young woman, with, I should say, plenty of
common sense: I should think you will like her. That completes the
regimental list.”

“Well, that is not so very formidable. Anyhow, it is a. comfort that we
shall have no one here today.”

“You will have the whole regiment here in a few minutes, Isobel, but they
will be coming to see the Doctor, not you; if it hadn't been that they
knew you were under his charge everyone would have come down to meet him
when he arrived. But if you feel tired, as I am sure you must be after
your journey, there is no reason why you shouldn't go and lie down quietly
for a few hours.”

“I will stop here, uncle; it will be much less embarrassing to see them
all for the first time when they come to see Dr. Wade and I am quite a
secondary consideration, than if they had to come specially to call on
me.”

“Well, I agree with you there, my dear. Ah! here come Doolan and
Prothero.”

A light trap drove into the inclosure and drew up in front of the veranda,
and two officers jumped down,-whilst the syce, who had been standing on a
step behind, ran to the horse's head. They hailed the Doctor, as he
stepped out from the veranda, with a shout.

“Glad to see you back, Doctor. The regiment has not seemed like itself
without you.”

“We have been just pining without you, Doctor,” Captain Doolan said; “and
the ladies would have got up a deputation to meet you on your arrival,
only I told them that it would be too much for your modesty.”

“Well, it is a good thing that someone has a little of that quality in the
regiment, Doolan,” the Doctor said, as he shook hands heartily with them
both. “It is very little of it that fell to the share of Ireland when it
was served out.”

As they dropped the Doctor's hand the Major said, “Now, gentlemen, let me
introduce you to my niece.” The introductions were made, and the whole
party took chairs on the veranda.

“Do you object to smoking, Miss Hannay; perhaps you have not got
accustomed to it yet? I see the Doctor is-smoking; but then he is a
privileged person, altogether beyond rule.”

“I rather like it in the open air,” Isobel said. “No doubt I shall get
accustomed to it indoors before long.”

In a few minutes four or five more of the officers arrived, and Isobel sat
an amused listener to the talk; taking but little part in it herself, but
gathering a good deal of information as to the people at the station from
the answers given to the Doctor's inquiries. It was very much like the
conversation on board ship, except that the topics of conversation were
wider and more numerous, and there was a community of interest wanting on
board a ship. In half an hour, however, the increasing warmth and her
sleepless night began to tell upon her, and her uncle, seeing that she was
beginning to look fagged, said, “The best thing that you can do, Isobel,
is to go indoors for a bit, and have a good nap. At five o'clock I will
take you round for a drive, and show you the sights of Cawnpore.”

“I do feel sleepy,” she said, “though it sounds rude to say so.”

“Not at all,” the Doctor put in; “if any of these young fellows had made
the journey out from Allahabad in that wretched gharry, they would have
turned into bed as soon as they arrived, and would not have got up till
the first mess bugle sounded, and very likely would have slept on until
next morning.

“Now,” he went on, when Isobel had disappeared, “we will adjourn with you
to the mess-house. That young lady would have very small chance of getting
to sleep with all this racket here. Doolan's voice alone would banish
sleep anywhere within a distance of a hundred yards.”

“I will join you there later, Doctor,” the Major said. “I have got a
couple of hours' work in the orderly-room. Rumzan, don't let my niece be
disturbed, but if she wakes and rings the bell send up a message by the
woman that I-shall not be back until four.”

The Major walked across to the orderly room, while the rest, mounting
their buggies, drove to the mess-house, which was a quarter of a mile
away.

“I should think Miss Hannay will prove a valuable addition to our circle,
Doctor,” the Adjutant said. “I don't know why, but I gathered from what
the Major said that his niece was very young. He spoke of her as if she
were quite a child.”

“She is a very nice, sensible young woman,” the Doctor said; “clever and
bright, and, as you can see for your-selves, pretty, and yet no nonsense
about her. I only hope that she won't get spoilt here; nineteen out of
twenty young women do get spoilt within six months of their arrival in
India, but I think she will be one of the exceptions.”

“I should have liked to have seen the Doctor doing chaperon,” Captain
Doolan laughed; “he would have been a brave man who would have attempted
even the faintest flirtation with anyone under his charge.”

“That is your opinion, is it, Doolan?” the Doctor said sharply. “I should
have thought that even your common sense would have told you that anyone
who has had the misfortune to see as much of womankind as I have would
have been aware that any endeavor to check a flirtation for which they are
inclined would be of all others the way to induce them to go in for it
headlong. You are a married man yourself, and ought to know that. A woman
is a good deal like a spirited horse; let her have her head, and, though
she may for a time make the pace pretty fast, she will go straight, and
settle down to her collar in time, whereas if you keep a tight curb she
will fret and fidget, and as likely as not make a bolt for it. I can
assure you that my duties were of The most nominal description. There were
the usual number of hollow pated lads on board, who buzzed in their usual
feeble way round Miss Hannay, and were one after another duly snubbed.
Miss Hannay has plenty of spirits, and a considerable sense of humor, and
I think that she enjoyed the voyage thoroughly. And now let us talk of
something else.”

After an hour's chat the Doctor started on his round of calls upon the
ladies; the Major had not come in from the orderly room, and, after the
Doctor left, Isobel Hannay was again the topic of conversation.

“She is out and out the prettiest girl in the station,” the Adjutant said
to some of the officers who had not seen her. “She will make quite a
sensation; and there are five or six ladies in the station, whose names I
need hardly mention, who will not be very pleased at her coming. She is
thoroughly in good form, too; nothing in the slightest degree fast or
noisy about her. She is quiet and self-possessed. I fancy she will be able
to hold her own against any of them. Clever? I should say 'certainly';
but, of course, that is from her face rather than from anything she said.
I expect half the unmarried men in the station will be going wild over
her. You need not look so interested, Wilson; the matter is of no more
personal interest to you than if I were describing a new comet. Nothing
less than a big civilian is likely to carry off such a prize, so I warn
you beforehand you had better not be losing your heart to her.”

“Well, you know, Prothero, subalterns do manage to get wives sometimes.”

There was a laugh.

“That is true enough, Wilson; but then, you see, I married at home;
besides, I am adjutant, which sounds a lot better than subaltern.”

“That may go for a good deal in the regiment,” Wilson retorted, “but I
doubt if there are many women that know the difference between an adjutant
and a quartermaster. They know about colonels, majors, captains, and even
subalterns; but if you were to say that you were an adjutant they would be
simply mystified, though they might understand if you said bandmaster. But
I fancy sergeant major would sound ever so much more imposing.”

“Wilson, if you are disrespectful, I shall discover tomorrow, on parade,
that No. 3 Company wants a couple of hours' extra drill badly, and then
you will feel how grievous a mistake it is to cheek an adjutant.”

The report of those who had called at the Major's was so favorable that
curiosity was quite roused as to the new-comer, and when the Major drove
round with her the next day everyone was at home, and the verdict on the
part of the ladies was generally favorable, but was by no means so
unqualified as that of the gentlemen.

Mrs. Cromarty admitted that she was nice looking; but was critical as to
her carriage and manner. She would be admired by young officers, no doubt,
but there was too much life and animation about her, and although she
would not exactly say that she stooped, she was likely to do so in time.

“She will be nothing remarkable when her freshness has worn off a little.”

In this opinion the Misses Cromarty thoroughly assented. They had never
been accused of stooping, and, indeed, were almost painfully upright, and
were certainly not particularly admired by subalterns.

Mrs. Doolan was charmed with her, and told her she hoped that they would
be great friends.

“This is a very pleasant life out here, my dear,” she said, “if one does
but take it in the right way. There is a great deal of tittle tattle in
the Indian stations, and some quarreling; but, you know, it takes two to
make a quarrel, and I make it a point never to quarrel with anyone. It is
too hot for it. Then, you see, I have the advantage of being Irish, and,
for some reason or other that I don't understand we can say pretty nearly
what we like. People don't take us seriously, you know; so I keep in with
them all.”

Mrs. Rintoul received her visitors on the sofa. “It is quite refreshing to
see a face straight from England, Miss Hannay. I only hope that you may
keep your bright color and healthy looks. Some people do. Not their color,
but their health. Unfortunately I am not one of them. I do not know what
it is to have a day's health. The climate completely oppresses me, and I
am fit for nothing. You would hardly believe that I was as strong and
healthy as you are when I first came out. You came out with Dr. Wade—a
clever man—I have a very high opinion of his talent, but my case is
beyond him. It is a sad annoyance to him that it is so, and he is
continually trying to make me believe that there is nothing the matter
with me, as if my looks did not speak for themselves.”

Mrs. Rintoul afterwards told her husband she could hardly say that she
liked Miss Hannay.

“She is distressingly brisk and healthy, and I should say, my dear, not of
a sympathetic nature, which is always a pity in a young woman.”

After this somewhat depressing visit, the call upon Mrs. Roberts was a
refreshing one. She received her very cordially.

“I like you, Miss Hannay,” she said, when, after a quarter of an hour's
lively talk, the Major and his niece got up to go. “I always say what I
think, and it is very good natured of me to say so, for I don't disguise
from myself that you will put my nose out of joint.”

“I don't want to put anyone's nose out of joint,” Isobel laughed.

“You will do it, whether you want to or not,” Mrs. Roberts said; “my
husband as much as told me so last night, and I was prepared not to like
you, but I see that I shall not be able to help doing so. Major Hannay,
you have dealt me a heavy blow, but I forgive you.”

When the round of visits was finished the Major said, “Well, Isobel, what
do you think of the ladies of the regiment?”

“I think they are all very nice, uncle. I fancy I shall like Mrs. Doolan
and Mrs. Scarsdale best; I won't give any opinion yet about Mrs.
Cromarty.”

CHAPTER IV.

The life of Isobel Hannay had not, up to the time when she left England to
join her uncle, been a very bright one. At the death of her father, her
mother had been left with an income that enabled her to live, as she said,
genteelly, at Brighton. She had three children: the eldest a girl of
twelve; Isobel, who was eight; and a boy of five, who was sadly deformed,
the result of a fall from the arms of a careless nurse when he was an
infant. It was at that time that Major Hannay had come home on leave,
having been left trustee and executor, and seen to all the money
arrangements, and had established his brother's widow at Brighton. The
work had not been altogether pleasant, for Mrs. Hannay was a selfish and
querulous woman, very difficult to satisfy even in little matters, and
with a chronic suspicion that everyone with whom she came in contact was
trying to get the best of her. Her eldest girl was likely, Captain Hannay
thought, to take after her mother, whose pet she was, while Isobel took
after her father. He had suggested that both should be sent to school, but
Mrs. Hannay would not hear of parting from Helena, but was willing enough
that Isobel should be sent to a boarding school at her uncle's expense.

As the years went by, Helena grew up, as Mrs. Hannay proudly said, the
image of what she herself had been at her age—tall and fair,
indolent and selfish, fond of dress and gayety, discontented because their
means would not permit them to indulge in either to the fullest extent.
There was nothing in common between her and her sister, who, when at home
for the holidays, spent her time almost entirely with her brother, who
received but slight attention from anyone else, his deformity being
considered as a personal injury and affliction by his mother and elder
sister.

“You could not care less for him,” Isobel once said, in a fit of passion,
“if he were a dog. I don't think you notice him more, not one bit. He
wanders about the house without anybody to give a thought to him. I call
it cruel, downright cruel.”

“You are a wicked girl, Isobel,” her mother said angrily, “a wicked,
violent girl, and I don't know what will become of you. It is abominable
of you to talk so, even if you are wicked enough to get into a passion.
What can we do for him that we don't do? What is the use of talking to him
when he never pays attention to what we say, and is always moping. I am
sure we get everything that we think will please him, and he goes out for
a walk with us every day; what could possibly be done more for him?”

“A great deal more might be done for him,” Isobel burst out. “You might
love him, and that would be everything to him. I don't believe you and
Helena love him, not one bit, not one tiny scrap.”

“Go up to your room, Isobel, and remain there for the rest of the day. You
are a very bad girl. I shall write to Miss Virtue about you; there must be
something very wrong in her management of you, or you would never be so
passionate and insolent as you are.”

But Isobel had not stopped to hear the last part of the sentence, the door
had slammed behind her. She was not many minutes alone upstairs, for
Robert soon followed her up, for when she was at home he rarely left her
side, watching her every look and gesture with eyes as loving as those of
a dog, and happy to sit on the ground beside her, with his head leaning
against her, for hours together.

Mrs. Hannay kept her word and wrote to Miss Virtue, and the evening after
she returned to school Isobel was summoned to her room.

“I am sorry to say, I have a very bad account of you from your mother. She
says you are a passionate and wicked girl. How is it, dear; you are not
passionate here, and I certainly do not think you are wicked?”

“I can't help it when I am at home, Miss Virtue. I am sure I try to be
good, but they won't let me. They don't like me because I can't be always
tidy and what they call prettily behaved, and because I hate walking on
the parade and being stuck up and unnatural, and they don't like me
because I am not pretty, and because I am thin and don't look, as mamma
says, a credit to her; but it is not that so much as because of Robert.
You know he is deformed, Miss Virtue, and they don't care for him, and he
has no one to love him but me, and it makes me mad to see him treated so.
That is what it was she wrote about. I told her they treated him like a
dog and so they do,” and she burst into tears.

“But that was very naughty, Isobel,” Miss Virtue said gravely. “You are
only eleven years old, and too young to be a judge of these matters, and
even if it were as you say, it is not for a child to speak so to her
mother.”

“I know that, Miss Virtue, but how can I help it? I could cry out with
pain when I see Robert looking from one to the other just for a kind word,
which he never gets. It is no use, Miss Virtue; if it was not for him I
would much rather never go home at all, but stop here through the
holidays, only what would he do if I didn't go home? I am the only
pleasure he has. When I am there he will sit for hours on my knee, and lay
his head on my shoulder, and stroke my face. It makes me feel as if my
heart would break.”

“Well, my dear,” Miss Virtue said, somewhat puzzled, “it is sad, if it is
as you say, but that does not excuse your being disrespectful to your
mother. It is not for you to judge her.”

“But cannot something be done for Robert, Miss Virtue? Surely they must do
something for children like him.”

“There are people, my dear, who take a few afflicted children and give
them special training. Children of that kind have sometimes shown a great
deal of unusual talent, and, if so, it is cultivated, and they are put in
a way of earning a livelihood.”

“Are there?” Isobel exclaimed, with eager eyes. “Then I know what I will
do, Miss Virtue; I will write off at once to Uncle Tom—he is our
guardian. I know if I were to speak to mamma about Robert going to school
it would be of no use; but if uncle writes I dare say it would be done. I
am sure she and Helena would be glad enough. I don't suppose she ever
thought of it. It would be a relief to them to get him out of their
sight.”

Miss Virtue shook her head. “You must not talk so, Isobel. It is not right
or dutiful, and you are a great deal too young to judge your elders, even
if they were not related to you; and, pray, if you write to your uncle do
not write in that spirit—it would shock him greatly, and he would
form a very bad opinion of you.”

And so Isobel wrote. She was in the habit of writing once every half year
to her uncle, who had told her that he wished her to do so, and that
people out abroad had great pleasure in letters from England. Hitherto she
had only written about her school life, and this letter caused her a great
deal of trouble.

It answered its purpose. Captain Hannay had no liking either for his
sister in law or his eldest niece, and had, when he was with them, been
struck with the neglect with which the little boy was treated. Isobel had
taken great pains not to say anything that would show she considered that
Robert was harshly treated; but had simply said that she heard there were
schools where little boys like him could be taught, and that it would be
such a great thing for him, as it was very dull for him having nothing to
do all day. But Captain Hannay read through the lines, and felt that it
was a protest against her brother's treatment, and that she would not have
written to him had she not felt that so only would anything be done for
him. Accordingly he wrote home to his sister in law, saying he thought it
was quite time now that the boy should be placed with some gentleman who
took a few lads unfitted for the rough life of an ordinary school. He
should take the charges upon himself, and had written to his agent in
London to find out such an establishment, to make arrangements for Robert
to go there, and to send down one of his clerks to take charge of him on
the journey. He also wrote to Isobel, telling her what he had done, and
blaming himself for not having thought of it before, winding up by saying:
“I have not mentioned to your mother that I heard from you about it—that
is a little secret just as well to keep to ourselves.”

The next five years were much happier to Isobel, for the thought of her
brother at home without her had before been constantly on her mind. It was
a delight to her now to go home and to see the steady improvement that
took place in Robert. He was brighter in every respect, and expressed
himself as most happy where he was.

As years went on he grew into a bright and intelligent boy, though his
health was by no means good, and he looked frail and delicate. He was as
passionately attached to her as ever, and during the holidays they were
never separated; they stood quite alone, their mother and sister
interesting themselves but little in their doings, and they were allowed
to take long walks together, and to sit in a room by themselves, where
they talked, drew, painted, and read.

Mrs. Hannay disapproved of Isobel as much as ever. “She is a most
headstrong girl,” she would lament to her friends, “and is really quite
beyond my control. I do not at all approve of the school she is at, but
unfortunately my brother in law, who is her guardian, has, under the will
of my poor husband, absolute control in the matter. I am sure poor John
never intended that he should be able to override my wishes; but though I
have written to him several times about it, he says that he sees no valid
reason for any change, and that from Isobel's letters to him she seems
very happy there, and to be getting on well. She is so very unlike dear
Helena, and even when at home I see but little of her; she is completely
wrapped up in her unfortunate brother. Of course I don't blame her for
that, but it is not natural that a girl her age should care nothing for
pleasures or going out or the things natural to young people. Yes, she is
certainly improving in appearance, and if she would but take some little
pains about her dress would be really very presentable.”

But her mother's indifference disturbed Isobel but little. She was
perfectly happy with her brother when at home, and very happy at school,
where she was a general favorite. She was impulsive, high spirited, and
occasionally gave Miss Virtue some trouble, but her disposition was frank
and generous, there was not a tinge of selfishness in her disposition, and
while she was greatly liked by girls of her own age, she was quite adored
by little ones. The future that she always pictured to herself was a
little cottage with a bright garden in the suburbs of London, where she
and Robert could live together—she would go out as a daily
governess; Robert, who was learning to play the organ, would, she hoped,
get a post as organist. Not, of course, for the sake of the salary, for
her earnings, and the interest of the thousand pounds that would be hers
when she came of age, would be sufficient for them both, but as an
amusement for him, and to give him a sense of independence.

But when she was just seventeen, and was looking forward to the time when
she would begin to carry her plan into effect, a terrible blow came. She
heard from her mother that Robert was dead.

“It is a sad blow for us all,” Mrs. Hannay wrote, “but, as you know, he
has never been strong; still, we had no idea that anything serious ailed
him until we heard a fortnight since he was suffering from a violent cough
and had lost strength rapidly. A week later we heard that the doctors were
of opinion it was a case of sudden consumption, and that the end was
rapidly approaching. I went up to town to see him, and found him even
worse than I expected, and was in no way surprised when this morning I
received a letter saying that he had gone. Great as is the blow, one
cannot but feel that, terribly afflicted as he was, his death is, as far
as he is concerned, a happy release. I trust you will now abandon your
wild scheme of teaching and come home.”

But home was less home than ever to Isobel now, and she remained another
six months at school, when she received an important letter from her
uncle.

“My Dear Isobel: When you first wrote to me and told me that what you were
most looking forward to was to make a home for your brother, I own that it
was a blow to me, for I had long had plans of my own about you; however, I
thought your desire to help your brother was so natural, and would give
you such happiness in carrying it into effect, that I at once fell in with
it and put aside my own plan. But the case is altered now, and I can see
no reason why I cannot have my own way. When I was in England I made up my
mind that unless I married, which was a most improbable contingency, I
would, when you were old enough, have you out to keep house for me. I
foresaw, even then, that your brother might prove an obstacle to this
plan. Even in the short time I was with you it was easy enough to see that
the charge of him would fall on your shoulders, and that it would be a
labor of love to you.

“If he lived, then, I felt you would not leave him, and that you would be
right in not doing so, but even then it seemed likely to me that he would
not grow up to manhood. From time to time I have been in correspondence
with the clergyman he was with, and learned that the doctor who attended
them thought but poorly of him. I had him taken to two first class
physicians in London; they pronounced him to be constitutionally weak, and
said that beyond strengthening medicines and that sort of thing they could
do nothing for him.

“Therefore, dear, it was no surprise to me when I received first your
mother's letter with the news, and then your own written a few days later.
When I answered that letter I thought it as well not to say anything of my
plan, but by the time you receive this, it will be six months since your
great loss, and you will be able to look at it in a fairer light than you
could have done then, and I do hope you will agree to come out to me. Life
here has its advantages and disadvantages, but I think that, especially
for young people, it is a pleasant one.

“I am getting very tired of a bachelor's establishment, and it will be a
very great pleasure indeed to have you here. Ever since I was in England I
made up my mind to adopt you as my own child. You are very like my brother
John, and your letters and all I have heard of you show that you have
grown up just as he would have wished you to do. Your sister Helena is
your mother's child, and, without wishing to hurt your feelings, your
mother and I have nothing in common. I regard you as the only relation I
have in the world, and whether you come out or whether you do not,
whatever I leave behind me will be yours. I do hope that you will at any
rate come out for a time. Later on, if you don't like the life here, you
can fall back upon your own plan.

“If you decide to come, write to my agent. I inclose envelope addressed to
him. Tell him when you can be ready. He will put you in the way of the
people you had better go to for your outfit, will pay all bills, take your
passage, and so on.

“Whatever you do, do not stint yourself. The people you go to will know a
great deal better than you can do what is necessary for a lady out here.
All you will have to do will be to get measured and to give them an idea
of your likes and fancies as to colors and so on. They will have
instructions from my agent to furnish you with a complete outfit, and will
know exactly how many dozens of everything are required.

“I can see no reason why you should not start within a month after the
receipt of this letter, and I shall look most anxiously for a letter from
you saying that you will come, and that you will start by a sailing ship
in a month at latest from the date of your writing.”

Isobel did not hesitate, as her faith in her uncle was unbounded. Next to
her meetings with her brother, his letters had been her greatest
pleasures. He had always taken her part; it was he who, at her request,
had Robert placed at school, and he had kept her at Miss Virtue's in spite
of her mother's complaints. At home she had never felt comfortable; it had
always seemed to her that she was in the way; her mother disapproved of
her; while from Helena she had never had a sisterly word. To go out to
India to see the wonders she had read of, and to be her uncle's companion,
seemed a perfectly delightful prospect. Her answer to her uncle was sent
off the day after she received his letter, and that day month she stepped
on board an Indiaman in the London Docks.

The intervening time had not been a pleasant one. Mrs. Hannay had heard
from the Major of his wishes and intentions regarding Isobel, and she was
greatly displeased thereat.

“Why should he have chosen you instead of Helena?” she said angrily to
Isobel, on the first day of her arrival home.

“I suppose because he thought I should suit him better, mamma. I really
don't see why you should be upset about it; I don't suppose Helena would
have liked to go, and I am sure you would not have liked to have had me
with you instead of her. I should have thought you would have been pleased
I was off your hands altogether. It doesn't seem to me that you have ever
been really glad to have me about you.”

