DUSK.

"I entreat you to leave, sir. Believe me, there is nothing else to be done now. It will be dark in half an hour, and we shall need every minute of the night to reach Kurnal."

It was said openly now by many voices. It had been hinted first when, the corona of red dust having just sprung to hide the swelling white dome of the distant mosque, a dismal procession had come slowly up the steep road to the tower with a ghastly addition to the little knot of white faces there--slowly, slowly, the drivers of the oxen whacking and jibing at them as if the cart held logs or refuse, as if the driving of it were quite commonplace. Yet in a way the six bodies of English gentlemen it held were welcome additions; since it was something to see a dear face even when it is dead. But they were fateful additions, making the disloyal 38th regiment, posted furthest from the Tower--partly commanded by it and the guns, in case of accident--shift restlessly. If others had done such work, ought not they to be up and doing? And now another procession came filing up from the city--the two guns returning from the Cashmere gate. They came on sullenly, slowly, yet still they came on; another few minutes and the refugees would have been the stronger, the chances of mutiny weaker. The 38th saw this. Their advanced picket rushed out, drove off the gunners and the officers, and, fixing bayonets, forced the drivers to wheel and set off down the road again at a trot. And down the road, commanded by other guns, they went unchecked; for the refugees did not dare to give the order to fire, lest it should be disobeyed. The effect, we read, would probably have been "that the guns would have been swung round and fired on the orderers; and so not an European would have escaped to tell the tale; this catastrophe, however, was mercifully averted and the crisis pa.s.sed over." It reads strangely, but once more, there were women and children to think of. And few men are strong enough to say, much less set it down in black and white as John Nicholson did, that the protection "of women and children in some crises is such a very minor consideration that it ceases to be a consideration at all."

Still, it began to be patent to all that there was little good in remaining in a place where they did not dare to defend themselves.

There were carriages and horses ready; the road to Karnal was still fairly safe. Would it not be better to retreat? But the Brigadier held out. He had, in deference partly to others, wholly for the sake of his helpless charges, weakened the city post. Why should he have done that if he meant to abandon his own? Then he was an old sepoy officer who had served boy and man in one regiment, rising to its command at last, and he was loath to believe that the 38th regiment, which had been specially commended to him by his own, would turn against him, if only he were free to handle it.

And this hope gained color from the fact, that to him personally and to his direct orders, the regiment was still cheerfully obedient.

So the waiting went on, and there were no signs of the 74th returning.

What had happened? Fresh disaster? The voices urging retreat grew louder.

"Have it your own way, gentlemen," said the Brigadier at last. "The women and children had better go, at any rate, and they will need protection; so let all retire who will, and in what way seems best to them. I stay here."

So on foot, on horseback, in carriages, the exodus began forthwith; hastening more rapidly when the first man to jump from the embrasure at the Cashmere gate arrived with that tale of hopeless calamity.

But still the Brigadier refused to join the rout. He had been hanging on the skirts of Hope all day, trying, wisely or unwisely, to shield women and children behind that frail shelter. So he had been tied hand and foot. Now he would be free. True! the mystery of oncoming dusk made that red city in the distance loom larger, but a handful of desperate men unhampered, with plenty of ammunition, might hold such a post as the Flagstaff Tower till help arrived. He meant to try it, at any rate. Then nearly half of the 74th had got away safely--they were long in turning up certainly--but when they came they would form a nucleus. The 54th were not all bad, or they would not have saved their Major. Even the 38th, if they could once be got away from the sight of weakness, from that ghastly cart with its mute witness to successful murder, might respond to a familiar commonplace order. They were creatures of habit, with drill born in the blood, bred in the bone.

"I stay here," he said shortly. Said it again, even when neither the escaped officers nor men turned up. Said it again, when the guns rolled off toward Meerut, leaving him face to face with a sprinkling of the 74th and 54th, and the ma.s.s of the 38th, sullen, but still obedient.

The sun, now some time set, had left a flaming pennant in the sky, barring it low down on the horizon with a blood-red glow marking the top of the dust-haze, and the quick chill of color which in India comes with the lack of sunlight, even while its heat lingers to the touch, had fallen upon all things--upon the red Ridge, upon the distant line of trees marking the ca.n.a.l, upon the level plain between them where all the familiar landmarks of cantonment life still showed clearly, despite the darkening sky. Guard-rooms, lines, bells-of-arms, wide parade-grounds--all the familiar surroundings of a sepoy's life, and behind them that red flare of a day that was done.

"There is no use, sir, in stopping longer," said the Brigade-major, almost compa.s.sionately, to the figure which sat its horse steadfastly, but with a despondent droop of the shoulders.

