But Nicholson knew his position sure, so he left night to finish the rout, and, with his men, bivouacked without food or cover among the marshes; for it was too dark to get the baggage over the ford. Yet the troops were ready to start at daybreak for an eighteen miles tramp back to the Ridge again. There was no talk of exhaustion now, as at Budli-ke-serai; so just thirty-six hours after they started, that is, just one hour for every mile of mora.s.s and none for the fight, they startled the Ridge by marching in again and clamoring for food! But Nicholson was in a towering temper. He had found that another brigade had been lurking behind the ca.n.a.l, and that if he had had decent information he might have smashed it also, on his way home.

"He hadn't even a guide that he didn't pick up himself," commented Major Erlton angrily. "By George! how those n.i.g.g.e.rs cave in to him!

And his political information was all rot. If the General had obeyed instructions he would have been kicking his heels at Bahadagurh still."

"We heard you at it about two o'clock," said a new listener. "I suppose it was a night attack--risky business rather."

Herbert Erlton burst into a laugh; but the elation on his face had a pathetic tenderness in it. "That was the bridge, I expect. _He_ blew it up before starting. _He_ sat on it till then. Besides there were the wagons and tumbrils and things. _He_ told Tombs to blow them up, too, for of course _he_ had to bring the guns back, and _he_ couldn't shove the lot."

As he pa.s.sed on some of his listeners smiled.

"It's a case of possession," said one to his neighbor.

"Pardon me," said another, who had known the Major for years. "It's a case of casting out. I wonder----" The speaker paused and shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you hear his name had gone up for the V. C.?" began his companion.

"Gone up! My dear fellow! It might have gone up fifty times over. But it isn't his pluck that I wonder at; it is his steadiness. He never shirks the little things. It is almost as if he had found a conscience."

Perhaps he had. He was cheerful enough to have had the testimony of a good one, as, in pa.s.sing, he looked in on Jim Douglas and met his congratulations.

"Bad shilling!" replied the Major, beautifully unconscious. "So you've heard--and--h.e.l.lo! what's up?" For Jim Douglas was busy getting into disguise.

"That old scoundrel Tiddu came into camp with the news an hour ago,"

said the latter, whose face was by no means cheerful. "He was out carrying grain--saw the fugitives, and came in here, hoping for backsheesh, I believe. But"--Jim Douglas looked round rapidly at the Major--"I'm awfully afraid, Erlton, that he has not been in Delhi, to speak of, since I left. And I was relying on him for news----"

"There isn't any--is there?" broke in Major Erlton with a queer hush in his voice.

"None. But there may be. So I'm off at once. I couldn't have a better chance. The villain says the sepoys are slipping in on the sly in hundreds; for the Palace folk, or at least the King, thinks the troops are still engaged, and is sending out reinforcements. So I shall have no trouble in getting through the gates."

Major Erlton, radiant, splashed from head to foot, covered at once with mud and glory, looked at the man opposite him with a curious deliberation.

"I don't see why you should go at all," he said slowly. "I wouldn't, if I--I mean I would rather you didn't."

"Why?" The question came sharply.

"Do you want the truth?" asked Herbert Erlton with a sudden frown.

"Certainly."

"Then I'll tell it, Mr. Greyman--I mean Douglas--I--I'm grateful, but--d----n me, sir, if--if I want to be more so! I--I gave you my chance once--like a fool; for I might have saved her----"

The hard handsome face was all broken up with pa.s.sionate regret, and the pity of it kept Jim Douglas silent for a moment. For he understood it.

"You might," he said at last. "But I don't interfere with you here.

You can't save her--your wife, I mean--and if I fail you can always----"

"There is no need to tell me what to do then," interrupted Major Erlton grimly. "I'll do it without your help."

He turned on his heel, then paused. "It isn't that I'm ungrateful," he repeated, almost with an appeal in his voice. "And I don't mean to be offensive; only you and I can't----"

His own mental position seemed beyond him, and he stood for a moment irresolute. Then he held out his hand.

"Well, good-by. I suppose you mean to stick to it?"

"I mean to stick to it. Good-by."

"And I must be off to my bed. Haven't slept a wink for two nights, and I shall be on duty to-morrow. Well! I believe I've as good a chance of seeing Kate here as you have of finding her there; but I can't prevent your going, of course."

So he went off to his bed, and Jim Douglas, following Tiddu, who was waiting for him in the Koodsia Gardens, carried out his intention of sticking to it; while John Nicholson in his tent, forgetful of his advice to both of them, was jotting down notes for his dispatch. One of them was: "The enemy was driven from the serai with scarcely any loss to us, and made little resistance as we advanced." The other was: "Query? How many men in buckram? Most say seven or eight thousand. I think between three and four."

He had, indeed, a vile habit of telling the truth, even in dispatches.

So ended the day of Nujjufghar.

The next morning, the 27th, broke fine and clear. Kate Erlton waking with the birds, found the sky full of light already, clear as a pale topaz beyond the overarching trees.

She stood after leaving her thatch, looking into the garden, lost in a sort of still content. It seemed impossible she should be in the heart of a big city. There was no sound but the faint rustling of the wet leaves drying themselves in the soft breeze, and the twitterings of squirrels and birds. There was nothing to be seen but the trees, and the broad paths rising above the flooding water from the ca.n.a.l-cut which ran at the further side.