“That has been entirely your own fault,” Mrs. Hannay said. “You have
always been headstrong and determined to go your own way, you have never
been fit to be seen when anyone came, you have thwarted me in every way.”

“I am very sorry, mamma. I think I might have been better if you had had a
little more patience with me, but even now if you really wish me to stay
at home I will do so. I can write again to uncle and tell him that I have
changed my mind.”

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Hannay said. “Naturally I should wish to have my
children with me, but I doubt whether your being here would be for the
happiness of any of us, and besides, I do not wish your uncle's money to
go out of the family; he might take it into his head to leave it to a
hospital for black women. Still, it would have been only right and proper
that he should at any rate have given Helena the first choice. As for your
instant acceptance of his offer, without even consulting me, nothing can
surprise me in that way after your general conduct towards me.”

However, although Mrs. Hannay declined to take any interest in Isobel's
preparations, and continued to behave as an injured person, neither she
nor Helena were sorry at heart for the arrangement that had been made.
They objected very strongly to Isobel's plan of going out as a governess;
but upon the other hand, her presence at home would in many ways have been
an inconvenience. Two can make a better appearance on a fixed income than
three can, and her presence at home would have necessitated many small
economies. She was, too, a disturbing element; the others understood each
other perfectly, and both felt that they in no way understood Isobel.
Altogether, it was much better that she should go.

As to the heirship, Captain Hannay had spoken freely as to his monetary
affairs when he had been in England after his brother's death.

“My pay is amply sufficient for all my wants,” he said; “but everything is
expensive out there, and I have had no occasion to save. I have a few
hundred pounds laid by, so that if I break down, and am ordered to Europe
at any time on sick leave, I can live comfortably for that time; but,
beyond that, there has been no reason why I should lay by. I am not likely
ever to marry, and when I have served my full time my pension will be
ample for my wants in England; but I shall do my best to help if help is
necessary. Fortunately the interest of the thousand apiece the girls were
left by my aunt will help your income. When it is necessary to do anything
for Robert, poor lad, I will take that expense on myself.”

“I thought all Indians came home with lots of money,” Mrs. Hannay said
complainingly.

“Not the military. We do the fighting, and get fairly paid for it. The
civilians get five times as highly paid, and run no risks whatever. Why it
should be so no one has ever attempted to explain; but there it is,
sister.”

Mrs. Hannay, therefore, although she complained of the partiality shown to
Isobel, was well aware that the Major's savings could amount to no very
great sum; although, in nine years, with higher rank and better pay, he
might have added a good bit to the little store of which he had spoken to
her.

When, a week before the vessel sailed, Dr. Wade appeared with a letter he
had received from the Major, asking him to take charge of Isobel on the
voyage, Mrs. Hannay conceived a violent objection to him. He had, in fact,
been by no means pleased with the commission, and had arrived in an
unusually aggressive and snappish humor. He cut short Mrs. Hannay's well
turned sentences ruthlessly, and aggrieved her by remarking on Helena's
want of color, and recommending plenty of walking exercise taken at a
brisk pace, and more ease and comfort in the matter of dress.

“Your daughter's lungs have no room to play, madam,” he said; “her heart
is compressed. No one can expect to be healthy under such circumstances.”

“I have my own medical attendant, Dr. Wade,” Mrs. Hannay said decidedly.

“No doubt, madam, no doubt. All I can say is, if his recommendations are
not the same as mine, he must be a downright fool. Very well, Miss Hannay,
I think we understand each other; I shall be on board by eleven o'clock,
and shall keep a sharp lookout for you. Don't be later than twelve; she
will warp out of the dock by one at latest, and if you miss that your only
plan will be to take the train down to Tilbury, and hire a boat there.”

“I shall be in time, sir,” Isobel said.

“Well, I hope you will, but my experience of women is pretty extensive,
and I have scarcely met one who could be relied upon to keep an
appointment punctually. Don't laden yourself more than you can help with
little bags, and parcels, and bundles of all kinds; I expect you will be
three or four in a cabin, and you will find that there is no room for
litter. Take the things you will require at first in one or two flat
trunks which will stow under your berth; once a week or so, if the weather
is fine, you will be able to get at your things in the hold. Do try if
possible to pack all the things that you are likely to want to get at
during the voyage in one trunk, and have a star or any mark you like
painted on that trunk with your name, then there will be no occasion for
the sailors to haul twenty boxes upon deck. Be sure you send all your
trunks on board, except those you want in your cabin, two days before she
sails. Do you think you can remember all that?”

“I think so, Dr. Wade.”

“Very well then, I'm off,” and the Doctor shook hands with Isobel, nodded
to Mrs. Hannay and Helena, and hurried away.

“What a perfectly detestable little man!” Mrs. Hannay exclaimed, as the
door closed over him. “Your uncle must have been out of his senses to
select such an odious person to look after you on the voyage. I really
pity you, Isobel.”

“I have no doubt he is very much nicer than he seems, mamma. Uncle said,
you know, in his letter last week, that he had written to Dr. Wade to look
after me, if, as he thought probable, he might be coming out in the same
ship. He said that he was a little brusque in his manner, but that he was
a general favorite, and one of the kindest hearted of men.”

“A little brusque,” Mrs. Hannay repeated scornfully. “If he is only
considered a little brusque in India, all I can say is society must be in
a lamentable state out there.”

“Uncle says he is a great shikari, and has probably killed more tigers
than any man in India.”

“I really don't see that that is any recommendation whatever, Isobel,
although it might be if you were likely to encounter tigers on board ship.
However, I am not surprised that your opinion differs from mine; we very
seldom see matters in the same light. I only hope you may be right and I
may be wrong, for otherwise the journey is not likely to be a very
pleasant one for you; personally, I would almost as soon have a Bengal
tiger loose about the ship than such a very rude, unmannerly person as Dr.
Wade.”

Mrs. Hannay and Helena accompanied Isobel to the docks, and went on board
ship with her.

The Doctor received them at the gangway. He was in a better temper, for
the fact that he was on the point of starting for India again had put him
in high spirits. He escorted the party below and saw that they got lunch,
showed Isobel which was her cabin, introduced her to two or three ladies
of his acquaintance, and made himself so generally pleasant that even Mrs.
Hannay was mollified.

As soon as luncheon was over the bell was rung, and the partings were
hurriedly got through, as the pilot announced that the tide was slackening
nearly half an hour before its time, and that it was necessary to get the
ship out of dock at once.

“Now, Miss Hannay, if you will take my advice,” the Doctor said, as soon
as the ship was fairly in the stream, “you will go below, get out all the
things you will want from your boxes, and get matters tidy and
comfortable. In the first place, it will do you good to be busy; and in
the second place, there is nothing like getting everything shipshape in
the cabin the very first thing after starting, then you are ready for
rough weather or anything else that may occur. I have got you a chair. I
thought that very likely you would not think of it, and a passenger
without a chair of her own is a most forlorn creature, I can tell you.
When you have done down below you will find me somewhere aft; if you
should not do so, look out for a chair with your own name on it and take
possession of it, but I think you are sure to see me.”

Before they had been a fortnight at sea Isobel came to like the Doctor
thoroughly. He knew many of the passengers on board the Byculla, and she
had soon many acquaintances. She was amused at the description that the
Doctor gave her of some of the people to whom he introduced her.

“I am going to introduce you to that woman in the severely plain cloak and
ugly bonnet. She is the wife of the Resident of Rajputana. I knew her when
her husband was a Collector.”

“A Collector, Dr. Wade; what did he collect?”

“Well, my dear, he didn't collect taxes or water rates or anything of that
sort. A Collector is a civil functionary, and frequently an important one.
I used to attend her at one time when we were in cantonments at Bhurtpore,
where her husband was stationed at that time. I pulled a tooth out for her
once, and she halloaed louder than any woman I ever heard. I don't mean to
say, my dear, that woman holloa any louder than men; on the contrary, they
bear pain a good deal better, but she was an exception. She was twelve
years younger then, and used to dress a good deal more than she does now.
That cloak and bonnet are meant to convey to the rest of the passengers
the fact that there is no occasion whatever for a person of her importance
to attend to such petty matters as dress.

“She never mentions her husband's name without saying, 'My husband, the
Resident,' but for all that she is a kind hearted woman—a very kind
hearted woman. I pulled a child of hers through who was down with fever at
Bhurtpore; he had a very close shave of it, and she has never forgotten
it. She greeted me when she came on board almost with tears in her eyes at
the thought of that time. I told her I had a young lady under my charge,
and she said that she would be very pleased to do anything she could for
you. She is a stanch friend is Mrs. Resident, and you will find her useful
before you get to the end of the voyage.”

The lady received Isobel with genuine kindness, and took her very much
under her wing during the voyage, and Isobel received no small advantage
from her advice and protection.

Her own good sense, however, and the earnest life she had led at school
and with her brother at home, would have sufficed her even without this
guardianship and that of the Doctor. There was a straightforward frankness
about her that kept men from talking nonsense to her. A compliment she
simply laughed at, an attempt at flattery made her angry, and the Doctor
afterwards declared to her uncle he would not have believed that the
guardianship of a girl upon the long Indian voyage could possibly have
caused him so little trouble and annoyance.

“When I read your letter, Major, my hair stood on end, and if my leave had
not been up I should have canceled my passage and come by the next ship;
and indeed when I went down to see her I had still by no means made up my
mind as to whether I would not take my chance of getting out in time by
the next vessel. However, I liked her appearance, and, as I have said, it
turned out excellently, and I should not mind making another voyage in
charge of her.”

CHAPTER V.

Two days after his arrival at Cawnpore Dr. Wade moved into quarters of his
own.

“I like Dr. Wade very much indeed, you know, uncle, still I am glad to
have you all to myself and to settle down into regular ways.”

“Yes, we have got to learn to know each other, Isobel.”

“Do you think so, uncle? Why, it seems to me that I know all about you,
just the same as if we had always been together, and I am sure I always
told you all about myself, even when I was bad at school and got into
scrapes, because you said particularly that you liked me to tell you
everything, and did not want to know only the good side of me.”

“Yes, that is so, my dear, and no doubt I have a fair idea as to what are
your strong points and what are your weak ones, but neither one or the
other affect greatly a person's ordinary everyday character. It is the
little things, the trifles, the way of talking, the way of listening, the
amount of sympathy shown, and so on, that make a man or woman popular.
People do not ask whether he or she may be morally sleeping volcanoes,
who, if fairly roused, might slay a rival or burn a city; they simply look
at the surface—is a man or a woman pleasant, agreeable, easily
pleased, ready to take a share in making things go, to show a certain
amount of sympathy in other people's pleasures or troubles—in fact,
to form a pleasant unit of the society of a station?

“So in the house you might be the most angelic temper in the world, but if
you wore creaky boots, had a habit of slamming doors, little tricks of
giggling or fidgeting with your hands or feet, you would be an unpleasant
companion, for you would be constantly irritating one in small matters. Of
course, it is just the same thing with your opinion of me. You have an
idea that I am a good enough sort of fellow, because I have done my best
to enable you to carry out your plans and wishes, but that has nothing to
do at all with my character as a man to live with. Till we saw each other,
when you got out of the gharry, we really knew nothing whatever of each
other.”

Isobel shook her head decidedly.

“Nothing will persuade me that I didn't know everything about you, uncle.
You are just exactly what I knew you would be in look, and voice, in
manner and ways and everything. Of course, it is partly from what I
remember, but I really did not see a great deal of you in those days; it
is from your letters, I think, entirely that I knew all about you, and
exactly what you were. Do you mean to say that I am not just what you
thought I should be?”

“Well, not so clearly as all that, Isobel. Of course you were only a
little child when I saw you, and except that you had big brown eyes, and
long eyelashes, I confess that it struck me that you were rather a plain
little thing, and I do not think that your mother's letters since conveyed
to my mind the fact that there had been any material change since.
Therefore I own that you are personally quite different from what I had
expected to find you. I had expected to find you, I think, rather stumpy
in figure, and square in build, with a very determined and businesslike
manner.”

“Nonsense, uncle, you could not have expected that.”

“Well, my dear, I did, and you see I find I was utterly wrong.”

“But you are not discontented, uncle?” Isobel asked, with a smile.

“No, my dear, but perhaps not quite so contented as you may think I ought
to be.”

“Why is that, uncle?”

“Well, my dear, if you had been what I had pictured you, I might have had
you four or five years to myself. Possibly you might even have gone home
with me, to keep house for me in England, when I retire. As it is now, I
give myself six months at the outside.”

“What nonsense, uncle! You don't suppose I am going to fall in love with
the first man who presents himself? Why, everyone says the sea voyage is a
most trying time, and, you see, I came through that quite scathless.

“Besides, uncle,” and she laughed, “there is safety in multitude, and I
think that a girl would be far more likely to fall in love in some country
place, where she only saw one or two men, than where there are numbers of
them. Besides, it seems to me that in India a girl cannot feel that she is
chosen, as it were, from among other girls, as she would do at home. There
are so few girls, and so many men here, there must be a sort of feeling
that you are only appreciated because there is nothing better to be had.

“But, of course, uncle, you can understand that the idea of love making
and marrying never entered my head at all until I went on board a ship. As
you know, I always used to think that Robert and I would live together,
and I am quite sure that I should never have left him if he had lived. If
I had stopped in England I should have done the work I had trained myself
to do, and it might have been years and years, and perhaps never, before
anyone might have taken a fancy to me, or I to him. It seems strange, and
I really don't think pleasant, uncle, for everyone to take it for granted
that because a girl comes out to India she is a candidate for marriage. I
think it is degrading, uncle.”

“The Doctor was telling me yesterday that you had some idea of that sort,”
the Major said, with a slight smile, “and I think girls often start with
that sort of idea. But it is like looking on at a game. You don't feel
interested in it until you begin to play at it. Well, the longer you
entertain those ideas the better I shall be pleased, Isobel. I only hope
that you may long remain of the same mind, and that when your time does
come your choice will be a wise one.”

There could be no doubt that the Major's niece was a great success in the
regiment. Richards and Wilson, two lads who had joined six months before,
succumbed at once, and mutual animosity succeeded the close friendship
they had hitherto entertained for each other. Travers, the Senior Captain,
a man who had hitherto been noted for his indifference to the charms of
female society, went so far as to admit that Miss Hannay was a very nice,
unaffected girl. Mrs. Doolan was quite enthusiastic about her.

“It is very lucky, Jim,” she said to her husband, “that you were a sober
and respected married man before she came out, and that I am installed
here as your lawful and wedded wife instead of being at Ballycrogin with
only an engagement ring on my finger. I know your susceptible nature; you
would have fallen in love with her, and she would not have had you, and we
should both of us have been miserable.”

“How do you know she wouldn't have had me, Norah?”

“Because, my dear, she will be able to pick and choose just where she
likes; and though no one recognizes your virtues more than I do, a company
in an Indian regiment is hardly as attractive as a Residency or Lieutenant
Governorship. But seriously, she is a dear girl, and as yet does not seem
to have the least idea how pretty she is. How cordially some of them will
hate her! I anticipate great fun in looking on. I am out of all that sort
of thing myself.”

“That is news to me, Norah; I think you are just as fond of a quiet
flirtation as you used to be.”

“Just of a very little one, Jim; fortunately not more. So I can look on
complacently; but even I have suffered. Why, for weeks not a day has
passed without young Richards dropping in for a chat, and when he came in
yesterday he could talk about nothing but Miss Hannay, until I shut him up
by telling him it was extremely bad form to talk to one lady about
another. The boy colored up till I almost laughed in his face; in fact, I
believe I did laugh.”

“That I will warrant you did, Norah.”

“I could not help it, especially when he assured me he was perfectly
serious about Miss Hannay.”

“You did not encourage him, I hope, Norah.”

“No; I told him the Colonel set his face against married subalterns, and
that he would injure himself seriously in his profession if he were to
think of such a thing, and as I knew he had nothing but his pay, that
would be fatal to him.”

Captain Doolan went off into a burst of laughter.

“And he took it all in, Norah? He did not see that you were humbugging him
altogether?”

“Not a bit of it. They are very amusing, these boys, Jim. I was really
quite sorry for Richards, but I told him he would get over it in time, for
as far as I could learn you had been just as bad thirty-three times before
I finally took pity on you, and that I only did it then because you were
wearing away with your troubles. I advised him to put the best face he
could on it, for that Miss Hannay would be the last person to be pleased,
if he were to be going about with a face as long as if he had just come
from his aunt's funeral.”

The race meeting came off three weeks after Miss Hannay arrived at
Cawnpore. She had been to several dinners and parties by this time, and
began to know most of the regular residents.

The races served as an excuse for people to come in from all the stations
round. Men came over from Lucknow, Agra, and Allahabad, and from many a
little outlying station; every bungalow in the cantonment was filled with
guests, and tents were erected for the accommodation of the overflow.

Several of the officers of the 103d had horses and ponies entered in the
various races. There was to be a dance at the club on the evening of the
second day of the races, and a garden party at the General's on that of
the first. Richards and Wilson had both ponies entered for the race
confined to country tats which had never won a race, and both had
endeavored to find without success what was Isobel's favorite color.

“But you must have some favorite color?” Wilson urged.

“Why must I, Mr. Wilson? One thing is suitable for one thing and one
another, and I always like a color that is suitable for the occasion.”

“But what color are you going to wear at the races, Miss Hannay?”

“Well, you see, I have several dresses,” Isobel said gravely, “and I
cannot say until the morning arrives which I may wear; it will depend a
good deal how I feel. Besides, I might object to your wearing the same
color as I do. You remember in the old times, knights, when they entered
the lists, wore the favors that ladies had given them. Now I have no idea
of giving you a favor. You have done nothing worthy of it. When you have
won the Victoria Cross, and distinguished yourself by some extraordinarily
gallant action, it will be quite time to think about it.”

“You see one has to send one's color in four days beforehand, in time for
them to print it on the card,” the lad said; “and besides, one has to get
a jacket and cap made.”

“But you don't reflect that it is quite possible your pony won't win after
all, and supposing that I had colors, I certainly should not like to see
them come in last in the race. Mr. Richards has been asking me just the
same thing, and, of course, I gave him the same answer. I can only give
you the advice I gave him.”

“What was that, Miss Hannay?” Wilson asked eagerly.

“Well, you see, it is not very long since either of you left school, so I
should think the best thing for you to wear are your school colors,
whatever they were.”

And with a merry laugh at his look of discomfiture, Isobel turned away and
joined Mrs. Doolan and two or three other ladies who were sitting with
her.

“There is one comfort,” Mrs. Doolan was just saying, “in this country,
when there is anything coming off, there is no occasion to be anxious as
to the weather; one knows that it will be hot, fine, and dusty. One can
wear one's gayest dress without fear. In Ireland one never knew whether
one wanted muslin or waterproof until the morning came, and even then one
could not calculate with any certainty how it would be by twelve o'clock.
This will be your first Indian festivity, Miss Hannay.”

“Do the natives come much?”

“I should think so! All Cawnpore will turn out, and we shall have the Lord
of Bithoor and any number of Talookdars and Zemindars with their suites. A
good many of them will have horses entered, and they have some good ones
if they could but ride them. The Rajah of Bithoor is a most important
personage. He talks English very well, and gives splendid entertainments.
He is a most polite gentleman, and is always over here if there is
anything going on. The general idea is that he has set his mind on having
an English wife, the only difficulty being our objection to polygamy. He
has every other advantage, and his wife would have jewels that a queen
might envy.”

Isobel laughed. “I don't think jewels would count for much in my ideas of
happiness.”

“It is not so much the jewels, my dear, in themselves, but the envy they
would excite in every other woman.”

“I don't think I can understand that feeling, Mrs. Doolan. I can
understand that there might be a satisfaction in being envied for being
the happiest woman, or the most tastefully dressed woman, or even the
prettiest woman, though that after all is a mere accident, but not for
having the greatest number of bright stones, however valuable. I don't
think the most lovely set of diamonds ever seen would give me as much
satisfaction as a few choice flowers.”

“Ah, but that is because you are quite young,” Mrs. Doolan said. “Eve was
tempted by an apple, but Eve had not lived long. You see, an apple will
tempt a child, and flowers a young girl. Diamonds are the bait of a
woman.”

“You would not care for diamonds yourself, Mrs. Doolan?”

“I don't know, my dear; the experiment was never tried—bog oak and
Irish diamonds have been more in my line. Jim's pay has never run to
diamonds, worse luck, but he has promised me that if he ever gets a chance
of looting the palace of a native prince he will keep a special lookout
for them for me. So far he has never had the chance. When he was an ensign
there was some hard fighting with the Sikhs, but nothing of that sort fell
to his share. I often tell him that he took me under false pretenses
altogether. I had visions of returning some day and astonishing
Ballycrogin, as a sort of begum covered with diamonds; but as far as I can
see the children are the only jewels that I am likely to take back.”

“And very nice jewels too,” Isobel said heartily; “they are dear little
things, Mrs. Doolan, and worth all the diamonds in the world. I hear, Mrs.
Prothero, that your husband has a good chance of winning the race for
Arabs; I intend to wager several pairs of gloves on his horse.”

“Yes, Seila is very fast. She won last year. But Nana Sahib has had the
horse that won the cup at Poona last year, and is considered one of the
fastest in India, brought across from Bombay. Our only hope is that he
will put a native up, and in that case we ought to have a fair chance, for
the natives have no idea of riding a waiting race, but go off at full
speed, and take it all out of their horse before the end of the race.”

“Well, we must hope he will, Mrs. Prothero; that seems, from what I hear,
the only chance there is of the regiment winning a prize. So all our
sympathies will be with you.”

“Hunter and his wife and their two girls are coming,” the Major said, the
next morning, as he opened his letters.

“Very well, uncle, then we will do as we arranged. The Miss Hunters shall
have my room, and I will take the little passage room.”

“I am afraid it will put you out, Isobel; but they have been here for the
last two years at the race times and I did not like not asking them
again.”

“Of course, uncle. It will make no difference to me, and I don't require
any very great space to apparel myself.”

“We must have dinners for twelve at least, the day before the races, and
on the three days of the meeting.”

Isobel looked alarmed. “I hope you don't rely on me for the arrangements,
uncle. At each of the four dinners we have been to I have done nothing but
wonder how it was all done, and have been trembling over the thought that
it would be our turn presently. It seemed a fearful responsibility; and
four, one after the other, is an appalling prospect.”

“Rumzan will see to it all, my dear. He has always managed very well
before. I will talk it over with him; besides, these will not be like
regular set dinner parties. At race meetings everyone keeps pretty nearly
open house. One does not ask any of the people at the station; they have
all their own visitors. One trusts to chance to fill up the table, and one
never finds any difficulty about it. It is lucky I got up a regular stock
of china, and so on, in anticipation of your coming. Of course, as a
bachelor, I have not been a dinner giver, except on occasions like this,
when nobody expects anything like state, and things are conducted to a
certain extent in picnic fashion. I have paid off my dinner obligations by
having men to mess or the club. However, I will consult Rumzan, and we
will have a regular parade of our materials, and you shall inspect our
resources. If there is anything in the way of flower vases or center
dishes, or anything of that sort, you think requisite, we must get them.
Jestonjee has got a good stock of all that sort of thing. As to
tablecloths and napkins and so on, I had a supply with the china, so you
will find that all right. Of course you will get plenty of flowers; they
are the principal things, after all, towards making the table look well.
You have had no experience in arranging them, I suppose?”