"No possible use, sir," echoed the Staff Doctor kindly. The three were facing westward, for that vain hope of help from the east had been given up at last; and behind them, barely audible, was the faint hum of the distant city. A shaft of cormorants flying jheel-ward with barbed arrow head, trailed across the purpling sky; below them the red pennant was fading steadily. The day was done. But to one pair of eyes there seemed still a hope, still a last appeal to something beyond east or west.

"Bugler! sound the a.s.sembly!"

The Brigadier's voice rang sharp over the plain, and was followed, quick as an echo, quick from that habit of obedience on which so much depended, by the cheerful notes.

"Come--to the co-lors! Come quick, come all--come quick, come all--come quick! Quick! Come to the colors!"

Last appeal to honor and good faith, to memory and confidence. But they had pa.s.sed with the day. Yet not quite, for as the rocks and stones, the distant lines, the familiar landmarks gave back the call, a solitary figure, trim and smart in the uniform of the loyal 74th, fell in and saluted.

In all that wide plain one man true to his salt, heroic utterly, standing alone in the dusk. A nameless figure, like many another hero.

Yet better so, when we remember that but a few hours before his regiment had _volunteered to a man_ against their comrades and their country! So sepoy----, of company----, can stand there, outlined against the dying day upon the parade-ground at Delhi, as a type of others who might have stood there also, but for the lack of that cloud of dust upon the Meerut road.

Brigadier Graves wheeled his horse slowly northward; but at the sight the sepoys of the 38th, still friendly to him personally, crowded round him urging speed. It was no place for him, they said. No place for the master.

Palpably not. It was time, indeed, for the thud of retreating hoofs to end the incident, so far as the master was concerned; the actual finale of the tragic mistake being a disciplined tramp, as the sepoy who had fallen in at the last a.s.sembly fell out again, at his own word of command, and followed the master doggedly. He was killed fighting for us soon afterward.

"G.o.d be praised!" said the 38th, as with curious deliberation they took possession of the cantonments. "That is over! He has gone in safety, and we have kept the promise given to our brothers of the 56th not to harm him." So, joined by their comrades from the city, they set guards and gave out rations, with double and treble doses of rum.

Played the master, in fact, perfectly; until, in the darkness, a rumble arose upon the road, and one-half of the actors fled cityward incontinently and the other half went to bed in their huts like good boys. But it was not the troops from Meerut at last. It was only their old friends the guns, once more brought back from the fugitives by comrades who had finally decided to stand by the winning side.

So the question has once more to be asked, "What would have happened, if, even at that eleventh hour, there really _had_ been a cloud of dust on the Meerut road?"

As it was, confidence and peace were restored. In the city they had never been disturbed. It seemed weary, bewildered by the topsy-turvydom of the day, desirous chiefly of sleep and dreams. So that Kate Erlton, peering out through a c.h.i.n.k in the wood-store, felt that if she were ever to escape from the slow starvation which stared her in the face, she could choose no better time than this, when traffic had ceased, and the moon had not yet risen. She had settled that her best chance lay in creeping along the wall at first, then, taking advantage of the gardens, cutting across to that same sally-port through which the heroes of the magazine had told her they had made their escape. She did not know the exact situation, but she could surely find it. Besides, the ruins would most likely be deserted, and the other gates of the city, even if they were not closed for the night, as the gate here was, would be guarded. Once out of the city, she meant to make for the Flagstaff Tower; for, of course, she knew nothing of its desertion.

So she set the door ajar softly, and crept out. And as she did so, the whiteness of her own dress, even in the dense blackness, startled her, and roused the trivial wish that she had put on her navy-blue cotton instead, as she had meant to do that day. Strange! how a mere chance--the word was like a spur always, and she crept along the wall, hoping that the smoking, flaring fire of refuse in the opposite corner, round which the guard were sitting, so as to be free of mosquitoes, might dazzle their eyes. It was her only chance, however, so she must risk it. Then suddenly, under her foot, she felt something long, curved, snakelike. It was all she could do not to scream; but she set her teeth, and trod down hard with all her strength, her heart beating wildly in the awful suspense. But nothing struck her, there was no movement. Had she killed it? Her hand went down in the dark with a terror in it lest her touch should light on the head--perhaps within reach of the fangs. But she forced herself to the touch, telling herself she was a coward, a fool.