And Sri Anunda had lived here for fifteen years; while she? How long had she been there? She smiled to herself, for, in truth, she had lost count of days altogether, almost of Time itself. She was losing hold of life. She told herself this, with that vague amaze at finding it so. Yes she was losing her grip on this world without gaining, without even desiring, a hold on the next. She was learning a strange new fellowship with the dream of which she was a part, because it would soon be past; because the trees, the flowers, the birds, the beasts, were mortal as herself. A squirrel, its tail a-fluff, was coming down the trunk of the next tree in fitful half-defiant jerks, its bright eyes watching her. The corner of her veil was full of the leavings of her simple morning meal, which she always took with her to scatter under the trees; and now, in sudden impulse, she sank down to her knees and held a morsel of plantain out tenderly.

Dear little mortal, she thought, with a new tenderness, watching it as it paused uncertain; until the consciousness that she was being watched in her turn made her look up; then pause, as she was, astonished, yet not alarmed, at the figure before her. It was neither tall nor short, dark nor fair, and it was wrapped from knee to shoulder in a dazzling white cloth draped like a Greek chiton, which showed the thin yet not emaciated curves of the limbs, and left the poise of the long throat bare. The head was clean shaven, smooth as the cheek, and the face, dest.i.tute even of eyebrows, was softly seamed with lines and wrinkles which seemed to leave it younger, and brighter, as if in an eternity of smile-provoking content. But the eyes! Kate felt a strange shock, as they brought back to her the innocent dignity Raphael gave to his San-Sistine Bambino. For this was Sri Anunda; could be no one else. In his hand he held a bunch of henna-blossom, the camphire of Scripture, the cypress of the Greeks; yellowish green, insignificant, incomparably sweet. He held it out to her, smiling, then laid it on her outstretched hand.

"The lesson is learned, sister," he said softly. "Go in peace, and have no fear."

The voice, musical exceedingly, thrilled her through and through. She knelt looking after him regretfully as, without a pause, he pa.s.sed on his way. So that was a Swami! She went back to her corner--for already early visitors were drifting in for Sri Anunda's blessing--and with the bunch of henna-blossom on the ground before her sat thinking.

What an extraordinary face it was! So young, so old. So wise, so strangely innocent. Tara was right. It was not a man's face. Yet it could not be called angelic, for it was the face of a mortal. Yes!

that was it, a mortal face immortal through its mortality; through the circling wheel of life and death. The strong perfume of the flowers reaching her, set her a-thinking of them. Did he always give a bunch when the penance was over and say the lesson was learned? It was a significant choice, these flowers of life and death. For bridal hands had been stained with henna, and corpses embalmed with it for ages, and ages, and ages. Or was that "peace go with you," that "have no fear" meant as an encouragement in something new? Had they been making plans? had anything happened? She scarcely seemed to care. So, as the cloudless day pa.s.sed on, she sat looking at the henna-blossom and thinking of Sri Anunda's face.

But something _had_ happened. Jim Douglas had come back to the city and Tara knew it. She had barely escaped his seeing her, and she felt she could not escape it long. And then, it seemed to her, the old life would begin again; for she would never be able to keep the truth from him. The mem might talk of deceit glibly; but if it came to telling lies to the master she would fail.

There was only one chance. If she could get the mem safely out of the city at once; then she could tell the truth without fear. The necessity for immediate action came upon her by surprise. She had ceased to expect the master's return, she had not cared personally for Kate's safety, and so had been content to let the future take care of itself. But now everything was changed. If Kate were not got rid of, sent out of the city, one of two things must happen: The master must be left to get her out as best he could, at the risk of his life; or she, Tara, must return to the old allegiance; return and sit by, while the mem in a language she did not understand, told the Huzoor how she had been willing to be suttee for him!

So while Kate sat looking at the henna-blossom, Tara sat telling herself that at all costs, all risks, she must be got out of the city that night. She, and her jewels. They were at present tied up in a bundle in Tara's room, but the Huzoor might think her a thief if the mem went without them. And another thing she decided. She would not tell the mem the reason of this sudden action. True, Kate had professed herself determined that the master should not risk his life for her again; but women were not--not always--to be trusted. For the rest, Soma must help.

She waited till dusk, however, before appealing to him, knowing that her only chance lay in taking him by storm, in leaving him no time for reflection. So, just as the lights were beginning to twinkle in the bazaars, she made her way, full of purpose, to the half ruined sort of cell in the thickness of the wall not far from the sally-port, in which of late--since he had taken morosely to drugs--he was generally to be found at this time, waking drowsily to his evening meal before going out.

She found him thus, sure enough, and began at once on her task. He must help. He could easily pa.s.s out the mem. That was all she asked of him. But his handsome face settled into sheer obstinacy at once. He was not going to help anyone, he said, or harm anyone, till they struck the first blow, and then they had better defend themselves.

That was the end. And so it seemed; for after ten minutes of entreaty, he stood up with something of a lurch ere he found his feet, and bid her go. She only wasted her time and his, since he must eat his food ere he went to relieve the sentry at the sally-port.

She caught him up reproachfully, almost indignantly.

"Then thou art there, on guard! and it needs but the opening of a door, a thrusting of a woman out--to--_die_, perchance, Soma. Remember that!"

She spoke with a feverish eagerness, as if the suggestion had its weight with her, but he treated it contemptuously.

"Loh!" he said in scorn. "What a woman's word! Thank the G.o.ds I was not born one."

The taunt bit deep, and Tara drew herself up angrily. So the brother and sister stood face to face, strangely alike.