“None at all, uncle; I never arranged a vase of flowers in my life.”

“Then I tell you what you had better do, Isobel. You coax the Doctor into
coming in and undertaking it. He is famous in that way. He always has the
decoration of the mess table on grand occasions; and when we give a dance
the flowers and decorations are left to him as a matter of course.”

“I will ask him, uncle; but he is the last man in the world I should have
thought of in connection with flowers and decorations.”

“He is a many sided man, my dear; he paints excellently, and has wonderful
taste in the way of dress. I can assure you that no lady in the regiment
is quite satisfied with a new costume until it has received the stamp of
the Doctor's approval. When we were stationed at Delhi four years ago
there was a fancy ball, and people who were judges of that sort of thing
said that they had never seen so pretty a collection of dresses, and I
should think fully half of them were manufactured from the Doctor's
sketches.”

“I remember now,” Isobel laughed, “that he was very sarcastic on board
ship as to the dresses of some of the people, but I thought it was only
his way of grumbling at things in general, though certainly I generally
agreed with him. He told me one day that my taste evidently inclined to
the dowdy, but you see I wore half mourning until I arrived out here.”

The Doctor himself dropped in an hour later.

“I shall be glad, Doctor, if you will dine with us as often as you can
during the four days of the races,” Major Hannay said. “Of course, I shall
be doing the hospitable to people who come in from out stations, and as
Isobel won't know any of them, it will be a little trying to her, acting
for the first time in the capacity of hostess. As you know everybody, you
will be able to make things go. I have got Hunter and his wife and their
two girls coming in to stay. I calculate the table will hold fourteen
comfortably enough. At any rate, come first night, even if you can't come
on the others.”

“Certainly I will, Major, if you will let me bring Bathurst in with me; he
is going to stay with me for the races.”

“By all means, Doctor; I like what I have seen of him very much.”

“Yes, he has got a lot in him,” the Doctor said, “only he is always head
over heels in work. He will make a big mark before he has done. He is one
of the few men out here who has thoroughly mastered the language; he can
talk to the natives like one of themselves, and understands them so
thoroughly that they are absolutely afraid to lie to him, which is the
highest compliment a native can pay to an Indian official. It is very
seldom he comes in to this sort of thing, but I seized him the other day
and told him that I could see he would break down if he didn't give
himself a holiday, and I fairly worried him into saying he would come over
and stay for the races. I believe then he would not have come if I had not
written to him that all the native swells would be here, and it would be
an excellent opportunity for him to talk to them about the establishment
of a school for the daughters of the upper class of natives; that is one
of his fads at present.”

“But it would be a good thing surely, Doctor,” Isobel said.

“No doubt, my dear, no doubt; and so would scores of other things, if you
could but persuade the natives so. But this is really one of the most
impracticable schemes possible, simply because the whole of these
unfortunate children get betrothed when they are two or three years old,
and are married at twelve. Even if all parties were agreed, the husband's
relations and the wife's relations and everyone else, what are you going
to teach a child worth knowing before she gets to the age of twelve? Just
enough to make her discontented with her lot. Once get the natives to
alter their customs and to marry their women at the age of eighteen, and
you may do something for them; but as long as they stick to this idiotic
custom of marrying them off when they are still children, the case is
hopeless.”

“There is something I wanted to ask you, Doctor,” Isobel said. “You know
this is the first time I have had anything to do with entertaining, and I
know nothing about decorating a table. Uncle says that you are a great
hand at the arrangement of flowers. Would you mind seeing to it for me?”

The Doctor nodded. “With pleasure, Miss Hannay. It is a thing I enjoy.
There is nothing more lamentable than to see the ignorant, and I may
almost say brutal, way in which people bunch flowers up into great masses
and call that decoration. They might just as well bunch up so many masses
of bright colored rags. The shape of the flower, its manner of growth, and
its individuality are altogether lost, and the sole effect produced is
that of a confused mass of color. I will undertake that part of the
business, and you had better leave the buying of the flowers to me.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” the Major said; “I will give you carte blanche.”

“Well, I must see your dinner service, Major, so that I may know about its
color, and what you have got to put the flowers into.”

“I will have a regular parade tomorrow morning after breakfast, if it
would be convenient for you to look in then, and at the same time I will
get you to have a talk with Rumzan and the cook. I am almost as new to
giving dinner parties as Isobel is. When one has half a dozen men to dine
with one at the club, one gives the butler notice and chooses the wine,
and one knows that it will be all right; but it is a very different thing
when you have to go into the details yourself. Ordinarily I leave it
entirely to Rumzan and the cook, and I am bound to say they do very well,
but this is a different matter.”

“We will talk it over with them together, Major. You can seem to consult
me, but it must come from you to them, or else you will be getting their
backs up. Thank goodness, Indian servants don't give themselves the airs
English ones do; but human nature is a good deal the same everywhere, and
the first great rule, if you want any domestic arrangements to go off
well, is to keep the servants in good temper.”

“We none of us like to be interfered with, Doctor.”

“A wise man is always ready to be taught,” the Doctor said sententiously.

“Well, there are exceptions, Doctor. I remember, soon after I joined, a
man blew off two of his fingers. A young surgeon who was here wanted to
amputate the hand; he was just going to set about it when a staff surgeon
came in and said that it had better not be done, for that natives could
not stand amputations. The young surgeon was very much annoyed. The staff
surgeon went away next day. There was a good deal of inflammation, and the
young surgeon decided to amputate. The man never rallied from the
operation, and died next day.”

“I said, Major, that a wise man was always ready to listen to good advice.
I was not a wise man in those days—I was a pig headed young fool. I
thought I knew all about it, and I was quite right according to my
experience in London hospitals. In the case of an Englishman, the hand
would have been amputated, and the man would have been all right three
weeks afterwards. But I knew nothing about these soft hearted Hindoos, and
never dreamt that an operation which would be a trifle to an Englishman
would be fatal to one of them, and that simply because, although they are
plucky enough in some respects, they have no more heart than a mouse when
anything is the matter with them. Yes, if it hadn't been for the old
Colonel, who gave me a private hint to say nothing about the affair, but
merely to put down in my report, 'Died from the effect of a gunshot
wound,' I should have got into a deuce of a scrape over that affair. As it
was, it only cost me a hundred rupees to satisfy the man's family and send
them back to their native village. That was for years a standing joke
against me, Miss Hannay; except your uncle and the Colonel, there is no
one left in the regiment who was there, but it was a sore subject for a
long time. Still, no doubt, it was a useful lesson, and my rule has been
ever since, never amputate except as a forlorn hope, and even then don't
amputate, for if you do the relatives of the man, as far as his fourth
cousins, will inevitably regard you as his murderer. Well, I must be off;
I will look in tomorrow morning, Major, and make an inspection of your
resources.”

“I am glad to see the Hunters are going to bring over their carriage,” the
Major said, two days later, as he looked through a letter. “I am very glad
of that, for I put it off till too late. I have been trying everywhere for
the last two days to hire one, but they are all engaged, and have been so
for weeks, I hear. I was wondering what I should do, for my buggy will
only hold two. I was thinking of asking Mrs. Doolan if she could take one
of the Miss Hunters, and should have tried to find a place for the other.
But this settles it all comfortably. They are going to send on their own
horses halfway the day before, and hire native ponies for the first half.
They have a good large family vehicle; I hoped that they would bring it,
but, of course, I could not trust to it.”

The Doctor presently dropped in with Captain Doolan. After chatting for
some time the former said, “I have had the satisfaction this morning, Miss
Hannay, of relieving Mrs. Cromarty's mind of a great burden.”

“How was that, Doctor?”

“It was in relation to you, my dear.”

“Me, Doctor! how could I have been a weight on Mrs. Cromarty's mind?”

“She sent for me under the pretense of being feverish; said she had a
headache, and so on. Her pulse was all right, and I told her at once I did
not think there was much the matter with her; but I recommended her to
keep out of the sun for two days. Then she begun a chat about the station.
She knows that, somehow or other, I generally hear all that is going on. I
wondered what was coming, till she said casually, 'Do you know what
arrangement Major Hannay has made as to his niece for the races?' I said,
of course, that the Hunters were coming over to stay. I could see at once
that her spirit was instantly relieved of a heavy burden, but she only
said, 'Of course, then, that settles the question. I had intended to send
across to her this morning, to ask if she would like a seat in my
carriage; having no lady with her, she could not very well have gone to
the races alone. Naturally, I should have been very pleased to have had
her with us. However, as Mrs. Hunter will be staying at the Major's, and
will act as her chaperon, the matter is settled.'”

“Well, I think it was very kind of her thinking of it,” Isobel said, “and
I don't think it is nice of you, Doctor, to say that it was an evident
relief to her when she found I had someone else to take care of me. Why
should it have been a relief?”

“I have no doubt it has weighed on her mind for the last fortnight,” the
Doctor said; “she must have seen that as you were freshly joined, and the
only unmarried girl in the regiment, except her own daughters, it was only
the proper thing she should offer you a seat in her carriage. No doubt she
decided to put it off as late as possible, in hopes that you might make
some other arrangement. Had you not done so, she might have done the
heroic thing and invited you, though I am by no means sure of it. Of
course, now she will say the first time she meets you that she was quite
disappointed at having heard from me that Mrs. Hunter would be with you,
as she had hoped to have the pleasure of having you in her carriage with
her.”

“But why shouldn't she like it?” Isobel said indignantly. “Surely I am not
as disagreeable as all that! Come, Doctor!”

Captain Doolan laughed, while the Doctor said, “It is just the contrary,
my dear; I am quite sure that if you were in Mrs. Cromarty's place, and
had two tall, washed out looking daughters, you would not feel the
slightest desire to place Miss Hannay in the same carriage with them.”

“I call that very disagreeable of you, Doctor,” Isobel said, flushing,
“and I shall not like you at all if you take such unkind and malicious
views of people. I don't suppose such an idea ever entered into Mrs.
Cromarty's head, and even if it did, it makes it all the kinder that she
should think of offering me a seat. I do think most men seem to consider
that women think of nothing but looks, and that girls are always trying to
attract men, and mothers always thinking of getting their daughters
married. It is not at all nice, Doctor, to have such ideas, and I shall
thank Mrs. Cromarty warmly, when I see her, for her kindness in thinking
about me.”

Accordingly, that afternoon, when they met at the usual hour, when the
band was playing, Isobel went up to the Colonel's wife.

“I want to thank you, Mrs. Cromarty. Dr. Wade has told me that you had
intended to offer me a seat in your carriage to the races. It was very
kind and nice of you to think of me, and I am very much obliged to you. I
should have enjoyed it very much if it hadn't been that Mrs. Hunter is
coming to stay with us, and, of course, I shall be under her wing. Still,
I am just as much obliged to you for having thought of it.”

Mrs. Cromarty was pleased with the girl's warmth and manner, and
afterwards mentioned to several of her friends that she thought that Miss
Hannay seemed a very nice young woman.

“I was not quite favorably impressed at first,” she admitted. “She has the
misfortune of being a little brusque in her manner, but, of course, her
position is a difficult one, being alone out here, without any lady with
her, and no doubt she feels it so. She was quite touchingly grateful, only
because I offered her a seat in our carriage for the races, though she was
unable to accept it, as the Major will have the Hunters staying with him.”

CHAPTER VI.

The clubhouse at Cawnpore was crowded on the evening before the races. Up
to eleven o'clock it had been comparatively deserted, for there was
scarcely a bungalow in the station at which dinner parties were not going
on; but, after eleven, the gentlemen for the most part adjourned to the
club for a smoke, a rubber, or a game of billiards, or to chat over the
racing events of the next day.

Loud greetings were exchanged as each fresh contingent arrived, for many
newcomers had come into the station only that afternoon. Every table in
the whist room was occupied, black pool was being played in the billiard
room upstairs, where most of the younger men were gathered, while the
elders smoked and talked in the rooms below.

“What will you do, Bathurst?” the Doctor asked his guest, after the party
from the Major's had been chatting for some little time downstairs. “Would
you like to cut in at a rubber or take a ball at pool?”

“Neither, Doctor; they are both accomplishments beyond me; I have not
patience for whist, and I can't play billiards in the least. I have tried
over and over again, but I am too nervous, I fancy; I break down over the
easiest stroke—in fact, an easy stroke is harder for me than a
difficult one. I know I ought to make it, and just for that reason, I
suppose, I don't.”

“You don't give one the idea of a nervous man, either, Bathurst.”

“Well, I am, Doctor, constitutionally, indeed terribly so.”

“Not in business matters, anyhow,” the Doctor said, with a smile. “You
have the reputation of not minding in the slightest what responsibility
you take upon yourself, and of carrying out what you undertake in the most
resolute, I won't say high handed, manner.”

“No, it doesn't come in there,” Bathurst laughed. “Morally I am not
nervous so far as I know, physically I am. I would give a great deal if I
could get over it, but, as I have said, it is constitutional.”

“Not on your father's side, Bathurst. I knew him well, and he was a very
gallant officer.”

“No, it was the other side,” Bathurst said; “I will tell you about it some
day.”

At this moment another friend of Bathurst's came up and entered into
conversation with him.

“Well, I will go upstairs to the billiard room,” the Doctor said; “and you
will find me there, Bathurst, whenever you feel disposed to go.”

A pool had just finished when the Doctor entered the billiard room.

“That is right, Doctor, you are just in time,” Prothero said, as he
entered. “Sinclair has given up his cue; he is going to ride tomorrow, and
is afraid of shaking his nerves; you must come and play for the honor of
the corps. I am being ruined altogether, and Doolan has retired
discomfited.”

“I have not touched a cue since I went away,” the Doctor said, “but I
don't mind adding to the list of victims. Who are the winners?”

“Messenger and Jarvis have been carrying all before them; there is a
report they have just sent off two club waiters, with loads of rupees, to
their quarters. Scarsdale has been pretty well holding his own, but the
rest of us are nowhere.”

A year's want of practice, however, told, and the Doctor was added to the
list of victims: he had no difficulty in getting someone else to take his
cue after playing for half an hour.

“It shows that practice is required for everything,” he said; “before I
went away I could have given each of those men a life, now they could give
me two; I must devote half an hour a day to it till I get it back again.”

“And you shall give me a lesson, Doctor,” Captain Doolan, who had also
retired, said.

“It would be time thrown away by both of us, Doolan. You would never make
a pool player if you were to practice all your life. It is not the eye
that is wrong, but the temperament. You can make a very good shot now and
then, but you are too harum scarum and slap dash altogether. The art of
playing pool is the art of placing yourself; while, when you strike, you
have not the faintest idea where your ball is going to, and you are just
as likely to run in yourself as you are to pot your adversary. I should
abjure it if I were you, Doolan; it is too expensive a luxury for you to
indulge in.”

“You are right there, Doctor; only what is a man to do when fellows say,
'We want you to make up a pool, Doolan'?”

“I should say the reply would be quite simple. I should answer, 'I am
ready enough to play if any of you are ready to pay my losses and take my
winnings; I am tired of being as good as an annuity to you all,' for that
is what you have been for the last ten years. Why, it would be cheaper for
you to send home to England for skittles, and get a ground up here.”

“But I don't play so very badly, Doctor.”

“If you play badly enough always to lose, it doesn't matter as to the
precise degree of badness,” the Doctor retorted. “It is not surprising.
When you came out here, fourteen or fifteen years ago, boys did not take
to playing billiards, but they do now. Look at that little villain,
Richards. He has just cleared the table, and done it with all the coolness
of a professional marker. The young scoundrel ought to have been in bed
two hours ago, for I hear that tat of his is really a good one. Not that
it will make any difference to him. That sort of boy would play billiards
till the first bugle sounds in the morning, and have a wash and turn out
as fresh as paint, but it won't last, Doolan, not in this climate; his
cheeks will have fallen in and he will have crow's feet at the corners of
his eyes before another year has gone over. I like that other boy, Wilson,
better. Of course he is a cub as yet, but I should say there is good in
him. Just at present I can see he is beginning to fancy himself in love
with Miss Hannay. That will do him good; it is always an advantage to a
lad like that to have a good honest liking for a nice girl. Of course it
comes to nothing, and for a time he imagines himself the most unhappy of
mortals, but it does him good for all that; fellows are far less likely to
get into mischief and go to the bad after an affair of that sort. It gives
him a high ideal, and if he is worth anything he will try to make himself
worthy of her, and the good it does him will continue even after the charm
is broken.”

“What a fellow you are, Doctor,” Captain Doolan said, looking down upon
his companion, “talking away like that in the middle of this racket, which
would be enough to bother Saint Patrick himself!”

“Well, come along downstairs, Doolan; we will have a final peg and then be
off; I expect Bathurst is beginning to fidget before now.”

“It will do him good,” Captain Doolan said disdainfully. “I have no
patience with a man who is forever working himself to death, riding about
the country as if Old Nick were behind him, and never giving himself a
minute for diversion of any kind. Faith, I would rather throw myself down
a well and have done with it, than work ten times as hard as a black
nigger.”

“Well, I don't think, Doolan,” the Doctor said dryly, “you are ever likely
to be driven to suicide by any such cause.”

“You are right there, Doctor,” the other said contentedly. “No man can
throw it in my teeth that I ever worked when I had no occasion to work. If
there were a campaign, I expect I could do my share with the best of them,
but in quiet times I just do what I have to do, and if anyone has an
anxiety to take my place in the rota for duty, he is as welcome to it as
the flowers of May. I had my share of it when I was a subaltern; there is
no better fellow living than the Major, but when he was Captain of my
company he used to keep me on the run by the hour together, till I wished
myself back in Connaught, and anyone who liked it might have had the whole
of India for anything I cared; he was one of the most uneasy creatures I
ever came across.”

“The Major is a good officer, Doolan, and you were as lazy a youngster,
and as hard a bargain, as the Company ever got. You ought to thank your
stars that you had the good luck in having a Captain who knew his
business, and made you learn yours. Why, if you had had a man like Rintoul
as your Captain, you would never have been worth your salt.”

“You are not complimentary, Doctor; but then nobody looks for compliments
from you.”

“I can pay compliments if I have a chance,” the Doctor retorted, “but it
is very seldom I get one of doing so—at least, without lying. Well,
Bathurst, are you ready to turn in?”

“Quite ready, Doctor; that is one of the advantages of not caring for
races; the merits and demerits of the horses that run tomorrow do not in
the slightest degree affect me, and even the news that all the favorites
had gone wrong would not deprive me of an hour's sleep.”

“I think it a good thing to take an interest in racing, Bathurst. Take men
as a whole: out here they work hard—some of them work tremendously
hard—and unless they get some change to their thoughts, some sort of
recreation, nineteen out of twenty will break down sooner or later. If
they don't they become mere machines. Every man ought to have some sort of
hobby; he need not ride it to death, but he wants to take some sort of
interest in it. I don't care whether he takes to pig sticking, or racing,
or shooting, or whether he goes in for what I may call the milder kinds of
relaxation, such as dining out, billiards, whist, or even general
philandering. Anything is better than nothing—anything that will
take his mind off his work. As far as I can see, you don't do anything.”

“Therefore I shall either break down or become a machine, Doctor?”

“One or the other certainly, Bathurst. You may smile, but I mean what I
say. I have seen other young fellows just as full of work and enthusiasm
as you are, but I have never seen an exception to the rule, unless, of
course, they took up something so as to give their minds a rest.”

“The Doctor has just been scolding me because I am not fond enough of
work,” Captain Doolan laughed.

“You are differently placed, Doolan,” the Doctor said. “You have got
plenty of enthusiasm in your nature—most Irishmen have—but you
have had nothing to stir it. Life in a native regiment in India is an easy
one. Your duties are over in two or three hours out of the twenty-four,
whereas the work of a civilian in a large district literally never ends,
unless he puts a resolute stop to it. What with seeing people from morning
until night, and riding about and listening to complaints, every hour of
the day is occupied, and then at night there are reports to write and
documents of all sorts to go through. It is a great pity that there cannot
be a better division of work, though I own I don't see how it is to be
managed.”

By this time they were walking towards the lines.

“I should not mind taking a share of the civil work at the station,”
Captain Doolan said, “if they would make our pay a little more like that
of the civilians.”

“There is something in that, Doolan,” the Doctor agreed; “it is just as
hard work having nothing to do as it is having too much; and I have always
been of opinion that the tremendous disproportion between the pay of a
military man and of a civilian of the same age is simply monstrous. Well,
goodnight, Doolan; I hope you will tell Mrs. Doolan that the credit is
entirely due to me that you are home at the reasonable hour of one
o'clock, instead of dropping in just in time to change for parade.”

“A good fellow,” the Doctor said, as he walked on with Bathurst; “he would
never set the Thames on fire; but he is an honest, kindly fellow. He would
make a capital officer if he were on service. His marriage has been an
excellent thing for him. He had nothing to do before but to pass away his
time in the club or mess house, and drink more than was good for him. But
he has pulled himself round altogether since he married. His wife is a
bright, clever little woman, and knows how to make the house happy for
him; if he had married a lackadaisical sort of a woman, the betting is he
would have gone to the bad altogether.”

“I only met him once or twice before,” Bathurst said. “You see I am not
here very often, and when I am it is only on business, so I know a very
few people here except those I have to deal with, and by the time I have
got through my business I am generally so thoroughly out of temper with
the pig headed stupidity and obstinacy of people in general, that I get
into my buggy and drive straight away.”

“I fancy you irritate them as much as they irritate you, Bathurst. Well,
here we are; now we will have a quiet cheroot and a peg, to quiet our
nerves after all that din, before we turn in. Let us get off our coats and
collars, and make ourselves comfortable; it is a proof of the bestial
stupidity of mankind that they should wear such abominations as dress
clothes in a climate like this. Here, boy, light the candles and bring two
sodas and brandies.”

“Well, Bathurst,” he went on, when they had made themselves comfortable in
two lounging chairs, “what do you thing of Miss Hannay?”

“I was prepared to admire her, Doctor, from what you said; it is not very
often that you overpraise things; but she is a charming girl, very pretty
and bright, frank and natural.”

“She is all that,” the Doctor said. “We were four months on the voyage
out, and I saw enough of her in that time to know her pretty thoroughly.”

“What puzzles me about her,” Bathurst said, “is that I seemed to know her
face. Where I saw her, and under what circumstances, I have been puzzling
myself half the evening to recall, but I have the strongest conviction
that I have met her.”

“You are dreaming, man. You have been out here eight years; she was a
child of ten when you left England! You certainly have not seen her, and
as I know pretty well every woman who has been in this station for the
last five or six years, I can answer for it that you have not seen anyone
in the slightest degree resembling her.”