Thank Heaven! no snake after all, only a rope. A rope that must have been used for tethering a horse, for here under her foot was straw, rustling horribly. No! not now--that was something soft. A blanket; a horse's double blanket, dark as the darkness itself. Here was a chance, indeed. She caught it up and paused deliberately in the darkest corner of the square, to slip off shoes and stockings, petticoats and bodice; so, in the scantiest of costumes, winding the long blanket round her, as a skirt and veil in ayah's fashion. Her face could be hidden by a modest down-drop over it, her white hands hidden away by the modest drawing of a fold across her mouth. Her feet, then, were the only danger, and the dust would darken them. She must risk that anyhow. So, boldly, she slipped out of the corner, and made for the gate, remembering to her comfort that it was not England where a lonely woman might be challenged all the more for her loneliness. In this heathen land, that down-dropped veil hedged even a poor gra.s.s-cutter's wife about with respect. What is more, even if she were challenged, her proper course would be to be silent and hurry on.

But no one challenged her, and she pa.s.sed on into the denser shadows of the church garden to regain her breath; for it had gone somehow.

Why, she knew not; she had not felt frightened. Then the question came, what next? Get to the magazine, somehow; but the strain of looking forward seemed far worse than the actual doing, so she went on without settling anything, save that she would avoid roads, and give the still smoking roofless bungalows as wide a birth as possible, lest, in the dark, she should come on some dead thing--a friend perhaps. And with the thought came that of Alice Gissing. The house lay right on her path to the magazine. Surely she must be near it now.

Was that the long sweep of its roof against the sky? If she could see so much, the moon must be rising, and she could have no time to lose.

As she crept along through the garden, she wondered why the bungalow had not been burned like the others. Perhaps the ayah's friends had saved it, or, perhaps, there had not been much to attract them in the little hired house. Or, perhaps----

Hark! She crouched back, from voices close beside her, and doubled a bit; but they seemed to follow her. And straight ahead the trees ended, and she must brave the open s.p.a.ce by the house itself; unless, indeed, she slipped by the row of servant's houses to the veranda, and so--through the rooms--gain the further side. Or she might hide in the house till these voices pa.s.sed, There they were again! She made a breathless dash for the shadow, ran on till she found the veranda, and deciding to hide for a time, pa.s.sed in at the first door--the door of the room where she had left Alice Gissing lying dead a few hours before. But it was too dark, as yet, to see if she lay there still, too dark to see even if the house had been plundered. It must have been, however, for the very floor-cloths were gone; the concrete struck cold to her feet. And a sudden terror at the darkness, the emptiness, coming over her, she pa.s.sed on rapidly to the faintly glimmering square of the further door, seen through the intervening rooms. There were three of them; bedroom, drawing room, dining room, set in a row in Indian fashion, all leading into each other, all opening on to the veranda; the two end ones opening also into the side veranda. She could get out again, therefore, by this further door. But it was bolted. She undid the bolts, only to find it hasped on the outside. A feeling of being trapped seized upon her. She ran to the other door. Hasped also. The drawing-room door? Firmer even than the others. But what a fool she was to feel so frightened, when she could always go out as she had come in when the voices had pa.s.sed. She stole back softly, knowing they must be just outside, and almost fancying, in her alarm, that she heard a step in the veranda. But there was the glimmering square of escape, open. No! shut too! shut from the outside.

Had they seen her and shut the door? And there, indeed, were footsteps! Loud footsteps and voices coming up the long flight of steps which led to the veranda from the road. Coming straight, and she locked in, helpless.

She threw up her hands involuntarily at a bright flash in the veranda.

Was it lightning? No! a pistol shot, a quick curse, a fall. A yell of rage, a rush of those feet upon the steps, and then another flash, another, and another! More curses and a confused clashing! She stood as if turned to stone, listening. Hark! down the steps, surely, this time, another rush, a cry, a scuffle, a fall. Then, loud and unmistakable, a laugh! Then silence.

Merciful Heavens! what was it? What had happened? She shook at the door gently, but still there was silence. Then, gripping the woodwork, she tried to peer out. But she could only see the bit of veranda in front of her which, being latticed in and hung with creepers, was very dark. The rest was invisible from within. She leaned her ear on the gla.s.s and listened. Was that a faint breathing? "Who's there?" she cried softly; but there was no answer. She sank down on the floor in sheer bewilderment and tried to think what to do, and after a time, a faint glimmer of the rising moon aiding her, she went round to every door and tried it again. All locked inside and out. And now she could see that the house had been pillaged to the uttermost. There was literally nothing left in it. Nothing to aid her fingers if she tried to open the doors. By breaking the upper panes of gla.s.s, of course, she could undo the top bolt, but how was she to reach the bottom ones behind the lower panels? And why? why had they been locked? Who had locked the one by which she had come in? What was there that needed protection in that empty house. Was there by chance someone else?