“That is what I have been saying to myself, Doctor, but that does not in
the slightest degree shake my conviction about it.”

“Then you must have dreamt it,” the Doctor said decidedly. “Some fool of a
poet has said, 'Visions of love cast their shadows before,' or something
of that sort, which of course is a lie; still, that is the only way that I
can account for it.”

Bathurst smiled faintly. “I don't think the quotation is quite right,
Doctor; anyhow, I am convinced that the impression is far too vivid to
have been the result of a dream.”

“By the way, Bathurst,” the Doctor said, suddenly changing his
conversation, “what do you think of this talk we hear about chupaties
being sent round among the native troops, and the talk about greased
cartridges. You see more of the natives than anyone I know; do you think
there is anything brewing in the air?”

“If there is, Doctor, I am certain it is not known to the natives in
general. I see no change whatever in their manner, and I am sure I know
them well enough to notice any change if it existed. I know nothing about
the Sepoys, but Garnet tells me that the Company at Deennugghur give him
nothing to complain of, though they don't obey orders as smartly as usual,
and they have a. sullen air as they go about their work.”

“I don't like it, Bathurst. I do not understand what the chupaties mean,
but I know that there is a sort of tradition that the sending of them
round has always preceded trouble. The Sepoys have no reason for
discontent, but there has been no active service lately, and idleness is
always bad for men. I can't believe there is any widespread
dissatisfaction among them, but there is no doubt whatever that if there
is, and it breaks out, the position will be a very serious one. There are
not half enough white troops in India, and the Sepoys may well think that
they are masters of the situation. It would be a terrible time for
everyone in India if they did take it into their heads to rise.”

“I can't believe they would be mad enough to do that, Doctor; they have
everything to lose by it, and nothing to gain, that is, individually; and
we should be sure to win in the long run, even if we had to conquer back
India foot by foot.”

“That is all very well, Bathurst; we may know that we could do it, but
they don't know it. They are ignorant altogether of the forces we could
put into the field were there a necessity to make the effort. They
naturally suppose that we can have but a few soldiers, for in all the
battles we have fought there have always been two or three Sepoy regiments
to one English. Besides, they consider themselves fully a match for us.
They have fought by us side by side in every battlefield in India, and
have done as well as we have. I don't see what they should rise for. I
don't even see whose interest it is to bring a rising about, but I do know
that if they rise we shall have a terrible time of it. Now I think we may
as well turn in. You won't take another peg? Well, I shall see you in the
morning. I shall be at the hospital by half past six, and shall be in at
half past eight to breakfast. You have only got to shout for my man, and
tell him whether you will have tea, coffee, or chocolate, any time you
wake.”

“I shall be about by six, Doctor; five is my general hour, but as it is
past one now I dare say I shall be able to sleep on for an hour later,
especially as there is nothing to do.”

“You can go round the hospital with me, if you like,” the Doctor said, “if
you will promise not to make a dozen suggestions for the improvement of
things in general.”

Isobel Hannay came down to breakfast in high spirits upon the morning of
the races. The dinner had gone off excellently. The dinner table, with its
softly shaded lamps, and the Doctor's arrangements of the flowers, had
been, she thought, perfection, and everything had passed off without a
hitch. Her duties as a hostess had been much lighter than she had
anticipated. Mrs. Hunter was a very pleasant, motherly woman, and the
girls, who had only come out from England four months before, were fresh
and unaffected, and the other people had all been pleasant and chatty.

Altogether, she felt that her first dinner party had been a great success.

She was looking forward now with pleasant anticipation to the day. She had
seen but little of the natives so far, and she was now to see them at
their best. Then she had never been present at a race, and everything
would be new and exciting.

“Well, uncle, what time did you get in?” she asked, as she stepped out
into the veranda to meet him on his return from early parade. “It was too
bad of you and Mr. Hunter running off instead of waiting to chat things
over.”

“I have no doubt you ladies did plenty of that, my dear.”

“Indeed, we didn't, uncle; you see they had had a very long drive, and
Mrs. Hunter insisted on the girls going to bed directly you all went out,
and as I could not sit up by myself, I had to go too.”

“We were in at half past twelve,” the Major said. “I can stand a good deal
of smoke, but the club atmosphere was too thick for me.”

“Everything went off very well yesterday, didn't it?” she asked.

“Very well, I thought, my dear, thanks to you and the Doctor and Rumzan.”

“I had very little to do with it,” she laughed.

“Well, I don't think you had much to do with the absolute arrangements,
Isobel, but I thought you did very well as hostess; it seemed to me that
there was a good deal of laughing and fun at your end of the table.”

“Yes; you see we had the two Miss Hunters and the Doctor there, and Mr.
Gregson, who took me in, turned out a very merry old gentleman.”

“He would not be pleased if he heard you call him old, Isobel.”

“Well, of course he is not absolutely old, but being a commissioner, and
all that sort of thing, gives one the idea of being old; but there are the
others.”

And they went into the breakfast room.

The first race was set for two o'clock, and at half past one Mrs. Hunter's
carriage, with the four ladies, arrived at the inclosure. The horses were
taken out, and the carriage wheeled into its place, and then Isobel and
the two Miss Hunters prepared to enjoy the scene.

It was a very gay one. The course was at present covered with a throng of
natives in their bright colored garments, and mixed with them were the
scarlet uniforms of the Sepoys of the 103d and other regiments. On the
opposite side were a number of native vehicles of various descriptions,
and some elephants with painted faces and gorgeous trappings, and with
howdahs shaded by pavilions glittering with gilt and silver.

On either side of their vehicle a long line of carriages was soon formed
up, and among these were several occupied by gayly dressed natives, whose
rank gave them an entrance to the privileged inclosure. The carriages were
placed three or four yards back from the rail, and the intervening space
was filled with civilian and military officers, in white or light attire,
and with pith helmet or puggaree; many others were on horseback behind the
carriages.

“It is a bright scene, Miss Hannay,” the Doctor said, coming up to the
carriage.

“Wonderfully pretty, Doctor!”

“An English race course doesn't do after this, I can tell you. I went down
to the Derby when I was at home, and such an assembly of riff raff I never
saw before and never wish to see again.”

“These people are more picturesque, Dr. Wade,” Mrs. Hunter said, “but that
is merely a question of garment; these people perhaps are no more
trustworthy than those you met on the racecourse at home.”

“I was speaking of them purely as a spectacle; individually I have no
doubt one would be safer among the English roughs and betting men than
among these placid looking natives. The one would pick your pockets of
every penny you have got if they had the chance, the other would cut your
throat with just as little compunction.”

“You don't really mean that, Dr. Wade?” Isobel said.

“I do indeed, Miss Hannay; the Oude men are notorious brawlers and
fighters, and I should say that the roughs of Cawnpore and Lucknow could
give long odds to those of any European city, and three out of four of
those men you see walking about there would not only cut the throat of a
European to obtain what money he had about him, but would do so without
that incentive, upon the simple ground that he hated us.”

“But why should he hate us, Doctor? he is none the worse off now than he
was before we annexed the country.”

“Well, yes, that class of man is worse off. In the old days every noble
and Zemindar kept up a little army for the purpose of fighting his
neighbors, just as our Barons used to do in the happy olden times people
talk of. We have put down private fighting, and the consequence is these
men's occupations are gone, and they flock to great towns and there live
as best they can, ready to commit any crime whatever for the sum of a few
rupees.

“There is Nana Sahib.”

Isobel looked round and saw a carriage with a magnificent pair of horses,
in harness almost covered with silver ornaments, drive up to a place that
had been kept vacant for it. Four natives were sitting in it.

“That is the Rajah,” the Doctor said, “the farther man, with that aigrette
of diamonds in his turban. He is Oriental today, but sometimes he affects
English fashions. He is a very cheery fellow, he keeps pretty well open
house at Bithoor, has a billiard table, and a first rate cellar of wine,
carriages for the use of guests—in fact, he does the thing really
handsomely.”

“Here is my opera glass,” Mrs. Hunter said. Isobel looked long and fixedly
at the Rajah.

“Well, what do you think of him?” the Doctor asked as she lowered it.

“I do not know what to think of him,” she said; “his face does not tell me
anything, it is like looking at a mask; but you see I am not accustomed to
read brown men's characters, they are so different from Europeans, their
faces all seem so impassive. I suppose it is the way in which they are
brought up and trained.”

“Ages of tyranny have made them supple and deceitful,” the Doctor said,
“but of course less so here than among the Bengallies, who, being
naturally unwarlike and cowardly, have always been the slaves of some
master or other.

“You evidently don't like the Nana, Miss Hannay. I am rather glad you
don't, for he is no great favorite of mine, though he is so generally
popular in the station here. I don't like him because it is not natural
that he should be so friendly with us. We undoubtedly, according to native
notions, robbed him of one of the finest positions in India by refusing to
acknowledge his adoption. We have given him a princely revenue, but that,
after all, is a mere trifle to what he would have had as Peishwa. Whatever
virtues the natives of this country possess, the forgiving of injuries is
not among them, and therefore I consider it to be altogether unnatural
that he, having been, as he at any rate and everyone round him must
consider, foully wronged, should go out of his way to affect our society
and declare the warmest friendship for us.”

The Rajah was laughing and talking with General Wheeler and the group of
officers round his carriage.

Again Isobel raised the glasses. “You are right, Doctor,” she said, “I
don't like him.”

“Well, there is one comfort, it doesn't matter whether he is sincere or
not, he is powerless to hurt us. I don't see any motive for his pretending
to be friendly if he is not, but I own that I should like him better if he
sulked and would have nothing to say to us, as would be the natural
course.”

The bell now began to ring, and the native police cleared the course.
Major Hannay and Mr. Hunter, who had driven over in the buggy, came up and
took their places on the box of the carriage.

“Here are cards of the races,” he said. “Now is the time, young ladies, to
make your bets.”

“I don't know even the name of anyone in this first race,” Isobel said,
looking at the card.

“That doesn't matter in the least, Miss Hannay,” Wilson, who had just come
up to the side of the carriage, said. “There are six horses in; you pick
out any one you like, and I will lay you five pairs of gloves to one
against him.”

“But how am I to pick out when I don't know anything about them, Mr.
Wilson? I might pick out one that had no chance at all.”

“Yes; but you might pick out the favorite, Miss Hannay, so that it is
quite fair.”

“Don't you bet, Isobel,” her uncle said. “Let us have a sweepstake
instead.”

“What is a sweepstake, uncle?”

There was a general laugh.

“Well, my dear, we each put in a rupee. There are six of us, and there are
Wilson and the Doctor. You will go in, Doctor, won't you?”

“Yes; I don't mind throwing away a rupee, Major.”

“Very well, that makes eight. We put eight pieces of paper in the hat. Six
of them have got the names of the horses on, the other two are blank. Then
we each pull out one. Whoever draws the name of the horse that wins takes
five rupees, the holder of the second two, and the third saves his stake.
You shall hold the stakes, Mrs. Hunter. We have all confidence in you.”

The slips were drawn.

“My horse is Bruce,” Isobel said.

“There he is, Miss Hannay,” Wilson, who had drawn a blank, said, as a
horse whose rider had a straw colored jacket and cap came cantering along
the course. “This is a race for country horses—owners up. That means
ridden by their owners. That is Pearson of the 13th Native Cavalry. He
brought the horse over from Lucknow.”

“What chance has he?”

“I have not the least idea, Miss Hannay. I did not hear any betting on
this race at all.”

“That is a nice horse, uncle,” Isobel said, as one with a rider in black
jacket, with red cap, came past.

“That is Delhi. Yes, it has good action.”

“That is mine,” the eldest Miss Hunter said.

“The rider is a good looking young fellow,” the Doctor said, “and is
perfectly conscious of it himself. Who is he, Wilson? I don't know him.”

“He is a civilian. Belongs to the public works, I think.”

The other horses now came along, and after short preliminary canters the
start was made. To Isobel's disappointment her horse was never in the
race, which Delhi looked like winning until near the post, when a rather
common looking horse, which had been lying a short distance behind him,
came up with a rush and won by a length.

“I don't call that fair,” Miss Hunter said, “when the other was first all
along. I call that a mean way of winning, don't you, father?”

“Well, no, my dear. It was easy to see for the last quarter of a mile that
the other was making what is called 'a waiting race' of it, and was only
biding his time. There is nothing unfair in that, I fancy Delhi might have
won if he had had a better jockey. His rider never really called upon him
till it was too late. He was so thoroughly satisfied with himself and his
position in the race that he was taken completely by surprise when
Moonshee came suddenly up to him.”

“Well, I think it is very hard upon Delhi, father, after keeping ahead all
the way and going so nicely. I think everyone ought to do their best from
the first.”

“I fancy you are thinking, Miss Hunter,” the Doctor said, “quite as much
that it is hard on you being beaten after your hopes had been raised, as
it is upon the horse.”

“Perhaps I am, Doctor,” she admitted.

“I think it is much harder on me,” Isobel said. “You have had the
satisfaction of thinking all along that your horse was going to win, while
mine never gave me the least bit of hope.”

“The proper expression, Miss Hannay, is, your horse never flattered you.”

“Then I think it is a very silly expression, Mr. Wilson, because I don't
see that flattery has anything to do with it.”

“Ah, here is Bathurst,” the Doctor said. “Where have you been, Bathurst?
You slipped away from me just now.”

“I've just been talking to the Commissioner, Doctor. I have been trying to
get him to see—”

“Why, you don't mean to say,” the Doctor broke in, “that you have been
trying to cram your theories down his throat on a racecourse?”

“It was before the race began,” Bathurst said, “and I don't think the
Commissioner has any more interest in racing than I have.”

“Not in racing,” the Doctor agreed, “but I expect he has an interest in
enjoying himself generally, which is a thing you don't seem to have the
most remote idea of. Here we are just getting up a sweepstake for the next
race; hand over a rupee and try to get up an interest in it. Do try and
forget your work till the race is over. I have brought you here to do you
good. I regard you as my patient, and I give you my medical orders that
you are to enjoy yourself.”

Bathurst laughed.

“I am enjoying myself in my way, Doctor.”

“Who is that very pretty woman standing up in the next carriage but one?”
Isobel asked.

“She comes from an out station,” the Doctor repeated; “she is the wife of
the Collector there, but I think she likes Cawnpore better than Boorgum;
her name is Rose.”

“Is that her husband talking to her?”

“No; that is a man in the Artillery here, I think.”

“Yes,” the Major said, “that is Harrowby, a good looking fellow, and quite
a ladies' man.”

“Do you mean a man ladies like, uncle, or who likes the society of
ladies?”

“Both in his case, I should fancy,” the Major said; “I believe he is
considered one of the best looking men in the service.”

“I don't see why he should be liked for that,” Isobel said. “As far as I
have seen, good looking men are not so pleasant as others. I suppose it is
because they are conscious of their own good looks, and therefore do not
take the trouble of being amusing. We had one very good looking man on
board ship, and he was the dullest man to talk to on board. No, Doctor, I
won't have any names mentioned, but I am right, am I not?”

“He was a dull specimen, certainly,” the Doctor said, “but I think you are
a little too sweeping.”

“I don't mean all good looking men, of course, but men who what I call go
in for being good looking. I don't know whether you know what I mean. What
are you smiling at, Mr. Wilson?”

“I was thinking of two or three men I know to whom your description
applies, Miss Hannay; but I must be going—they are just going to
start the next race, and mine is the one after, so I must go and get
ready. You wish me success, don't you?”

“I wish you all the success you deserve. I can't say more than that, can
I?”

“I am afraid that is saying very little,” he laughed. “I don't expect to
win, but I do hope I shall beat Richards, because he is so cock sure he
will beat me.”

This wish was not gratified. The first and second horses made a close race
of it; behind them by ten or twelve lengths came the other horses in a
clump, Wilson and Richards singling themselves out in the last hundred
yards and making a desperate race for the third place, for which they made
a dead heat, amid great laughter from their comrades.

“That is excellent,” Major Hannay said; “you won't see anything more
amusing than that today, girls. The third horse simply saved his stake, so
that as they will of course divide, they will have paid twenty-five rupees
each for the pleasure of riding, and the point which of their tats is the
fastest remains unsettled.”

“Well, they beat a good many of them, Major Hannay,” Miss Hunter said; “so
they did not do so badly after all.”

“Oh, no, they did not do so badly; but it will be a long time before they
get over the chaff about their desperate struggle for the third place.”

The next two races attracted but slight attention from the occupants of
the carriage. Most of their acquaintances in the station came up one after
the other for a chat. There were many fresh introductions, and there was
so much conversation and laughter that the girls had little time to attend
to what was going on around them. Wilson and Richards both sauntered up
after changing, and were the subject of much chaff as to their brilliant
riding at the finish. Both were firm in the belief that the judge's
finding was wrong, and each maintained stoutly he had beaten the other by
a good head.

The race for Arabs turned out a very exciting one; the Rajah of Bithoor's
horse was the favorite, on the strength of its performances elsewhere; but
Prothero's horse was also well supported, especially in the regiment, for
the Adjutant was a first class rider, and was in great request at all the
principal meetings in Oude and the Northwest Provinces, while it was known
that the Rajah's horse would be ridden by a native. The latter was dressed
in strict racing costume, and had at the last races at Cawnpore won two or
three cups for the Rajah.

But the general opinion among the officers of the station was that
Prothero's coolness and nerve would tell. His Arab was certainly a fast
one, and had won the previous year, both at Cawnpore and Lucknow; but the
Rajah's new purchase had gained so high a reputation in the Western
Presidency as fully to justify the odds of two to one laid on it, while
four to one were offered against Prothero, and from eight to twenty to one
against any other competitor.

Prothero had stopped to have a chat at the Hunters' carriage as he walked
towards the dressing tent.

“Our hopes are all centered in you, Mr. Prothero,” Mr. Hunter said. “Miss
Hannay has been wagering gloves in a frightfully reckless way.”

“I should advise you to hedge if you can, Miss Hannay,” he said. “I think
there is no doubt that Mameluke is a good deal faster than Seila. I fancy
he is pounds better. I only beat Vincent's horse by a head last year, and
Mameluke gave him seven pounds, and beat him by three lengths at Poona. So
I should strongly advise you to hedge your bets if you can.”

“What does he mean by hedge, uncle?”

“To hedge is to bet the other way, so that one bet cancels the other.”

“Oh, I shan't do that,” she said; “I have enough money to pay my bets if I
lose.”

“Do you mean to say you mean to pay your bets if you lose, Miss Hannay?”
the Doctor asked incredulously.

“Of course I do,” she said indignantly. “You don't suppose I intend to
take the gloves if I win, and not to pay if I lose?”

“It is not altogether an uncommon practice among ladies,” the Doctor said,
“when they bet against gentlemen. I believe that when they wager against
each other, which they do not often do, they are strictly honest, but that
otherwise their memories are apt to fail them altogether.”

“That is a libel, Mrs. Hunter, is it not?”

“Not altogether, I think. Of course many ladies do pay their bets when
they lose, but others certainly do not.”

“Then I call it very mean,” Isobel said earnestly. “Why, it is as bad as
asking anyone to make you a present of so many pairs of gloves in case a
certain horse wins.”

“It comes a good deal to the same thing,” Mrs. Hunter admitted, “but to a
certain extent it is a recognized custom; it is a sort of tribute that is
exacted at race time, just as in France every lady expects a present from
every gentleman of her acquaintance on New Year's Day.”

“I wouldn't bet if I didn't mean to pay honestly,” Isobel said. “And if
Mr. Prothero doesn't win, my debts will all be honorably discharged.”

There was a hush of expectation in the crowd when the ten horses whose
numbers were up went down to the starting point, a quarter of a mile from
the stand. They were to pass it, make the circuit, and finish there, the
race being two miles. The interest of the natives was enlisted by the fact
that Nana Sahib was running a horse, while the hopes of the occupants of
the inclosure rested principally on Seila.

The flag fell to a good start; but when the horses came along Isobel saw
with surprise that the dark blue of the Rajah and the Adjutant's scarlet
and white were both in the rear of the group. Soon afterwards the scarlet
seemed to be making its way through the horses, and was speedily leading
them.

“Prothero is making the running with a vengeance,” the Major said. “That
is not like his usual tactics, Doctor.”

“I fancy he knows what he is doing,” the Doctor replied. “He saw that
Mameluke's rider was going to make a waiting race of it, and as the horse
has certainly the turn of speed on him, he is trying other tactics. They
are passing the mile post now, and Prothero is twelve or fourteen lengths
ahead. There, Mameluke is going through his horses; his rider is beginning
to get nervous at the lead Prothero has got, and he can't stand it any
longer. He ought to have waited for another half mile. You will see,
Prothero will win after all. Seila can stay, there is no doubt about
that.”

A roar of satisfaction rose from the mass of natives on the other side of
the inclosure as Mameluke was seen to leave the group of horses and
gradually to gain upon Seila.

“Oh, he will catch him, uncle!” Isobel said, tearing her handkerchief in
her excitement.

The Major was watching the horses through his field glass.

“Never mind his catching him,” he said; “Prothero is riding quietly and
steadily. Seila is doing nearly her best, but he is not hurrying her,
while the fool on Mameluke is bustling the horse as if he had only a
hundred yards further to go.”

The horses were nearing the point at which they had started, when a shout
from the crowd proclaimed that the blue jacket had come up to and passed
the scarlet. Slowly it forged ahead until it was two lengths in advance,
for a few strides their relative positions remained unaltered, then there
was a shout from the carriages; scarlet was coming up again. Mameluke's
rider glanced over his shoulder, and began to use the whip. For a few
strides the horse widened the gap again, but Prothero still sat quiet and
unmoved. Just as they reached the end of the line of carriages, Seila
again began to close up.

“Seila wins! Seila wins!” the officers shouted.

But it seemed to Isobel that this was well nigh impossible, but foot by
foot the mare came up, and as they passed the Hunters' carriage her head
was in advance.

In spite of the desperate efforts of the rider of Mameluke, another
hundred yards and they passed the winning post, Seila a length ahead.

CHAPTER VII.

The exultation of the officers of the 103d over Seila's victory was great.
They had all backed her, relying upon Prothero's riding, but although his
success was generally popular among the Europeans at the station, many had
lost considerable sums by their confidence in Mameluke's speed.

Isobel sat down feeling quite faint from the excitement.

“I did not think I could have been so excited over a race between two
horses,” she said to Mrs. Hunter; “it was not the bets, I never even
thought about them—it was just because I wanted to see Mr.
Prothero's horse win. I never understood before why people should take
such an interest in horse racing, but I quite understand now.”

“What is your size, Miss Hannay?” Wilson asked.

“Oh, I don't care anything about the gloves, Mr. Wilson; I am sorry I bet
now.”

“You needn't feel any compunction in taking them from me or from any of
us, Miss Hannay; we have all won over Seila; the regiment will have to
give a ball on the strength of it. I only put on a hundred rupees, and so
have won four hundred, but most of them have won ever so much more than
that; and all I have lost is four pair of gloves to you, and four to Mrs.
Doolan, and four to Mrs. Prothero—a dozen in all. Which do you take,
white or cream, and what is your size?”

“Six and a half, cream.”

“All right, Miss Hannay. The Nana must have lost a good lot of money; he
has been backing his horse with everyone who would lay against it.
However, it won't make any difference to him, and it is always a
satisfaction when the loss comes on someone to whom it doesn't matter a
bit. I think the regiment ought to give a dinner to Prothero, Major; it
was entirely his riding that did it; he hustled that nigger on Mameluke
splendidly. If the fellow had waited till within half a mile of home he
would have won to a certainty; I never saw anything better.”

“Well, Miss Hannay, what do you think of a horse race?” Bathurst, who had
only remained a few minutes at the carriage, asked, as he strolled up
again. “You said yesterday that you had never seen one.”

“I am a little ashamed to say I was very much excited over it, Mr.
Bathurst. You have not lost, I hope? You are looking” and she stopped.

“Shaky?” he said. “Yes; I feel shaky. I had not a penny on the race, for
though the Doctor made me put into a sweep last night at the club, I drew
a blank; but the shouting and excitement at the finish seemed to take my
breath away, and I felt quite faint.”

“That is just how I felt; I did not know men felt like that. They don't
generally seem to know what nerves are.”

“I wish I didn't; it is a great nuisance. The Doctor tries to persuade me
that it is the effect of overwork, but I have always been so from a child,
and I can't get over it.”

“You don't look nervous, Mr. Bathurst.”

“No; when a man is a fair size, and looks bronzed and healthy, no one will
give him credit for being nervous. I would give a very great deal if I
could get over it.”

“I don't see that it matters much one way or the other, Mr. Bathurst.”

“I can assure you that it does. I regard it as being a most serious
misfortune.”

Isobel was a little surprised at the earnestness with which he spoke.

“I should not have thought that,” she said quietly; “but I can understand
that it is disagreeable for a man to feel nervous, simply, I suppose,
because it is regarded as a feminine quality; but I think a good many men
are nervous. We had several entertainments on board the ship coming out,
and it was funny to see how many great strong men broke down, especially
those who had to make speeches.”

“I am not nervous in that way,” Bathurst said, with a laugh. “My pet
horror is noise; thunder prostrates me completely, and in fact all noises,
especially any sharp, sudden sound, affect me. I really find it a great
nuisance. I fancy a woman with nerves considers herself as a martyr, and
deserving of all pity and sympathy. It is almost a fashionable complaint,
and she is a little proud of it; but a man ought to have his nerves in
good order, and as much as that is expected of him unless he is a feeble
little body. There is the bell for the next race.”

“Are you going to bet on this race again, Miss Hannay?” Wilson said,
coming up.

“No, Mr. Wilson. I have done my first and last bit of gambling. I don't
think it is nice, ladies betting, after all, and if there were a hospital
here I should order you to send the money the gloves will cost you to it
as conscience money, and then perhaps you might follow my example with
your winnings.”

“My conscience is not moved in any way,” he laughed; “when it is I will
look out for a deserving charity. Well, if you won't bet I must see if I
can make a small investment somewhere else.”

“I shall see you at the ball, of course?” Isobel said, turning to Mr.
Bathurst, as Wilson left the carriage.

“No, I think not. Balls are altogether out of my line, and as there is
always a superabundance of men at such affairs here, there is no sense of
duty about it.”

“What is your line, Mr. Bathurst?”

“I am afraid I have none, Miss Hannay. The fact is, there is really more
work to be done than one can get through. When you get to know the natives
well you cannot help liking them and longing to do them some good if they
would but let you, but it is so difficult to get them to take up new
ideas. Their religion, with all its customs and ceremonies, seems designed
expressly to bar out all improvements. Except in the case of abolishing
Suttee, we have scarcely weaned them from one of their observances; and
even now, in spite of our efforts, widows occasionally immolate
themselves, and that with the general approval.

“I wish I had an army of ten thousand English ladies all speaking the
language well to go about among the women and make friends with them;
there would be more good done in that way than by all the officials in
India. They might not be able to emancipate themselves from all their
restrictions, but they might influence their children, and in time pave
the way for a moral revolution. But it is ridiculous,” he said, breaking
off suddenly, “my talking like this here, but you see it is what you call
my line, my hobby, if you like; but when one sees this hard working,
patient, gentle people making their lot so much harder than it need be by
their customs and observances one longs to force them even against their
own will to burst their bonds.”

Dr. Wade came up at this moment and caught the last word or two.

“You are incorrigible, Bathurst. Miss Hannay, I warn you that this man is
a monomaniac. I drag him away from his work, and here he is discoursing
with you on reform just as a race is going to start. You may imagine, my
dear, what a thorn he is in the side of the bigwigs. You have heard of
Talleyrand's advice to a young official, 'Above all things, no zeal.' Go
away, Bathurst; Miss Hannay wants to see the race, and even if she doesn't
she is powerless to assist you in your crusade.”

Bathurst laughed and drew off.

“That is too bad, Doctor. I was very interested. I like to talk to people
who can think of something besides races and balls and the gossip of the
station.”

“Yes, in reason, in reason, my dear; but there is a medium in all things.
I have no doubt Bathurst will be quite happy some time or other to give
you his full views on child marriages, and the remarriages of widows, and
female education, and the land settlement, and a score of other questions,
but for this a few weeks of perfect leisure will be required. Seriously,
you know that I think Bathurst one of the finest young fellows in the
service, but his very earnestness injures both his prospects and his
utility. The officials have a horror of enthusiasm; they like the cut and
dried subordinate who does his duty conscientiously, and does not trouble
his head about anything but carrying out the regulations laid down for
him.

“Theoretically I agree with most of Bathurst's views, practically I see
that a score of officials like him would excite a revolution throughout a
whole province. In India, of all places in the world, the maxim festina
lente—go slow—is applicable. You have the prejudices of a
couple of thousand years against change. The people of all things are
jealous of the slightest appearance of interference with their customs.
The change will no doubt come in time, but it must come gradually, and
must be the work of the natives themselves and not of us. To try to hasten
that time would be but to defer it. Now, child, there is the bell; now
just attend to the business in hand.”

“Very well, Doctor, I will obey your orders, but it is only fair to say
that Mr. Bathurst's remarks are only in answer to something I said,” and
Isobel turned to watch the race, but with an interest less ardent than she
had before felt.

Isobel's character was an essentially earnest one, and her life up to the
day of her departure to India had been one of few pleasures. She had
enjoyed the change and had entered heartily into it, and she was as yet by
no means tired of it, but she had upon her arrival at Cawnpore been a
little disappointed that there was no definite work for her to perform,
and had already begun to feel that a time would come when she would want
something more than gossip and amusements and the light talk of the
officers of her acquaintance to fill her life.

She had as yet no distinct interest of her own, and Bathurst's earnestness
had struck a cord in her own nature and seemed to open a wide area for
thought. She put it aside now and chatted gayly with the Hunters and those
who came up to the carriage, but it came back to her as she sat in her
room before going to bed.

Up till now she had not heard a remark since she had been in Cawnpore that
might not have been spoken had the cantonments there been the whole of
India, except that persons at other stations were mentioned. The vast,
seething native population were no more alluded to than if they were a
world apart. Bathurst's words had for the first time brought home to her
the reality of their existence, and that around this little group of
English men and women lay a vast population, with their joys and sorrows
and sufferings.

At breakfast she surprised Mrs. Hunter by asking a variety of questions as
to native customs. “I suppose you have often been in the Zenanas, Mrs.
Hunter?”

“Not often, my dear. I have been in some of them, and very depressing it
is to see how childish and ignorant the women are.”

“Can nothing be done for them, Mrs. Hunter?”

“Very little. In time I suppose there will be schools for girls, but you
see they marry so young that it is difficult to get at them.”

“How young do they marry?”

“They are betrothed, although it has all the force of a marriage, as
infants, and a girl can be a widow at two or three years old; and so, poor
little thing, she remains to the end of her life in a position little
better than that of a servant in her husband's family. Really they are
married at ten or eleven.”

Isobel looked amazed at this her first insight into native life. Mrs.
Hunter smiled.

“I heard Mr. Bathurst saying something to you about it yesterday, Miss
Hannay. He is an enthusiast; we like him very much, but we don't see much
of him.”

“You must beware of him, Miss Hannay,” Mr. Hunter said, “or he will
inoculate you with some of his fads. I do not say that he is not right,
but he sees the immensity of the need for change, but does not see fully
the immensity of the difficulty in bringing it about.”

“There is no fear of his inoculating me; that is to say of setting me to
work, for what could one woman do?”

“Nothing, my dear,” her uncle said; “if all the white women in India threw
themselves into the work, they could do little. The natives are too
jealous of what they consider intruders; the Parsees are about the only
progressive people. While ladies are welcome enough when they pay a visit
of ceremony to the Zenana of a native, if they were to try to teach their
wives to be discontented with their lots—for that is what it would
be—they would be no longer welcome. Schools are being established,
but at present these are but a drop in the ocean. Still, the work does go
on, and in time something will be done. It is of no use bothering yourself
about it, Isobel; it is best to take matters as you find them.”

Isobel made no answer, but she was much disappointed when Dr. Wade,
dropping in to tiffin, said his guest had started two hours before for
Deennugghur. He had a batch of letters and reports from his native clerk,
and there was something or other that he said he must see to at once.

“He begged me to say, Major, that he was very sorry to go off without
saying goodby, but he hoped to be in Cawnpore before long. I own that that
part of the message astonished me, knowing as I do what difficulty there
is in getting him out of his shell. He and I became great chums when I was
over at Deennugghur two years ago, and the young fellow is not given to
making friends. However, as he is not the man to say a thing without
meaning it, I suppose he intends to come over again. He knows there is
always a bed for him in my place.”

“We see very little of him,” Mary Hunter said; “he is always away on
horseback all day. Sometimes he comes in the evening when we are quite
alone, but he will never stay long. He always excuses himself on the
ground that he has a report to write or something of that sort. Amy and I
call him 'Timon of Athens.'”

“There is nothing of Timon about him,” the Doctor remarked dogmatically.
“That is the way with you young ladies—you think that a man's first
business in life is to be dancing attendance on you. Bathurst looks at
life seriously, and no wonder, going about as he does among the natives
and listening to their stories and complaints. He puts his hand to the
plow, and does not turn to the right or left.”

“Still, Doctor, you must allow,” Mrs. Hunter said gravely, “that Mr.
Bathurst is not like most other men.”

“Certainly not,” the Doctor remarked. “He takes no interest in sport of
any kind; he does not care for society; he very rarely goes to the club,
and never touches a card when he does; and yet he is the sort of man one
would think would throw himself into what is going on. He is a strong,
active, healthy man, whom one would expect to excel in all sorts of
sports; he is certainly good looking; he talks extremely well, and is, I
should say, very well read and intelligent.”

“He can be very amusing when he likes, Doctor. Once or twice when he has
been with us he has seemed to forget himself, as it were, and was full of
fun and life. You must allow that it is a little singular that a man like
this should altogether avoid society, and night and day be absorbed in his
work.”

“I have thought sometimes,” Mr. Hunter said, “that Bathurst must have had
some great trouble in his life. Of what nature I can, of course, form no
idea. He was little more than twenty when he came out here, so I should
say that it was hardly a love affair.”

“That is always the way, Hunter. If a man goes his own way, and that way
does not happen to be the way of the mess, it is supposed that he must
have had trouble of some sort. As Bathurst is the son of a distinguished
soldier, and is now the owner of a fine property at home, I don't see what
trouble he can have had. He may possibly, for anything I know, have had
some boyish love affairs, but I don't think he is the sort of man to allow
his whole life to be affected by any foolery of that sort. He is simply an
enthusiast.

“It is good for mankind that there should be some enthusiasts. I grant
that it would be an unpleasant world if we were all enthusiasts, but the
sight of a man like him throwing his whole life and energy into his work,
and wearing himself out trying to lessen the evils he sees around him,
ought to do good to us all. Look at these boys,” and he apostrophized
Wilson and Richards, as they appeared together at the door. “What do they
think of but amusing themselves and shirking their duties as far as
possible?”

“Oh, I say, Doctor,” Wilson exclaimed, astonished at this sudden attack,
“what are you pitching into us like that for? That is not fair, is it,
Major? We amuse ourselves, of course, when there is nothing else to do,
but I am sure we don't shirk our work. You don't want us to spend our
spare time in reading Greek, I suppose?”

“No; but you might spend some of it very profitably in learning some of
these native languages,” the Doctor said. “I don't believe that you know
above a dozen native words now. You can shout for brandy and water, and
for a light for your cigars, but I fancy that that is about the extent of
it.”

“We are going to have a moonshee next week, Doctor,” Wilson said, a little
crestfallen, “and a horrid nuisance it will be.”

“That is only because you are obliged to pass in the vernacular, Wilson.
So you need not take any credit to yourself on that account.”

“Doctor, you are in one of your worst possible tempers this morning,”
Isobel said. “You snap at us all round. You are quite intolerable this
morning.”

“I am rather put out by Bathurst running away in this fashion, Miss
Hannay. I had made up my mind that he would stop three or four days
longer, and it is pleasant to have someone who can talk and think about
something besides horses and balls. But I will go away; I don't want to be
the disturbing element; and I have no doubt that Richards is burning to
tell you the odds on some of the horses today.”

“Shall we see you on the racecourse, Doctor?” the Major asked, as the
Doctor moved towards the door.

“You will not, Major; one day is enough for me. If they would get up a
donkey race confined strictly to the subalterns of the station, I might
take the trouble to go and look at it.”

“The Doctor is in great form today,” Wilson said good temperedly, after
the laugh which followed the Doctor's exit had subsided; “and I am sure we
did nothing to provoke him.”

“You got into his line of fire, Wilson,” the Major said; “he is explosive
this morning, and has been giving it to us all round. However, nobody
minds what the Doctor says; his bark is very bad, but he has no bite. Wait
till you are down with the fever, and you will find him devote himself to
you as if he were your father.”

“He is one of the kindest men in the world,” Isobel agreed warmly, thereby
effectually silencing Richards, who had just pulled up his shirt collar
preparatory to a sarcastic utterance respecting him.

Isobel, indeed, was in full sympathy with the Doctor, for she, too, was
disappointed at Bathurst's sudden departure. She had looked forward to
learning a good deal from him about the native customs and ways, and had
intended to have a long talk with him. She was perhaps, too, more
interested generally in the man himself than she would have been willing
to admit.

That evening the party went to an entertainment at Bithoor. Isobel and the
girls were delighted with the illuminations of the gardens and with the
palace itself, with its mixture of Eastern splendor and European luxury.
But Isobel did not altogether enjoy the evening.

“I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your success last night,
Isobel,” Dr. Wade said, when he dropped in after breakfast. “Everyone has
been telling me that the Rajah paid you the greatest attention, and that
there is the fiercest gnashing of teeth among what must now be called the
ex-queens of the station.”

“I don't know who told you such nonsense, Doctor,” Isobel replied hotly.
“The Rajah quite spoilt the evening for me. I have been telling Mrs.
Hunter so. If we had not been in his own house, I should have told him
that I should enjoy the evening very much more if he would leave me alone
and let me go about and look quietly at the place and the gardens, which
are really beautiful. No doubt he is pleasant enough, and I suppose I
ought to have felt flattered at his walking about with me and so on, but I
am sure I did not. What pleasure does he suppose an English girl can have
in listening to elaborate compliments from a man as yellow as a guinea?”

“Think of his wealth, my dear.”

“What difference does his wealth make?” Isobel said. “As far as I have
seen, I do not think that rich Englishmen are more amusing than others,
and if he had all the wealth of India, that would not improve Nana Sahib
in my eyes. There are women, of course, who do think a great deal about
money, and who will even marry men for it, but even women who would do
that could not, I should think, care anything about the wealth of a Hindoo
they cannot marry.”

“Not directly, my dear,” Mrs. Hunter said; “but people may be flattered
with the notice and admiration of a person of importance and great wealth,
even if he is a Hindoo.”

“Besides,” the Doctor put in, “the Rajah is considered to be a great
connoisseur of English beauty, and has frequently expressed his deep
regret that his religion prevented his marrying an English lady.”

“I should be very sorry for the English girl who would marry him, religion
or not.”

“I think you are rather hard upon the Nana, Isobel,” the Major said. “He
is a general favorite; he is open handed and liberal; very fond of
entertaining; a great admirer of us as a nation. He is a wonderfully well
read man for a Hindoo, can talk upon almost every subject, and is really a
pleasant fellow.”

“I don't like him; I don't like him at all,” Isobel said positively.

“Ah, that is only because you thought he made you a little more
conspicuous than you liked by his attentions to you, Isobel.”

“No, indeed, uncle; that was very silly and ridiculous, but I did not like
the man himself, putting that aside altogether. It was like talking to a
man with a mask on: it gave me a creepy feeling. It did not seem to me
that one single word he said was sincere, but that he was acting; and over
and over again as he was talking I said to myself, 'What is this man
really like? I know he is not the least bit in the world what he pretends
to be. But what is the reality?' I felt just the same as I should if I had
one of those great snakes they bring to our veranda coiling round me. The
creature might look quiet enough, but I should know that if it were to
tighten it would crush me in a moment.”

The Major and Mrs. Hunter both laughed at her earnestness, but the Doctor
said gravely, “Is that really how you felt about him when he was talking
to you, Miss Hannay? I am sorry to hear you say that. I own that my
opinion has been that of everyone here, that the Rajah is a good fellow
and a firm friend of the Europeans, and my only doubt has arisen from the
fact that it was unnatural he should like us when he has considerable
grounds for grievance against us. We have always relied upon his
influence, which is great among his countrymen, being thrown entirely into
the scale on our side if any trouble should ever arise; but I own that
what you say makes me doubt him. I would always take the opinion of a dog
or a child about anyone in preference to my own.”

“You are not very complimentary, Doctor,” Isobel laughed.

“Well, my dear, a young girl who has not mixed much in the world and had
her instincts blunted is in that respect very much like a child. She may
be deceived, and constantly is deceived where her heart is concerned, and
is liable to be taken in by any plausible scoundrel; but where her heart
is not concerned her instincts are true. When I see children and dogs
stick to a man I am convinced that he is all right, though I may not
personally have taken to him. When I see a dog put his tail between his
legs and decline to accept the advances of a man, and when I see children
slip away from him as soon as they can, I distrust him at once, however
pleasant a fellow he may be. As the Rajah, from all I heard, certainly
laid himself out to be agreeable to you last night, and yet in spite of
that you felt as you say you did about him, I am bound to say that without
at once admitting that my impressions about him were wrong, I consider
that there is good ground for thinking the matter over again.”

“What nonsense, Doctor,” the Major laughed. “Everyone here has known the
Rajah for years. He is a most popular man, everyone likes him, among the
ladies especially he is a great favorite. It is ridiculous to suggest that
everyone should have been wrong about him, merely because Isobel takes a
prejudice against him, and that as far as I can see is simply because his
admiration for her was somewhat marked.”

Isobel gave a little shudder. “Don't talk about admiration, uncle; that is
not the word for it; I don't know what it was like. They say snakes
fascinate birds before they eat them by fixing their eyes upon them. I
should say it was something of that sort of look.”

“Well, my dear, he is not going to eat you, that is certain,” the Major
said; “and I can assure you that his approbation goes for a great deal
here, and that after this you will go up several pegs in Cawnpore
society.”

Isobel tossed her head. “Then I am sorry for Cawnpore society; it is a
matter of entire indifference to me whether I go up or down in its
opinion.”

A fortnight later the Nana gave another entertainment. A good deal to her
uncle's vexation, Isobel refused to go when the time came.

“But what am I to say, my dear?” he asked in some perplexity.

“You can say anything you like, uncle; you can say that I am feeling the
heat and have got a bad headache, which is true; or you can say that I
don't care for gayety, which is also true. I shall be very much more
comfortable and happy at home by myself.”

The Hunters had by this time returned to Deennugghur, and the Major drove
over to Bithoor accompanied only by Dr. Wade. He was rather surprised when
the Doctor said he would go, as it was very seldom that he went out to
such entertainments.

“I am not going to amuse myself, Major; I want to have a good look at the
Nana again; I am not comfortable since Isobel gave us her opinion of him.
He is an important personage, and if there is any truth in these rumors
about disaffection among the Sepoys his friendship may be of the greatest
assistance to us.”

So the Doctor was with Major Hannay when the latter made his excuses for
Isobel's absence on the ground that she was not feeling very well.

The Nana expressed great regret at the news, and said that with the
Major's permission he would call in the morning to inquire after Miss
Hannay's health.

“He did not like it,” the Doctor said, when they had strolled away
together. “He was very civil and polite, but I could see that he was
savage. I fancy he got up this fete principally in her honor. It is not
often he has two so close together.”

“Oh, that is nonsense, Doctor.”

“I don't think so. He has done the same sort of thing several times
before, when he has been specially taken by some fresh face from England.”

Others besides the Doctor remarked that the Rajah was not quite himself
that evening. He was courteous and polite to his guests, but he was
irritable with his own people, and something had evidently gone wrong with
him.

The next day he called at the Major's. The latter had not told Isobel of
his intention, for he guessed that had he done so she would have gone
across to Mrs. Doolan or one of her lady friends, and she was sitting in
the veranda with him and young Wilson when the carriage drove up.

“I was so sorry to hear that you were unwell, Miss Hannay,” the Nana said
courteously. “It was a great disappointment to me that you were unable to
accompany your uncle last night.”

“I have been feeling the heat the last few days,” Isobel said quietly,
“and, indeed, I do not care much about going out in such hot weather as
this. I have not been accustomed to much society in England, and the crowd
and the heat and the lights make my head ache.”

“You look the picture of health, Miss Hannay, but I know that it is trying
for Englishwomen when they first come into our climate; it is always a
great pleasure to me to receive English ladies at Bithoor. I hope upon the
next occasion you will be able to come.”

“I am much obliged to your highness,” she said, “but it would be a truer
kindness to let me stay quietly at home.”

“But that is selfish of you, Miss Hannay. You should think a little of the
pleasure of others as well as your own.”

“I am not conceited enough to suppose that it could make any difference to
other people's pleasure whether I am at a party or not,” Isobel said. “I
suppose you mean that as a compliment, Rajah, but I am not accustomed to
compliments, and don't like them.”

“You will have to learn to become accustomed to compliments, Miss Hannay,”
the Rajah said, with a smile; and then turning to the Doctor, began to
tell him of a tiger that had been doing a great deal of harm at a village
some thirty miles away, and offered to send some elephants over to
organize a hunt for him if he liked, an invitation that the Doctor
promptly accepted.

The visit was but a short one. The Rajah soon took his leave.

“You are wrong altogether, Isobel,” the Doctor said. “I have returned to
my conviction that the Rajah is a first rate fellow.”

“That is just because he offered you some shooting, Doctor,” Isobel said
indignantly. “I thought better of you than to suppose that you could be
bought over so easily as that.”