Then, suddenly, the remembrance of what she had left lying in the end room hours before came back to her. She had forgotten it utterly in her alarm and she crept back to see if Alice Gissing still kept her company. The bed was gone, but by the steadily growing glimmer of the moon she could see something lying on the floor in the very center of the room. Something strangely orderly, with a look of care and tidiness about it; but not white--and her dress had been white. Kate knelt down beside it and touched the still figure gently. What had it been covered with? Some sort of network, fine--silken--crimson. An officer's sash surely! And now her eyes becoming accustomed to what lay before them, and the light growing, she saw that the curly head rested on an officer's scarlet coat. The gold epaulettes were arranged neatly on either side the delicate ears so as not to touch them. Who had done this? Then that step she had thought she heard in the veranda must have been a real one. Someone must have been watching the dead woman.

She was at the door in an instant rapping at a pane, "Herbert!

Herbert! are you there? Herbert! Herbert!" He might have done this thing. He might have come over from Meerut, for he had loved the dead woman, he had loved her dearly.

But there was no answer. Then wrapping the blanket round her hand she dashed it through the pane, and removing the gla.s.s, managed to crane out a little. She could see better so. Was that someone, or only a heap of clothes in the shadow of the corner by the inner wall? By this time the moonlight was shining white on the orange-trees on the further side of the road. She could see beyond them to the garden, but nothing of the road itself, nothing of the steep flight of steps leading down to it; a bal.u.s.trade set with pots filling up all but the center arch prevented that.

"Herbert!" she cried again louder, "is that you?" But there was not a sound.

G.o.d in heaven! who lay there? dying or dead? helplessness broke down her self-control at last, and she crept back into the room, back to the old companionship, crying miserably. Ah! she was so tired, so weary of it all. So glad to rest! A sense of real physical relief came to her body as, for the first time for long, long hours, she let her muscles slacken, and to her mind as she let herself cry on, like a child, forgetting the cause of grief in the grief itself. Forgetting even that after a time in sheer rest; so that the moon, when it had climbed high enough to peep in through the closed doors, found her asleep, her arms spread out over the crimson network, her head resting on what lay beneath it. But she slept dreamfully and once her voice rose in the quick anxious tones of those who talk in their sleep.

"Freddy! Freddy!" she called. "Save Freddy, someone! Never mind, ayah!

He is only a boy, and the other, the other may----" Then her words merged into each other uncertainly, after the manner of dreamers, and she slept sounder.

Soundest of all, however, in the cool before the dawn; so that she did not wake with a stealthy foot in the side veranda, a stealthy hand on the hasp outside; did not wake even when Jim Douglas stood beside her, looking down vexedly on the blanket-shrouded figure pillowed on the body he came to seek. For he had been delayed by a thousand difficulties, and though the shallow grave was ready dug in the garden, the presence of this native--even though a woman, apparently--must make his task longer. Was it a woman? One hand on his revolver, he laid the other on the sleeper's shoulder. His touch brought Kate to her feet blindly, without a cry, to meet Fate.

"My G.o.d! Mrs. Erlton!" he cried, and she recognized his voice at once.

Fate indeed! His chance and hers. His chance and hers!

She stood half stupefied by her dreams, her waking; but he, after his nature, was ready in a second for action, and broke in on his own wondering questions impatiently. "But we are losing time. Quick!

you must get to some safer place before dawn. Twist that blanket right--let me, please. That will do. Now, if you will follow close, I must get you hidden somewhere for to-day. It is too near dawn for anything else. Come!"

She put out her hand vaguely, as if to stave his swift decision away, and, looking in her face, he recognized that she must have time, that he must curb his own energy.

"Then it was you who fired," she said in a dull voice. "You who shut me in here? You who killed those voices. Why didn't you answer when I called, when I thought it was Herbert? It was very unkind--very unkind."

He stared at her for a second, and then his hand went out and closed on hers firmly. "Mrs. Erlton! I'm going to save you if I can. Come. I don't know what you're talking about, and there is no time for talk.

Come."

So, hand in hand, they pa.s.sed into the side veranda, through which he had entered, and so, since the nearest way to the city lay down that flight of steps, to the front one.

"Take care," he cried, half-stumbling himself, and forcing her to avoid something that lay huddled up against the wall. It was a dead man. And there, upon the steps which showed white as marble in the moonlight, were two others in a heap. A third lower down, ghastlier still, lying amid dark stains marring the whiteness, and with a gaping cut clearly visible on the shoulder.