“She had you there, Doctor,” the Major laughed. “However, I am glad that
you will no longer be backing her in her fancies.”

“Why did you accept his invitation for us to go over and lunch there,
uncle?” Isobel asked, in a tone of annoyance.

“Because there was no reason in the world why we should refuse, my dear.
He very often has luncheon parties, and after that he will show you over
the place, and exhibit his jewels and curiosities. He said there would be
other ladies there, and I have no doubt we shall have a very pleasant
day.”

Even Isobel was obliged to confess that the visit was a pleasant one. The
Nana had asked Mrs. Cromarty, her daughters, and most of the other ladies
of the regiment, with their husbands. The lunch was a banquet, and after
it was over the parties were taken round the place, paid a visit to the
Zenana, inspected the gardens and stables, and were driven through the
park. The Nana saw that Isobel objected to be particularly noticed, and
had the tact to make his attentions so general that even she could find no
fault with him.

On the drive back she admitted to her uncle that she had enjoyed her visit
very much, and that the Rajah's manners were those of a perfect gentleman.

“But mind, uncle,” she said, “I do not retract my opinion. What the Rajah
really is I don't pretend to know, but I am quite sure that the character
of a smiling host is not his real one, and that for some reason or other
he is simply playing a part.”

“I had no idea that you were such a prejudiced little woman,” the Major
said, somewhat vexed; “but as it is no use arguing with you we had better
drop the subject.”

For the next month Cawnpore suffered a little from the reaction after the
gayety of the races, but there was no lack of topics of conversation, for
the rumors of disaffection among the troops gained in strength, and
although nothing positive was known, and everyone scoffed at the notion of
any serious trouble, the subject was so important a one that little else
was talked of whenever parties of the ladies got together.

CHAPTER VIII.

“I have some bad news, Isobel. At least I suppose you will consider it bad
news,” the Major said one morning, when he returned from the orderly room.
“You heard me say that four companies were going to relieve those at
Deennugghur. Well, I am going with them. It seems that the General is of
opinion that in the present unsettled state of affairs there ought to be a
field officer in command there, so I have to go. For myself I don't mind,
but you will find it dull in a small station like that, after the gayeties
of Cawnpore.”

“I don't mind a bit, uncle, in that respect. I don't think I care much for
gayeties, but of course the move will be a trouble. We have everything so
nice here, it will be horrid having to leave it all. How long will it be
for?”

“Six months, in the ordinary state of things, though of course something
may occur to bring us in before that. Still, the change won't be as much
trouble as you fancy. When we get there you can stay for two or three days
with the Hunters till we have got the things to rights. There is one thing
that you will be pleased about. Wade is going with us, at any rate for the
present; you are a favorite of his, you know, and I think that is the
principal reason for his going. At any rate, when he heard I was in
orders, he told the Colonel that, as there was no illness in the regiment,
he thought, if he did not object, he would change places for a bit with
M'Alaster, the assistant surgeon, who has been with the detachment at
Deennugghur for the last year, so as to give him a turn of duty at
Cawnpore, and do a little shikaring himself. There is more jungle and
better shooting round Deennugghur than there is here, and you know the
Doctor is an enthusiast that way. Of course, the Colonel agreed at once.”

“I am very glad of that, uncle; it won't seem like going to a strange
place if we have him with us, and the Hunters there, and I suppose three
or four officers of the regiment. Who are going?”

“Both your boys,” the Major laughed, “and Doolan and Rintoul.”

“When do we go, uncle?”

“Next Monday. I shall get somebody to put us up from Friday, and that
morning we will get everything dismantled here, and send them off by
bullock carts with the servants to Deennugghur, so that they will be there
by Monday morning. I will write to Hunter to pick us out the best of the
empty bungalows, and see that our fellows get to work to clean the place
up as soon as they arrive. We shall be two days on the march, and things
will be pretty forward by the time we get there.”

“And where shall we sleep on the march?”

“In tents, my dear, and very comfortable you will find them. Rumzan will
go with us, and you will find everything go on as smoothly as if you were
here. Tent life in India is very pleasant. Next year, in the cool season,
we will do an excursion somewhere, and I am sure you will find it
delightful: they don't know anything about the capabilities of tents at
home.”

“Then do I quite understand, uncle, that all I have got to do is to make a
round of calls to say goodby to everyone?”

“That is all. You will find a lot of my cards in one of those pigeon
holes; you may as well drop one wherever you go. Shall I order a carriage
from Framjee's for today?”

“No, I think not, uncle; I will go round to our own bungalows first, and
hear what Mrs. Doolan and the others think about it.”

At Mrs. Doolan's Isobel found quite an assembly. Mrs. Rintoul had come in
almost in tears, and the two young lieutenants had dropped in with Captain
Doolan, while one or two other officers had come round to commiserate with
Mrs. Doolan.

“Another victim,” the latter said, as Isobel entered.

“You look too cheerful, Miss Hannay. I find that we are expected to wear
sad countenances at our approaching banishment.”

“Are we, Mrs. Doolan? It seems to me that it won't make very much
difference to us.”

“Not make any difference, Miss Hannay!” Captain Doolan said. “Why,
Deennugghur is one of the dullest little stations on this side of India!”

“What do you mean by dull, Captain Doolan?”

“Why, there are only about six white residents there besides the troops.
Of course, as four companies are going instead of one, it will make a
difference; but there will be no gayety, no excitement, and really nothing
to do.”

“As for the gayety, I am sure I shall not regret it, Captain Doolan;
besides, our gayeties are pretty well over, except, of course, dinner
parties, and it is getting very hot for them. We shall get off having to
go out in the heat of the day to make calls, which seem to me terrible
afflictions, and I think with a small party it ought to be very sociable
and pleasant. As for excitement, I hear that there is much better shooting
there than there is here. Mrs. Hunter was telling me that they have had
some tigers that have been very troublesome round there, and you will all
have an opportunity of showing your skill and bravery. I know that Mr.
Richards and Mr. Wilson are burning to distinguish themselves.”

“It would be great fun to shoot a tiger,” Richards said. “When I came out
to India I thought there was going to be lots of tiger shooting, and I
bought a rifle on purpose, but I have never had a chance yet. Yes, we will
certainly get up a tiger hunt, won't we, Wilson? You will tell us how to
set about it, won't you, Doolan?”

“I don't shoot,” Captain Doolan said; “and if I wanted to, I am not sure
that my wife would give me leave.”

“Certainly I would not,” Mrs. Doolan said promptly. “Married men have no
right to run into unnecessary danger.”

“Dr. Wade will be able to put you in the way, Mr. Richards,” Isobel said.

“Dr. Wade!” Mrs. Rintoul exclaimed. “You don't mean to say, Miss Hannay,
that he is going with us?”

“Yes, he is going for a time, Mrs. Rintoul. My uncle told me that he had
applied to go with the detachment, and that the surgeon there would come
back to the regiment while he is away.”

“I do call that hard,” Mrs. Rintoul said. “The only thing I was glad we
were going for was that we should be under Mr. M'Alaster, who is very
pleasant, and quite understands my case, while Dr. Wade does not seem to
understand it at all, and is always so very brusque and unsympathetic.”

There was a general smile.

“Wade is worth a hundred of M'Alaster,” Captain Roberts said. “There is
not a man out here I would rather trust myself to if I were ill. He is an
awfully good fellow, too, all round, though he may be, as you say, a
little brusque in manner.”

“I call him a downright bear,” Mrs. Rintoul said angrily. “Why, only last
week he told me that if I would get up two hours earlier and go for a
brisk walk just after sunrise, and give up eating meat at tiffin, and
confine myself to two or three dishes at dinner, I should be perfectly
well in the course of a month; just as if I was in the habit of overeating
myself, when I have scarcely the appetite of a sparrow. I told Captain
Rintoul afterwards that I must consult someone else, for that really I
could not bear such rudeness.”

“I am afraid we are all against you, Mrs. Rintoul,” Mrs. Doolan said, with
a little shake of her head at Isobel, who was, she saw, going to speak out
strongly. “No one could possibly be kinder than he is when anyone is
really ill. I mean seriously ill,” she added, as Mrs. Rintoul drew herself
up indignantly. “I shall never forget how attentive he was to the children
when they were down with fever just before he went to England. He missed
his ship and lost a month of his leave because he would not go away till
they were out of danger, and there are very few men who would have done
that. I shall never forget his kindness. And now let us talk of something
else. You will have to establish a little mess on your own account, Mr.
Wilson, as both the Captains are married men, and the Major has also an
incumbrance.”

“Yes, it will be horribly dull, Mrs. Doolan. Richards and I have quarters
together here, and, of course, it will be the same there, and I am sure I
don't know what we shall find to talk about when we come to have to mess
together. Of course, here, there are the messroom and the club, and so we
get on very well, but to be together always will be awful.”

“You will really have to take to reading or something of that sort, Mr.
Wilson,” Isobel laughed.

“I always do read the Field, Miss Hannay, but that won't last for a whole
week, you know; and there is no billiard table, and no racquet court, or
anything else at Deennugghur, and one cannot always be riding about the
country.”

“We shall all have to take pity on you as much as we can,” Mrs. Doolan
said. “I must say that, like Miss Hannay, I shall not object to the
change.”

“I think it is all very well for you, Mrs. Doolan; you have children.”

“Well, Mr. Richards, I will let you both, as a great treat, take them out
for a walk sometimes of a morning instead of their going with the ayah.
That will make a change for you.”

There was a general laugh, but Wilson said manfully, “Very well, Mrs.
Doolan; I am very fond of youngsters, and I should like to take, anyhow,
the two eldest out sometimes. I don't think I should make much hand with
the other two, but perhaps Richards would like to come in and amuse them
while we are out; he is just the fellow for young ones.”

There was another laugh, in which Richards joined. “I could carry them
about on my back, and pretend to be a horse,” he said; “but I don't know
that I could amuse them in any other way.”

“You would find that very hot work, Mr. Richards,” Mrs. Doolan said; “but
I don't think we shall require such a sacrifice of you. Well, I don't
think we shall find it so bad, after all, and I don't suppose it will be
for very long; I do not believe in all this talk about chupaties, and
disaffection, and that sort of thing; I expect in three months we shall
most of us be back again.”

Ten days later the detachment was settled down in Deennugghur. The troops
were for the most part under canvas, for there was only accommodation for
a single company at the station. The two subalterns occupied a large
square tent, while the other three officers took possession of the only
three bungalows that were vacant at the station, the Doctor having a tent
to himself. The Major and Isobel had stayed for the first three days with
the Hunters, at the end of which time the bungalow had been put in perfect
order. It was far less commodious than that at Cawnpore, but Isobel was
well satisfied with it when all their belongings had been arranged, and
she soon declared that she greatly preferred Deennugghur to Cawnpore.

Those at the station heartily welcomed the accession to their numbers, and
there was an entire absence of the stiffness and formality of a large
cantonment like Cawnpore, and Isobel was free to run in as she chose to
spend the morning chatting and working with the Hunters, or Mrs. Doolan,
or with the other ladies, of whom there were three at the station.

A few days after their arrival news came in that the famous man eater,
which had for a time ceased his ravages and moved off to a different part
of the country, principally because the natives of the village near the
jungle had ceased altogether to go out after nightfall, had returned, and
had carried off herdsmen on two consecutive days.

The Doctor at once prepared for action, and agreed to allow Wilson and
Richards to accompany him, and the next day the three rode off together to
Narkeet, to which village the two herdsmen had belonged. Both had been
killed near the same spot, and the natives had traced the return of the
tiger to its lair in the jungle with its victims.

The Doctor soon found that the ordinary methods of destroying the tiger
had been tried again and again without success. Cattle and goats had been
tied up, and the native shikaris had taken their posts in trees close by,
and had watched all night; but in vain. Spring traps and deadfalls had
also been tried, but the tiger seemed absolutely indifferent to the
attractions of their baits, and always on the lookout for snares. The
attempts made at a dozen villages near the jungle had all been equally
unsuccessful.

“It is evident,” the Doctor said, “that the brute cares for nothing but
human victims. No doubt, if he were very hungry he would take a cow or a
goat, but we might wait a very long time for that; so the only thing that
I can see is to act as a bait myself.”

“How will you do that, Doctor?”

“I shall build a sort of cage near the point where the tiger has twice
entered the jungle. I will take with me in the cage a woman or girl from
the village. From time to time she shall cry out as if in pain, and as the
tiger is evidently somewhere in this neighborhood it is likely enough he
will come out to see about it.

“We must have the cage pretty strong, or I shall never get anyone to sit
with me; besides, on a dark night, there is no calculating on killing to a
certainty with the first shot, and it is just as well to be on the safe
side. In daylight it would be a different matter altogether. I can rely
upon my weapon when I can see, but on a dark night it is pretty well
guesswork.”

The villagers were at once engaged to erect a stout cage eight feet square
and four high, of beams driven into the ground six inches apart, and
roofed in with strong bars. There was a considerable difficulty in getting
anyone to consent to sit by the Doctor, but at last the widow of one of
the men who had been killed agreed for the sum of twenty-five rupees to
pass the night there, accompanied by her child four years old.

The Doctor's skill with his rifle was notorious, and it was rather the
desire of seeing her husband's death avenged than for the sake of the
money that she consented to keep watch. There was but one tree suitable
for the watchers; it stood some forty yards to the right of the cage, and
it was arranged that both the subalterns should take their station in it.

“Now look here, lads,” the Doctor said, “before we start on this business,
it must be quite settled that you do not fire till you hear my rifle. That
is the first thing; the second is that you only fire when the brute is a
fair distance from the cage. If you get excited and blaze away anyhow, you
are quite as likely to hit me as you are the tiger. Now, I object to take
any risk whatever on that score. You will have a native shikari in the
tree with you to point out the tiger, for it is twenty to one against your
making him out for yourselves. It will be quite indistinct, and you have
no chance of making out its head or anything of that sort, and you have to
take a shot at it as best you may.

“Remember there must not be a word spoken. If the brute does come, it will
probably make two or three turns round the cage before it approaches it,
and may likely enough pass close to you, but in no case fire. You can't
make sure of killing it, and if it were only wounded it would make off
into the jungle, and all our trouble would be thrown away. Also remember
you must not smoke; the tiger would smell it half a mile away, and,
besides, the sound of a match striking would be quite sufficient to set
him on his guard.”

“There is no objection, I hope, Doctor, to our taking up our flasks; we
shall want something to keep us from going to sleep.”

“No, there is no objection to that,” the Doctor said; “but mind you don't
go to sleep, for if you did you might fall off your bough and break your
neck, to say nothing of the chance of the tiger happening to be close at
hand at the time.”

Late in the afternoon the Doctor went down to inspect the cage, and
pronounced it sufficiently strong. Half an hour before nightfall he and
the woman and child took their places in it, and the two beams in the roof
that had been left unfastened to allow of their entry were securely lashed
in their places by the villagers. Wilson and Richards were helped up into
the tree, and took their places upon two boughs which sprang from the
trunk close to each other at a height of some twelve feet from the ground.
The shikari who was to wait with them crawled out, and with a hatchet
chopped off some of the small boughs and foliage so as to give them a
clear view of the ground for some distance round the cage, which was
erected in the center of a patch of brushwood, the lower portion of which
had been cleared out so that the Doctor should have an uninterrupted view
round. The boughs and leaves were gathered up by the villagers, and
carried away by them, and the watch began.

“Confound it,” Richards whispered to his companion after night fell, “it
is getting as dark as pitch; I can scarcely make out the clump where the
cage is. I should hardly see an elephant if it were to come, much less a
brute like a tiger.”

“We shall get accustomed to it presently,” Wilson replied; “at any rate
make quite sure of the direction in which the cage is in; it is better to
let twenty tigers go than to run the risk of hitting the Doctor.”

In another hour their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and they
could not only see the clump in which the cage was clearly, but could make
out the outline of the bush all round the open space in which it stood.
Both started as a loud and dismal wail rose suddenly in the air, followed
by a violent crying.

“By Jove, how that woman made me jump!” Wilson said; “it sounded quite
awful, and she must have pinched that poor little beggar of hers pretty
sharply to make him yell like that.”

A low “hush!” from the shikari at his elbow warned Wilson that he was
speaking too loudly. Hours passed by, the cries being raised at intervals.

“It is enough to give one the jumps, Richards; each time she yells I
nearly fall off my branch.”

“Keep on listening, then it won't startle you.”

“A fellow can't keep on listening,” Wilson grumbled; “I listen each time
until my ears begin to sing, and I feel stupid and sleepy, and then she
goes off again like a steam whistle; that child will be black and blue all
over in the morning.”

A warning hiss from the shikari again induced Wilson to silence.

“I don't believe the brute is coming,” he whispered, an hour later. “If it
wasn't for this bough being so hard I should drop off to sleep; my eyes
ache with staring at those bushes.”

As he spoke the shikari touched him on the shoulder and pointed. “Tiger,”
he whispered; and then did the same to Richards. Grasping their rifles,
they gazed in the direction in which he pointed, but could for some time
make out nothing. Then they saw a dim gray mass in front of the bushes,
directly on the opposite side of the open space; then from the cage, lying
almost in a direct line between it and them, rose the cry of the child.
They were neither of them at all certain that the object at which they
were gazing was the tiger. It seemed shapeless, the outline fading away in
the bush; but they felt sure that they had noticed nothing like it in that
direction before.

For two or three minutes they remained in uncertainty, then the outline
seemed to broaden, and it moved noiselessly. There could be no mistake
now; the tiger had been attracted by the cries, and as it moved along they
could see that it was making a circuit of the spot from whence the sounds
proceeded, to reconnoiter before advancing towards its prey. It kept close
to the line of bushes, and sometimes passed behind some of them. The
shikari pressed their shoulders, and a low hiss enforced the necessity for
absolute silence. The two young fellows almost held their breath; they had
lost sight of the tiger now, but knew it must be approaching them.

For two or three minutes they heard and saw nothing, then the shikari
pointed beyond them, and they almost started as they saw the tiger
retreating, and knew that it must have passed almost under them without
their noticing it. At last it reached the spot at which they had first
seen it. The child's cry, but this time low and querulous, again rose.
With quicker steps than before it moved on, but still not directly towards
the center, to the great relief of the two subalterns, who had feared that
it might attack from such a direction that they would not dare to fire for
fear of hitting the cage. Fortunately it passed that point, and,
crouching, moved towards the bushes.

Wilson and Richards had their rifles now at their shoulders, but, in the
feeble and uncertain light, felt by no means sure of hitting their mark,
though it was but some thirty yards away. Almost breathlessly they
listened for the Doctor's rifle, but both started when the flash and sharp
crack broke on the stillness. There was a sudden snarl of pain, the tiger
gave a spring in the air, and then fell, rolling over and over.

“It is not killed!” the shikari exclaimed. “Fire when it gets up.”

Suddenly it rose to its feet, and with a loud roar sprang towards the
thicket. The two subalterns fired, but the movements of the dimly seen
creature were so swift that they felt by no means sure that they had hit
it. Then came, almost simultaneously, a loud shriek from the woman, of a
very different character to the long wails she had before uttered,
followed by a sound of rending and tearing.

“He is breaking down the cage!” Richards exclaimed excitedly, as he and
Wilson hastened to ram another cartridge down their rifles. “Come, we must
go and help the Doctor.”

But a moment later came another report of a rifle, and then all was
silent. Then the Doctor's voice was heard.

“Don't get down from the tree yet, lads; I think he is dead, but it is
best to make sure first.”

There was a pause, and then another rifle shot, followed by the shout “All
right; he is as dead as a door nail now. Mind your rifles as you climb
down.”

“Fancy thinking of that,” Wilson said, “when you have just killed a tiger!
I haven't capped mine yet; have you, Richards?”

“I have just put it on, but will take it off again. Here, old man, you get
down first, and we will hand the guns to you.”—this to the shikari.

With some difficulty they scrambled down from the tree.

“Now we may as well cap our rifles,” Richards said; “the brute may not be
dead after all.”

They approached the bush cautiously.

“You are quite sure he is dead, Doctor?”

“Quite sure; do you think I don't know when a tiger is dead?”

Still holding their guns in readiness to fire, they approached the bushes.

“You can do no good until the villagers come with torches,” the Doctor
said; “the tiger is dead enough, but it is always as well to be prudent.”

The shikari had uttered a loud cry as he sprang down from the tree, and
this had been answered by shouts from the distance. In a few minutes
lights were seen through the trees, and a score of men with torches and
lanterns ran up with shouts of satisfaction.

As soon as they arrived the two young officers advanced to the cage. On
the top a tiger was lying stretched out as if in sleep; with some caution
they approached it and flashed a torch in its eyes. There was no doubt
that it was dead. The body was quickly rolled off the cage, and then a
dozen hands cut the lashing and lifted the top bars, which was deeply
scored by the tiger's claws, and the Doctor emerged.

“I am glad to be out of that,” he said; “six hours in a cage with a woman
and a crying brat is no joke.”

As soon as the Doctor had got out, the subalterns eagerly examined the
tiger, upon which the natives were heaping curses and execrations.

“How many wounds has it got?” they asked the Doctor, who repeated the
question to the shikari in his own language.

“Three, sahib. One full in the chest—it would have been mortal—two
others in the ribs by the heart.”

“No others?” the subalterns exclaimed in disgust, as the answer was
translated to them. The Doctor himself examined the tiger.

“No; you both missed, lads, but you need not be ashamed of that; it is no
easy matter to hit a tiger even at a short distance on a dark night like
this, when you can scarce make him out, and can't see the barrel of your
rifle. I ought to have told you to rub a little phosphorus off the head of
a match onto the sight. I am so accustomed to do it myself as a matter of
course that I did not think of telling you. Well, I am heartily glad we
have killed it, for by all accounts it has done an immense deal of
damage.”

“It has been a fine tiger in its time, although its skin doesn't look
much,” Wilson said; “there are patches of fur off.”

“That is generally the case with man eaters. They are mostly old tigers
who take, when they get past their strength, to killing men. I don't know
whether the flesh doesn't agree with them, but they are almost always
mangy.”

“We were afraid for a moment,” Richards said, “that the tiger was going to
break into your cage; we heard him clawing away at the timber, and as you
didn't fire again we were afraid something was the matter.”

“The mother was,” the Doctor said testily. “The moment the tiger sprang,
the woman threw herself down at full length right on the top of my second
rifle, and when I went to push her off I think she fancied the tiger had
got hold of her, for she gave a yell that fairly made me jump. I had to
push her off by main force, and then lie down on my back, so as to get the
rifle up to fire. I was sure the first shot was fatal, for I knew just
where his heart would be, but I dropped a second cartridge in, and gave
him another bullet so as to make sure. Well, if either of you want his
head or his claws, you had better say so at once, for the natives will be
singeing his whiskers off directly; the practice is a superstition of
theirs.”

“No, I don't want them,” Wilson said. “If I had put a bullet into the
brute, so that I could have said I helped to kill him, I should have liked
the head to get it preserved and sent home to my people, but as it is the
natives are welcome to it as far as I am concerned.”

Richards was of the same opinion, and so without further delay they
started back for the village, where, upon their arrival, they were greeted
with cries of joy by the women, the news having already been carried back
by a boy.

“Poor beggars!” the Doctor said. “They have been living a life of terror
for weeks. They must feel as if they had woke from a nightmare. Now, lads,
we will have some supper. I dare say you are ready for it, and I am sure I
am.”

“Is there any chance for supper, Doctor?—why, it must be two o'clock
in the morning.”

“Of course there is,” the Doctor replied. “I gave orders to my man to
begin to warm up the food as soon as he heard a gun fired, and I will
guarantee he has got everything ready by this time.”

After a hearty meal and a cigar they lay down for a few hours' sleep, and
at daybreak rode back to Deennugghur, the two subalterns rather
crestfallen at their failure to have taken any active part in killing the
tiger that had so long been a terror to the district.

“It was an awful sell missing him, Miss Hannay; I wanted to have had the
claws mounted as a necklace; I thought you would have liked it.”

“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Wilson, but I would much rather not
have had them. If the tiger hadn't been a man eater I should not have
minded, but I should never have worn as an ornament claws that had killed
lots of people—women and children too.”

“No, I never thought of that, Miss Hannay; it wouldn't have been pleasant,
now one thinks of it; still, I wish I had put a bullet into him.”

“No doubt you will do better next time, Mr. Wilson. The Doctor has been
telling me that it is extremely difficult to hit an animal in the dark
when you are not accustomed to that sort of shooting. He says he was in a
great fright all the time he was lying in the cage, and that it was an
immense relief to him when he heard your rifles go off, and found that he
wasn't hit.”

“That is too bad of him, Miss Hannay,” Wilson laughed; “we were not such
duffers as all that. I don't believe he really did think so.”

“I am sure he was in earnest, Mr. Wilson. He said he should have felt
quite safe if it had been daylight, but that in the dark people really
can't see which way the rifles are pointed, and that he remembered he had
not told you to put phosphorus on the sights.”

“It was too bad of him,” Wilson grumbled; “it would have served him right
if one of the bullets had hit a timber of the cage and given him a start;
I should like to have seen the Doctor struggling in the dark to get his
second rifle from under the woman, with the tiger clawing and growling two
feet above him.”

“The Doctor didn't tell me about that,” Isobel laughed; “though he said he
had a woman and child with him to attract the tiger.”

“It would have frightened any decent minded tiger, Miss Hannay, instead of
attracting it; for such dismal yells as that woman made I never listened
to. I nearly tumbled off the tree at the first of them, it made me jump
so, and it gave me a feeling of cold water running down my back. As to the
child, I don't know whether she pinched it or the doctor stuck pins into
it, but the poor little brute howled in the most frightful way. I don't
think I shall ever want to go tiger shooting in the dark again; I ache all
over today as if I had been playing in the first football match of the
season, from sitting balancing myself on that branch; I was almost over
half a dozen times.”

“I expect you nearly went off to sleep, Mr. Wilson.”

“I think I should have gone to sleep if it hadn't been for that woman,
Miss Hannay. I should not have minded if I could have smoked, but to sit
there hour after hour and not be able to smoke, and not allowed to speak,
and staring all the time into the darkness till your eyes ached, was
trying, I can tell you; and after all that, not to hit the brute was too
bad.”

The days passed quietly at Deennugghur. They were seldom alone at Major
Hannay's bungalow in the evening, for Wilson and Richards generally came
in to smoke a cigar in the veranda; the Doctor was a regular visitor, when
he was not away in pursuit of game, and Bathurst was also often one of the
party.

“Mr. Bathurst is coming out wonderfully, Miss Hannay,” Mrs. Hunter said
one day, as Isobel sat working with her, while the two girls were
practicing duets on a piano in the next room. “We used to call him the
hermit, he was so difficult to get out of his cell. We were quite
surprised when he accepted our invitation to dinner yesterday.”

“I think Dr. Wade has stirred him up,” Isobel said calmly; “he is a great
favorite of the Doctor's.”

Mrs. Hunter smiled over her work. “Perhaps so, my dear; anyhow, I am glad
he has come out, and I hope he won't retire into his cell again after you
have all gone.”

“I suppose it depends a good deal upon his work,” Isobel said.

“My experience of men is that they can always make time if they like, my
dear. When a man says he is too busy to do this, that, or the other, you
may always safely put it down that he doesn't want to do it. Of course, it
is just the same thing with ourselves. You often hear women say they are
too busy to attend to all sorts of things that they ought to attend to,
but the same women can find plenty of time to go to every pleasure
gathering that comes off. There is no doubt that Mr. Bathurst is really
fond of work, and that he is an indefatigable civil servant of the
Company, but that would not prevent him making an hour or two's time of an
evening, occasionally, if he wanted to. However, he seems to have turned
over a new leaf, and I hope it will last. In a small station like this,
even one man is of importance, especially when he is as pleasant as Mr.
Bathurst can be when he likes. He was in the army at one time, you know.”

“Was he, Mrs. Hunter?”

“Yes. I never heard him say so himself, but I have heard so from several
people. I think he was only in it for a year or so. I suppose he did not
care for it, and can quite imagine he would not, so he sold out, and a
short time afterwards obtained a civil appointment. He has very good
interest; his father was General Bathurst, who was, you know, a very
distinguished officer. So he had no difficulty in getting into our
service, where he is entirely in his element. His father died two years
ago, and I believe he came into a good property at home. Everyone expected
he would have thrown up his appointment, but it made no difference to him,
and he just went on as before, working as if he had to depend entirely on
the service.”

“I can quite understand that,” Isobel said, “to a really earnest man a
life of usefulness here must be vastly preferable to living at home
without anything to do or any object in life.”

“Well, perhaps so, my dear, and in theory that is, no doubt, the case; but
practically, I fancy you would find nineteen men out of twenty, even if
they are what you call earnest men, retire from the ranks of hard workers
if they come into a nice property. By the way, you must come in here this
evening. There is a juggler in the station, and Mr. Hunter has told him to
come round. The servants say the man is a very celebrated juggler, one of
the best in India, and as the girls have never seen anything better than
the ordinary itinerant conjurers, my husband has arranged for him to come
in here, and we have been sending notes round asking everyone to come in.
We have sent one round to your place, but you must have come out before
the chit arrived.”

“Oh, I should like that very much!” Isobel said. “Two or three men came to
our bungalow at Cawnpore and did some conjuring, but it was nothing
particular; but uncle says some of them do wonderful things—things
that he cannot account for at all. That was one of the things I read about
at school, and thought I should like to see, more than anything in India.
When I was at school we went in a body, two or three times, to see
conjurers when they came to Cheltenham. Of course I did not understand the
things they did, and they seemed wonderful to me, but I know there are
people who can explain them, and that they are only tricks; but I have
read accounts of things done by jugglers in India that seemed utterly
impossible to explain—really a sort of magic.”

“I have heard a good many arguments about it,” Mrs. Hunter said; “and a
good many people, especially those who have seen most of them, are of
opinion that many of the feats of the Indian jugglers cannot be explained
by any natural laws we know of. I have seen some very curious things
myself, but the very fact that I did not understand how they were done was
no proof they could not be explained; certainly two of their commonest
tricks, the basket trick and the mango, have never been explained. Our
conjurers at home can do something like them, but then that is on a stage,
where they can have trapdoors and all sorts of things, while these are
done anywhere—in a garden, on a road—where there could be no
possible preparation, and with a crowd of lookers on all round; it makes
me quite uncomfortable to look at it.”

“Well, I must be off now, Mrs. Hunter; it is nearly time for uncle to be
back, and he likes me to be in when he returns.”

CHAPTER IX.

Dr. Wade was sitting in the veranda smoking and reading an English paper
that had arrived by that morning's mail, when Isobel returned.

“Good morning, Doctor. Is uncle back?”

“Not yet. He told me he might be half an hour late, and that I was to come
round and amuse you until he came back.”

“So in my absence you have been amusing yourself, Doctor. I have been
round at Mrs. Hunter's; she is going to have a juggler there this evening,
and we are all to go.”

“Yes, I got a chit from her this morning. I have seen scores of them, but
I make a point of never missing an exhibition when I get the chance. I
hate anything I don't understand, and I go with the faint hope of being
able to find things out, though I know perfectly well that I shall not do
so.”

“Then you think it is not all quite natural, Doctor?”

“I don't say it is not natural, because we don't know what all the natural
laws are, but I say that some of the things I have seen certainly are not
to be accounted for by anything we do know. It is not often that the
jugglers show their best tricks to the whites—they know that, as a
rule, we are altogether skeptical; but I have seen at native courts more
than once the most astounding things—things absolutely
incomprehensible and inexplicable. I don't suppose we are going to see
anything of that sort tonight, though Mrs. Hunter said in her note that
they had heard from the native servant that this man was a famous one.

“There is a sect of people in India, I don't mean a caste, but a sort of
secret society, who, I believe, claim to be able by some sort of influence
to suspend altogether the laws of nature. I do not say that I believe them—as
a scientific man, it is my duty not to believe them; but I have seen such
things done by some of the higher class of jugglers, and that under
circumstances that did not seem to admit of the possibility of deception,
that I am obliged to suspend my judgment, which, as you may imagine, my
dear, is exceedingly annoying to me; but some of them do possess to a
considerable extent what the Scotch call second sight, that is to say, the
power of foreseeing events in the future. Of that I am morally certain; I
have seen proofs of it over and over again. For example, once an old
fakir, whom I had cured of a badly ulcerated limb, came up just as I was
starting on a shooting expedition.

“'Do not go out today,' he said. 'I foresee evil for you. I saw you last
night brought back badly wounded.'

“'But if I don't go your dream will come wrong,' I said.

“He shook his head.

“'You will go in spite of what I say,' he said; 'and you will suffer, and
others too;' and he looked at a group of shikaris, who were standing
together, ready to make a start.

“'How many men are there?' he said.

“'Why, six of course,' I replied.

“'I see only three,' he said, 'and three dull spots. One of those I see is
holding his matchlock on his shoulder, another is examining his priming,
the third is sitting down by the tire. Those three will come back at the
end of the day; the other three will not return alive.'

“I felt rather uncomfortable, but I wasn't, as I said to myself—I
was a good deal younger then, my dear—such a fool as to be deterred
from what promised to be a good day's sport by such nonsense as this; and
I went.

“We were going after a rogue elephant that had been doing a lot of damage
among the natives' plantations. We found him, and a savage brute he turned
out to be. He moved just as I fired, and though I hit him, it was not on
the fatal spot, and he charged right down among us. He caught the very
three men the fakir said were doomed, and dashed the life out of them;
then he came at me. The bearer had run off with my second gun, and he
seized me and flung me up in the air.

“I fell in a tree, but broke three of my ribs and one of my arms;
fortunately, though the beast tried to get at me, I was out of his reach,
and the tree was too strong for him to knock down. Then another man who
was with me came up and killed him, and they got me down and carried me
back, and I was weeks before I was about again. That was something more
than a coincidence, I think. There were some twenty men out with us, and
just the four he had pointed out were hurt, and no others.

“I have seen scores of other cases in which these predictions have come
true, especially in cases of disease; though I grant that here the
predictions often bring about their own fulfilment. If a native is told by
a fakir, or holy man, that he is going to die, he makes no struggle to
live. In several cases I have seen natives, whose deaths have been
predicted, die, without, as far as my science could tell me, any disease
or ailment whatever that should have been fatal to them. They simply sank—died,
I should say, from pure fright. But putting aside this class, I have seen
enough to convince me that some at least among these fanatics do possess
the power of second sight.”

“That is very extraordinary, Doctor. Of course I have heard of second
sight among certain old people in Scotland, but I did not believe in it.”

“I should not have believed in it if I had not seen the same thing here in
India. I naturally have been interested in it, and have read pretty well
everything that has been written about second sight among the Highlanders;
and some of the incidents are so well authenticated that I scarcely see
how they can be denied. Of course, there is no accounting for it, but it
is possible that among what we may call primitive people there are certain
intuitions or instincts, call them what you like, that have been lost by
civilized people.

“The power of scent in a dog is something so vastly beyond anything we can
even imagine possible, that though we put it down to instinct, it is
really almost inexplicable. Take the case that dogs have been known to be
taken by railway journeys of many hundred miles and to have found their
way home again on foot. There is clearly the possession of a power which
is to us absolutely unaccountable.

“But here comes your uncle; he will think I have been preaching a sermon
to you if you look so grave.”

But Major Hannay was too occupied with his own thoughts to notice Isobel.

“Has anything gone wrong, Major?” the Doctor asked, as he saw his face.

“I have just learnt,” the Major said, “that some more chupaties were
brought last night. It is most annoying. I have questioned several of the
native officers, and they profess to have no idea whence they came or what
is the meaning of them. I wish we could get to the bottom of this thing;
it keeps the troops in a ferment. If I could get hold of one of these
messengers, I would get out of him all he knew, even if I had to roast him
to make him tell.”

“My dear uncle,” Isobel said reprovingly, “I am sure you don't mean what
you say.”

“I don't know,” he said, half laughing; “I should certainly consider
myself perfectly justified in taking uncommonly strong steps to try to get
to the bottom of this business. The thing is going on all over India, and
it must mean something, and it is all the worse if taken in connection
with this absurd idea about the greased cartridges. I grant that it was an
act of folly greasing them at all, when we know the idiotic prejudices the
natives have; still, it could hardly have been foreseen that this stir
would have been made. The issue of the cartridges has been stopped, but
when the natives once get an idea into their minds it is next to
impossible to disabuse them of it. It is a tiresome business altogether.”

“Tiffin ready, sahib,” Rumzan interrupted, coming out onto the veranda.

“That is right, Rumzan. Now, Isobel, let us think of more pleasant
subjects.”

“We are to go into the Hunters' this evening, uncle,” Isobel said, as she
sat down. “There is going to be a famous juggler there. There is a note
for you from Mrs. Hunter on the side table.”

“Very well, my dear; some of these fellows are well worth seeing. Bathurst
is coming in to dinner. I saw him as he was starting this morning, just as
he was going down to the lines, and he accepted. He said he should be able
to get back in time. However, I don't suppose he will mind going round
with us. I hope you will come, Doctor, to make up the table. I have asked
the two boys to come in.”

“I shall have to become a permanent boarder at your establishment, Major.
It is really useless my keeping a cook when I am in here nearly half my
time. But I will come. I am off for three days tomorrow. A villager came
in this morning to beg me to go out to rid them of a tiger that has
established himself in their neighborhood, and that is an invitation I
never refuse, if I can possibly manage to make time for it. Fortunately
everyone is so healthy here at present that I can be very well spared.”

At dinner the subject of juggling came up again, and the two subalterns
expressed their opinion strongly that it was all humbug.

“Dr. Wade believes in it, Mr. Wilson,” Isobel said.

“You don't say so, Doctor; I should have thought you were the last sort of
man who would have believed in conjurers.”

“It requires a wise man to believe, Wilson,” the Doctor said; “any fool
can scoff; the wise man questions. When you have been here as long as I
have, and if you ever get as much sense as I have, which is doubtful, you
may be less positive in your ideas, if you can call them ideas.”

“That is one for me,” Wilson said good humoredly, while the others
laughed.

“Well, I have never seen them, Doctor, except those fellows who come
around to the veranda, and I have seen conjurers at home do ever so much
better tricks than they.”

“What do you think of them, Mr. Bathurst?” Isobel asked. “I suppose you
have seen some of the better sort?”

“I do not know what to think of them, Miss Hannay. I used to be rather of
Wilson's opinion, but I have seen things since that I could not account
for at all. There was a man here two or three months back who astounded
me.”

“Mrs. Hunter said that the girls had had no opportunity of seeing a good
conjurer since they came out, Mr. Bathurst. I suppose they did know this
man you are speaking of being here?”

“He was only here for a few hours, Miss Hannay. I had happened to meet him
before, and he gave me a private performance, which was quite different to
anything I have ever seen, though I had often heard of the feats he had
performed. I was so impressed with them that I can assure you that for a
few days I had great difficulty in keeping my mind upon my work.”

“What did he do, Mr. Bathurst?”

Bathurst related the feat of the disappearing girl.

“She must have jumped down when you were not looking,” Richards said, with
an air or conviction.

“Possibly,” Bathurst replied quietly; “but as I was within three or four
yards of the pole, and it was perfectly distinct in the light of my lamp,
and as I certainly saw her till she was some thirty or forty feet up in
the air I don't see how she can have managed it. For, even supposing she
could have sprung down that distance without being hurt, she would not
have come down so noiselessly that I should not have heard her.”

“Still, if she did not come down that way, how could she have come?”
Wilson said.

“That is exactly what I can't make out,” Bathurst replied. “If it should
happen to be the same man, and he will do the same thing again, I fancy
you will be as much puzzled as I was.”

After dinner was over the party walked across to Mr. Hunter's bungalow,
where, in a short time, the other officers, their wives, and all the other
residents at the station were assembled. Chairs were placed in the veranda
for the ladies, and a number of lamps hung on the wall, so that a strong
light was thrown upon the ground in front of it. In addition, four posts
had been driven into the ground some twenty feet from the veranda, and
lamps had been fastened upon them.

“I don't know whether the juggler will like that,” Mr. Hunter said, “and I
shan't light them if he objects. I don't think myself it is quite fair
having a light behind him; still, if he agrees, it will be hardly possible
for him to make the slightest movement without being seen.”

The juggler, who was sitting round at the other side of the house, was now
called up. He and the girl, who followed him, salaamed deeply, and made an
even deeper bow to Bathurst, who was standing behind Isobel's chair.

“You must have paid them well, Bathurst,” Major Hannay said. “They have
evidently a lively remembrance of past favors. I suppose they are the same
you were talking about?”

“Yes, they are the same people, Major.” Then he said in the native dialect
to the juggler, “Mr. Hunter has put some posts with lamps behind you,
Rujub, but he hasn't lit them because he did not know whether you would
object.”

“They can be lighted, sahib. My feats do not depend on darkness. Any of
the sahibs who like to stand behind us can do so if they do not come
within the line of those posts.”

“Let us go out there,” Wilson said to Richards, when the answer was
translated; “we will light the lamps, and we shall see better there than
we shall see here.”

The two went round to the other side and lit the lamps, and the servants
stood a short distance off on either side.

The first trick shown was the well known mango tree. The juggler placed a
seed in the ground, poured some water upon it from a lota, and covered it
with a cloth. In two or three minutes he lifted this, and a plant four or
five inches high was seen. He covered this with a tall basket, which he
first handed round for inspection. On removing this a mango tree some
three feet high, in full bloom, was seen. It was again covered, and when
the basket was removed it was seen to be covered with ripe fruit,
eliciting exclamations of astonishment from those among the spectators who
had not before seen the trick performed.

“Now, Wilson,” the Doctor said, “perhaps you will be kind enough to
explain to us all how this was done?”

“I have no more idea than Adam, Doctor.”

“Then we will leave it to Richards. He promised us at dinner to keep his
eyes well open.”

Richards made no reply.

“How was it done, Mr. Bathurst? It seems almost like a miracle.”

“I am as ignorant as Wilson is, Miss Hannay. I can't account for it in any
way, and I have seen it done a score of times. Ah! now he is going to do
the basket trick. Don't be alarmed when you hear the girl cry out. You may
be quite sure that she is not hurt. The father is deeply attached to her,
and would not hurt a hair of her head.”

Again the usual methods were adopted. The basket was placed on the ground
and the girl stepped into it, without the pretense of fear usually
exhibited by the performers.

Before the trick began Major Hannay said to Captain Doolan, “Come round
with me to the side of those boys. I know the first time I saw it done I
was nearly throwing myself on the juggler, and Wilson is a hot headed boy,
and is likely as not to do so. If he did, the man would probably go off in
a huff and show us nothing more. From what Bathurst said, we are likely to
see something unusual.”

As soon as the lid was put down, an apparently angry colloquy took place
between the juggler and the girl inside. Presently the man appeared to
become enraged, and snatching up a long, straight sword from the ground,
ran it three or four times through the basket.

A loud shriek followed the first thrust, and then all was silent.

Some of the ladies rose to their feet with a cry of horror, Isobel among
them. Wilson and Richards both started to rush forward, but were seized by
the collars by the Major and Captain Doolan.

“Will you open the basket?” the juggler said quietly to Mrs. Hunter. As
she had seen the trick before she stepped forward without hesitation,
opened the lid of the basket and said, “It is empty.” The juggler took it
up, and held it up, bottom upwards.

“What on earth has become of the girl?” Wilson exclaimed.

As he spoke she passed between him and Richards back to her father's side.

“Well, I am dashed,” Wilson murmured. “I would not have believed it if
fifty people had sworn to me they had seen it.” He was too much confounded
even to reply, when the Doctor sarcastically said: “We are waiting for
your explanation, gentlemen.”

“Will you ask him, Major,” Richards said, as he wiped his forehead with
his pocket handkerchief, “to make sure that she is solid?”

The Major translated the request, and the girl at once came across, and
Richards touched her with evident doubt as to whether on not she were
really flesh and blood.

There was much curiosity among those who had seen jugglers before as to
what would be the next feat, for generally those just seen were the
closing ones of a performance, but as these were the first it seemed that
those to follow must be extraordinary indeed.

The next feat was the one shown to Bathurst, and was performed exactly as
upon that occasion, except that as the girl rose beyond the circle of
light she remained distinctly visible, a sort of phosphoric light playing
around her. Those in the veranda had come out now, the juggler warning
them not to approach within six feet of the pole.

Higher and higher the girl went, until those below judged her to be at
least a hundred and fifty feet from the ground. Then the light died out,
and she disappeared from their sight. There was silence for a minute or
two, and then the end of the pole could be seen descending without her.
Another minute, and it was reduced to the length it had been at starting.

The spectators were silent now; the whole thing was so strange and
mysterious that they had no words to express their feeling.

The juggler said something which Mr. Hunter translated to be a request for
all to resume their places.

“That is a wonderful trick,” the Doctor said to Bathurst. “I have never
seen it done that way before, but I once saw a juggler throw up a rope
into the air; how high it went I don't know, for, like this, it was done
at night, but it stood up perfectly stiff, and the juggler's attendant
climbed up. He went higher and higher, and we could hear his voice coming
down to us. At last it stopped, and then suddenly the rope fell in coils
on the ground, and the boy walked quietly in, just as that girl has done
now.”

The girl now placed herself in the center of the open space.

“You will please not to speak while this trick is being performed,” the
juggler said; “harm might come of it. Watch the ground near her feet.”

A minute later a dark object made its appearance from the ground. It rose
higher and higher with an undulating movement.

“By Jove, it is a python!” the Doctor whispered in Bathurst's ear. A
similar exclamation broke from several of the others, but the juggler
waved his hand with an authoritative hush. The snake rose until its head
towered above that of the girl, and then began to twine itself round her,
continuously rising from the ground until it enveloped her with five
coils, each thicker than a man's arm. It raised its head above hers and
hissed loudly and angrily; then its tail began to descend, gradually the
coils unwound themselves; lower and lower it descended until it
disappeared altogether.

It was some time before anyone spoke, so great was the feeling of wonder.
The Doctor was the first to break the silence.

“I have never seen that before,” he said, “though I have heard of it from
a native Rajah.”

“Would the sahibs like to see more?” the juggler asked.

The two Miss Hunters, Mrs. Rintoul, and several of the others said they
had seen enough, but among the men there was expressed a general wish to
see another feat.

“I would not have missed this for anything,” the Doctor said. “It would be
simple madness to throw away such a chance.”

The ladies, therefore, with the exception of Mrs. Hunter, Mrs. Doolan, and
Isobel, retired into the house.

“You must all go on one side now,” the juggler said, “for it is only on
one side what I am now going to do can be seen.”

He then proceeded to light a fire of charcoal. When he had done this, he
said, “The lights must now be extinguished and the curtains drawn, so that
the light will not stream out from the house.”

As soon as this was done he poured a powder over the fire, and by its
faint light the cloud of white smoke could be seen.

“Now I will show you the past,” he said. “Who speaks?”

There was silence, and then Dr. Wade said, “Show me my past.”

A faint light stole up over the smoke—it grew brighter and brighter;
and then a picture was clearly seen upon it.

It was the sea, a house standing by itself in a garden, and separated from
the water only by a road. Presently the figure of a girl appeared at the
gate, and, stepping out, looked down the road as if waiting for someone.
They could make out all the details of her dress and see her features
distinctly. A low exclamation broke from the Doctor, then the picture
gradually faded away.

“The future!” the juggler said, and gradually an Indian scene appeared on
the smoke. It was a long, straight road, bordered by a jungle. A native
was seen approaching; he paused in the foreground.

“That is you, Doctor!” Mr. Hunter exclaimed; “you are got up as a native,
but it's you.”

Almost at the same moment two figures came out from the jungle. They were
also in native dress.

“You and Miss Hannay,” the Doctor said in a low tone to Bathurst, “dressed
like a native and dyed.” But no one else detected the disguise, and the
picture again faded away.

“That is enough, Rujub,” Bathurst said, for he felt Isobel lean back
heavily against the hand which he held at the back of her chair, and felt
sure that she had fainted.

“Draw back the curtains, someone; I fancy this has been too much for Miss
Hannay.”

The curtains were thrown back, and Mrs. Hunter, running in, brought out a
lamp. The Doctor had already taken his place by Isobel's side.

“Yes, she has fainted,” he said to Bathurst; “carry her in her chair as
she is, so that she may be in the room when she comes to.”

This was done.

“Now, gentlemen,” the Doctor said, “you had better light the lamps again
out here, and leave the ladies and me to get Miss Hannay round.”

When the lamps were lit it was evident that the whole of the men were a
good deal shaken by what they had seen.

“Well,” Mr. Hunter said, “they told me he was a famous juggler, but that
beat anything I have seen before. I have heard of such things frequently
from natives, but it is very seldom that Europeans get a chance of seeing
them.”

“I don't want to see anything of the sort again,” Major Hannay said; “it
shakes one's notions of things in general. I fancy, Hunter, that we shall
want a strong peg all round to steady our nerves. I own that I feel as
shaky as a boy who thinks he sees a ghost on his way through a
churchyard.”

There was a general murmur of agreement and the materials were quickly
brought.

“Well, Wilson, what do you and Richards think of it?” the Major went on,
after he had braced himself up with a strong glass of brandy and water. “I
should imagine you both feel a little less skeptical than you did two
hours ago.”

“I don't know what Richards feels, Major, but I know I feel like a fool. I
am sorry, Bathurst, for what I said at dinner; but it really didn't seem
to me to be possible what you told us about the girl going up into the air
and not coming down again. Well, after I have seen what I have seen this
evening, I won't disbelieve anything I hear in future about these
natives.”

“It was natural enough that you should be incredulous,” Bathurst said. “I
should have been just as skeptical as you were when I first came out, and
I have been astonished now, though I have seen some good jugglers before.”

At this moment the Doctor came out again.

“Miss Hannay is all right again now, Major. I am not surprised at her
fainting; old hand as I am at these matters, and I think that I have seen
as much or more juggling than any man in India. I felt very queer myself,
specially at the snake business. As I said, I have seen that ascension
trick before, but how it is done I have no more idea than a child. Those
smoke scenes, too, are astonishing. Of course they could be accounted for
as thrown upon a column of white smoke by a magic lantern, but there was
certainly no magic lantern here. The juggler was standing close to me, and
the girl was sitting at his feet. I watched them both closely, and
certainly they had no apparatus about them by which such views could be
thrown on the smoke.”

“You recognized the first scene, I suppose, Doctor?” Bathurst asked.

“Perfectly. It took me back twenty-five years. It was a cottage near
Sidmouth, and was correct in every minute detail. The figure was that of
the young lady I married four years afterwards. Many a time have I seen
her standing just like that, as I went along the road to meet her from the
little inn at which I was stopping; the very pattern of her dress, which I
need hardly say has never been in my mind all these years, was recalled to
me.

“Had I been thinking of the scene at the time I could have accounted for
it somehow, upon the theory that in some way or other the juggler was
conscious of my thought and reflected it upon the smoke—how, I don't
at all mean to say; but undoubtedly there exists, to some extent, the
power of thought reading. It is a mysterious subject, and one of which we
know absolutely nothing at present, but maybe in upwards of a hundred
years mankind will have discovered many secrets of nature in that
direction. But I certainly was not thinking of that scene when I spoke and
said the 'past.' I had no doubt that he would show me something of the
past, but certainly no particular incident passed through my mind before
that picture appeared on the smoke.”

“The other was almost as curious, Doctor,” Captain Doolan said, “for it
was certainly you masquerading as a native. I believe the other was
Bathurst; it struck me so; and he seemed to be running off with some
native girl. What on earth could that all mean?”

“It is no use puzzling ourselves about it,” the Doctor said. “It may or
may not come true. I have no inclination to go about dressed out as a
native at present, but there is no saying what I may come to. There is
quite enough for us to wonder at in the other things. The mango and basket
tricks I have seen a dozen times, and am no nearer now than I was at first
to understanding them. That ascension trick beats me altogether, and there
was something horribly uncanny about the snake.”

“Do you think it was a real snake, Doctor?”

“That I cannot tell you, Richards. Every movement was perfectly natural. I
could see the working of the ribs as it wound itself round the girl, and
the quivering of its tongue as it raised its head above her. At any other
time I should be ready to take my affidavit that it was a python of
unusual size, but at the present moment I should not like to give a
decided opinion about anything connected with the performance.”

“I suppose it is no use asking the juggler any questions, Hunter?” one of
the other men said.

“Not in the least; they never do answer questions. The higher class of
jugglers treat their art as a sort of religious mystery, and there is no
instance known of their opening their lips, although large sums have
frequently been offered them. In the present case you will certainly ask
no questions, for the man and girl have both disappeared with the box and
apparatus and everything connected with them. They must have slipped off
directly the last trick was over, and before we had the lamp lighted. I
sent after him at once, but the servant could find no signs of him. I am
annoyed because I have not paid them.”

“I am not surprised at that,” Dr. Wade said. “It is quite in accordance
with what I have heard of them. They live by exhibiting what you may call
their ordinary tricks; but I have heard from natives that when they show
any what I may call supernatural feats, they do not take money. It is done
to oblige some powerful Rajah, and as I have said, it is only on a very
few occasions that Europeans have ever seen them. Well, we may as well go
in to the ladies. I don't fancy any of them would be inclined to come out
onto the veranda again this evening.”

No one was indeed inclined even for talk, and in a very short time the
party broke up and returned home.

“Come and smoke a pipe with me, Bathurst, before you turn in,” the Doctor
said, as they went out. “I don't think either of us will be likely to go
to sleep for some time. What is your impression of all this?”

“My impression, certainly, is that it is entirely unaccountable by any
laws with which we are acquainted, Doctor.”

“That is just my idea, and always has been since I first saw any really
good juggling out here. I don't believe in the least in anything
supernatural, but I can quite believe that there are many natural laws of
which at present we are entirely ignorant. I believe the knowledge of them
at one time existed, but has been entirely lost, at any rate among Western
peoples. The belief in magic is as old as anything we have knowledge of.
The magicians at the court of Pharaoh threw down their rods and turned
them into serpents. The Witch of Endor called up the spirit of Samuel. The
Greeks, by no means a nation of fools, believed implicitly in the Oracles.
Coming down to comparatively later times, the workers of magic burnt their
books before St. Paul. It doesn't say, mind you, that those who pretended
to work magic did so; but those who worked magic.

“Early travelers in Persia and India have reported things they saw far
surpassing any we have witnessed this evening, and there is certainly a
sect in India at present, or rather a body of men, and those, as far as I
have been able to learn, of an exceptionally intelligent class, who
believe that they possess an almost absolute mastery over the powers of
nature. You see, fifty years back, if anyone had talked about traveling at
fifty miles an hour, or sending a message five thousand miles in a minute,
he would have been regarded as a madman. There may yet be other
discoveries as startling to be made.

“When I was in England I heard something of a set of people in America who
called themselves Spiritualists, some of whom—notably a young man
named Home—claimed to have the power of raising themselves through
the air. I am far from saying that such a power exists; it is of course
contrary to what we know of the laws of nature, but should such a power
exist it would account for the disappearance of the girl from the top of
the pole. Highland second sight, carried somewhat farther, and united with
the power of conveying the impressions to others, would account for the
pictures on the smoke, that is, supposing them to be true, and personally
I own that I expect they will prove to be true—unlikely as it may
seem that you, I, and Miss Hannay will ever be going about in native
attire.”

By this time they had reached the Doctor's bungalow, and had comfortably
seated themselves.

“There is one thing that flashed across me this evening,” Bathurst said.
“I told you, that first evening I met Miss Hannay, that I had a distinct
knowledge of her face. You laughed at me at the time, and it certainly
seemed absurd, but I was convinced I was not wrong. Now I know how it was;
I told you at dinner today about the feat of the girl going up and not
coming down again; but I did not tell you—for you can understand it
is a thing that I should not care to talk much about—that he showed
me a picture like those we saw tonight.

“It was a house standing in a courtyard, with a high wall round it. I did
not particularly observe the house. It was of the ordinary native type,
and might, for anything I know, be the house in the middle of this station
used as a courthouse by Hunter, and for keeping stores, and so on. I don't
say it was that; I did not notice it much. There was a breach in the
outside wall, and round it there was a fierce fight going on. A party of
officers and civilians were repelling the assault of a body of Sepoys. On
the terraced roof of the house others were standing firing and looking on,
and I think engaged in loading rifles were two or three women. One of them
I particularly noticed; and, now I recall it, her face was that of Miss
Hannay; of that I am absolutely certain.”

“It is curious, lad,” the Doctor said, after a pause; “and the picture,
you see, has so far come true that you have made the acquaintance with one
of the actors whom you did not previously know.”

“I did not believe in the truth of it, Doctor, and I do not believe in it
now. There was one feature in the fight which was, as I regret to know,
impossible.”

“And what was that, Bathurst?”

Bathurst was silent for a time.

“You are an old friend, Doctor, and you will understand my case, and make
more allowances for it than most people would. When I first came out here
I dare say you heard some sort of reports as to why I had left the army
and had afterwards entered the Civil Service.”

“There were some stupid rumors,” the Doctor said, “that you had gone home
on sick leave just after the battle of Chillianwalla, and had then sold
out, because you had shown the white feather. I need not say that I did
not give any credit to it; there is always gossip flying about as to the
reasons a man leaves the army.”

“It was quite true, Doctor. It is a hideous thing to say, but
constitutionally I am a coward.”

“I cannot believe it,” the Doctor said warmly. “Now that I know you, you
are the last man of whom I would credit such a thing.”

“It is the bane of my life,” Bathurst went on. “It is my misfortune, for I
will not allow it is my fault. In many things I am not a coward. I think I
could face any danger if the danger were a silent one, but I cannot stand
noise. The report of a gun makes me tremble all over, even when it is a
blank cartridge that is fired. When I was born my father was in India. A
short time before I came into the world my mother had a great fright. Her
house in the country was broken into by burglars, who entered the room and
threatened to blow out her brains if she moved; but the alarm was given,
the men servants came down armed, there was a struggle in her room, pistol
shots were fired, and the burglars were overpowered and captured. My
mother fainted and was ill for weeks afterwards—in fact, until the
time I was born; and she died a few days later, never having, the doctor
said, recovered from the shock she had suffered that night.

“I grew up a weakly, timid boy—the sort of boy that is always
bullied at school. My father, as you know, was a general officer, and did
not return home until I was ten years old. He was naturally much
disappointed in me, and I think that added to my timidity, for it grew
upon me rather than otherwise. Morally, I was not a coward. At school I
can say that I never told a lie to avoid punishment, and my readiness to
speak the truth did not add to my popularity among the other boys, and I
used to be called a sneak, which was even more hateful than being called a
coward.

“As I grew up I shook off my delicacy, and grew, as you see, into a strong
man. I then fought several battles at school; I learnt to ride, and came
to have confidence in myself, and though I had no particular fancy for the
army my father's heart was so set on it that I offered no objection. That
the sound of a gun was abhorrent to me I knew, for the first time my
father put a gun in my hand and I fired it, I fainted, and nothing would
persuade me to try again. Still I thought that this was the result of
nervousness as to firing it myself, and that I should get over it in time.

“A month or two after I was gazetted I went out to India with the
regiment, and arrived just in time to get up by forced marches to take
part in the battle of Chillianwalla. The consequence was that up to that
time I literally had heard no musketry practice.

“Of the events of that battle I have no remembrance whatever; from the
moment the first gun was fired to the end of the day I was as one
paralyzed. I saw nothing, I heard nothing, I moved mechanically; but
happily my will or my instinct kept me in my place in the regiment. When
all was over, and silence followed the din, I fell to the ground
insensible. Happily for me the doctors declared I was in a state of high
fever, and I so remained for a fortnight. As soon as I got better I was
sent down the country, and I at once sent in my papers and went home. No
doubt the affair was talked of, and there were whispers as to the real
cause of my illness. My father was terribly angry when I returned home and
told him the truth of the matter. That his son should be a coward was
naturally an awful blow to him. Home was too unhappy to be endured, and
when an uncle of mine, who was a director on the Company's Board, offered
me a berth in the Civil Service, I thankfully accepted it, believing that
in that capacity I need never hear a gun fired again.

“You will understand, then, the anxiety I am feeling owing to these rumors
of disaffection among the Sepoys, and the possibility of anything like a
general mutiny.

“It is not of being killed that I have any fear; upon the contrary, I have
suffered so much in the last eight years from the consciousness that the
reason why I left the army was widely known, that I should welcome death,
if it came to me noiselessly; but the thought that if there is trouble I
shall assuredly not be able to play my part like a man fills me with
absolute horror, and now more than ever.

“So you will understand now why the picture I saw, in which I was fighting
in the middle of the Sepoys, is to me not only improbable, but simply
impossible. It is a horrible story to have to tell. This is the first time
I have opened my lips on the subject since I spoke to my father, but I
know that you, both as a friend and a doctor, will pity rather than blame
me.”

CHAPTER X.

As Bathurst brought his story to its conclusion the Doctor rose and placed
his hand kindly on his shoulder.

“I certainly should not think of blaming you, Bathurst. What you tell me
is indeed a terrible misfortune, situated as we may be soon, though I
trust and believe that all this talk about the Sepoys is moonshine. I own
that I am surprised at your story, for I should have said from my
knowledge of you that though, as I could perceive, of a nervous
temperament, you were likely to be cool and collected in danger. But
certainly your failing is no fault of your own.”

“That is but a small consolation to me, Doctor. Men do not ask why and
wherefore—they simply point the finger of scorn at a coward. The
misfortune is that I am here. I might have lived a hundred lives in
England and never once had occasion to face danger, and I thought that I
should have been equally secure as an Indian civilian. Now this trouble is
coming upon us.”

“Why don't you take your leave, lad? You have been out seven years now
without a day's relaxation, except indeed, the three days you were over
with me at Cawnpore. Why not apply for a year's leave? You have a good
excuse, too; you did not go home at the death of your father, two years
ago, and could very well plead urgent family affairs requiring your
presence in England.”

“No, I will not do that, Doctor; I will not run away from danger again.
You understand me, I have not the least fear of the danger; I in no way
hold to my life; I do not think I am afraid of physical pain. It seems to
me that I could undertake any desperate service; I dread it simply because
I know that when the din of battle begins my body will overmaster my mind,
and that I shall be as I was at Chillianwalla, completely paralyzed. You
wondered tonight why that juggler should have exhibited feats seldom,
almost never, shown to Europeans? He did it to please me. I saved his
daughter's life—this is between ourselves, Doctor, and is not to go
farther. But, riding in from Narkeet, I heard a cry, and, hurrying on,
came upon that man eater you shot the other day, standing over the girl,
with her father half beside himself, gesticulating in front of him. I
jumped off and attacked the brute with my heavy hunting whip, and he was
so completely astonished that he turned tail and bolted.”

“The deuce he did,” the Doctor exclaimed; “and yet you talk of being a
coward!”

“No, I do not say that I am a coward generally; as long as I have to
confront danger without noise I believe I could do as well as most men.”

“But why didn't you mention this business with the tiger, Bathurst?”

“Because, in the first place, it was the work of a mere passing impulse;
and in the second, because I should have gained credit for being what I am
not—a brave man. It will be bad enough when the truth becomes known,
but it would be all the worse if I had been trading on a false reputation;
therefore I particularly charged Rujub to say nothing about the affair to
anyone.”

“Well, putting this for a time aside, Bathurst, what do you think of that
curious scene, you and I and Miss Hannay disguised as natives?”

“Taking it with the one I saw of the attack of Sepoys upon a house, it
looks to me, Doctor, as if there would be a mutiny, and that that mutiny
would be attended with partial success, that a portion of the garrison, at
any rate, will escape, and that Miss Hannay will be traveling down the
country, perhaps to Cawnpore, in your charge, while I in some way shall be
with you, perhaps acting as guide.”

“It may possibly be so,” the Doctor agreed. “It is at any rate very
curious. I wonder whether Miss Hannay recognized herself in the disguise.”

“I should hope not, Doctor; if it all comes true there will be enough for
her to bear without looking forward to that. I should be glad if the
detachment were ordered back to Cawnpore.”

“Well, I should not have thought that, Bathurst.”

“I know what you mean, Doctor, but it is for that reason I wish they were
gone. I believe now that you insisted on my coming down to spend those
three days with you at Cawnpore specially that I might meet her.”

“That is so, Bathurst. I like her so much that I should be very sorry to
see her throw herself away upon some empty headed fool. I like her
greatly, and I was convinced that you were just the man to make her happy,
and as I knew that you had good prospects in England, I thought it would
be a capital match for her, although you are but a young civilian; and I
own that of late I have thought things were going on very well.”

“Perhaps it might have been so, Doctor, had it not been for this coming
trouble, which, if our fears are realized, will entirely put an end even
to the possibility of what you are talking about. I shall be shown to be a
coward, and I shall do my best to put myself in the way of being killed. I
should not like to blow my brains out, but if the worst comes to the worst
I will do that rather than go on living after I have again disgraced
myself.”

“You look at it too seriously, Bathurst.”

“Not a bit of it, Doctor, and you know it.”

“But if the Sepoys rise, Bathurst, why should they harm their officers?
They may be discontented, they may have a grievance against the
Government, they may refuse to obey orders and may disband; but why on
earth should they attack men who have always been kind to them, whom they
have followed in battle, and against whom they have not as much as a
shadow of complaint?”

“I hope it may be so most sincerely,” Bathurst said; “but one never can
say. I can hardly bring myself to believe that they will attack the
officers, much less injure women and children. Still, I have a most uneasy
foreboding of evil.”

“You have heard nothing from the natives as to any coming trouble?”

“Nothing at all, Doctor, and I am convinced that nothing is known among
them, or at any rate by the great bulk of them. Only one person has ever
said a word to me that could indicate a knowledge of coming trouble, and
that was this juggler we saw tonight. I thought nothing of his words at
the time. That picture he showed me of the attack by Sepoys first gave me
an idea that his words might mean something. Since then we have heard much
more of this discontent, and I am convinced now that the words had a
meaning. They were simple enough. It was merely his assurance, two or
three times repeated, that he would be ready to repay the service I had
rendered him with his life. It might have been a mere phrase, and so I
thought at the time. But I think now he had before him the possibility of
some event occurring in which he might be able to repay the service I had
rendered him.”

“There may have been something in it and there may not,” the Doctor said;
“but, at any rate, Bathurst, he ought to be a potent ally. There doesn't
seem any limit to his powers, and he might, for aught one knows, be able
to convey you away as he did his daughter.”

The Doctor spoke lightly, and then added, “But seriously, the man might be
of service. These jugglers go among people of all classes. They are like
the troubadours of the Middle Ages, welcomed everywhere; and they no doubt
have every opportunity of learning what is going on, and it may be that he
will be able to give you timely warning should there be any trouble at
hand.”

“That is possible enough,” Bathurst agreed. “Well, Doctor, I shall be on
horseback at six, so it is time for me to turn in,” and taking his hat,
walked across to his own bungalow.

The Doctor sat for some time smoking before he turned into bed. He had as
he had said, heard rumors, when Bathurst first came out, that he had shown
the white feather, but he had paid little attention to it at the time.
They had been together at the first station to which Bathurst was
appointed when he came out, and he had come to like him greatly; but his
evident disinclination to join in any society, his absorption in his work,
and a certain air of gravity unnatural in a young man of twenty, had
puzzled him. He had at the time come to the conclusion that he must have
had some unfortunate love affair, or have got into some very serious
trouble at home. In time that impression had worn off. A young man
speedily recovers from such a blow, however heavy, but no change had taken
place in Bathurst, and the Doctor had in time become so accustomed to his
manner that he had ceased to wonder over it. Now it was all explained. He
sat thinking over it deeply for an hour, and then laid down his pipe.

“It is a terrible pity he came out here,” he said. “Of course it is not
his fault in the slightest degree. One might as well blame a man for being
born a hunchback; but if there should be a row out here it will be
terrible for him. I can quite understand his feeling about it. If I were
placed as he is, and were called upon to fight, I should take a dose of
prussic acid at once. Men talk: about their civilization, but we are
little better than savages in our instincts. Courage is an almost useless
virtue in a civilized community, but if it is called for, we despise a man
in whom it is wanting, just as heartily as our tattooed ancestors did. Of
course, in him it is a purely constitutional failing, and I have no doubt
he would be as brave as a lion in any other circumstances—in fact,
the incident of his attacking the tiger with that dog whip of his shows
that he is so; and yet, if he should fail when the lives of women are at
stake it would be a kindness to give him that dose of prussic acid,
especially as Isobel Hannay will be here. That is the hardest part of it
to him, I can see.”