The Jungle Girl Read online

  CHAPTER XI

  TRAGEDY

  The annual Durbar for the reception of the Bhutan Envoy and the paymentof the subsidy had come and gone again. The _Deb Zimpun_, who had notbeen accompanied by the Chinese _Amban_ on this occasion, had departed;and of the few European visitors only Muriel Benson remained. ColonelDermot had been called away to Simla, to confer with officials of theForeign Department on matters of frontier policy. Major Hunt was illwith fever, leaving Wargrave, who was still nominally attached to theMilitary Police, in command of the detachment.

  It was delicious torture to Frank to be in the same place again withMuriel, to see her from the parade ground or the Mess verandah playingin the garden with the children, to meet her every day and talk to herand yet be obliged to school his lips and keep them from uttering thewords that trembled on them.

  A few nights after the Durbar he dined with Mrs. Dermot and Muriel andwas sitting on the verandah of the Political Officer's house with themafter dinner. He was wearing white mess uniform. The evening was warmand very still, and whenever the conversation died away, no sound savethe monotonous note of the nightjars or the sudden cry of abarking-deer, broke the silence since the echoes of the "Lights Out"bugle call had died away among the hills.

  Wargrave looked at his watch.

  "It's past eleven o'clock," he said. "I'd no idea it was so late. Iought to get up and say goodnight; but I'm so comfortable here, Mrs.Dermot."

  His hostess smiled lazily at him but made no reply. Again a peacefulhush fell on them.

  With startling suddenness it was broken. From the Fort four hundredyards away a rifle-shot rang out, rending the silence of the night andreverberating among the hills around. Wargrave sprang to his feet asshouts followed and a bugle shrilled out the soul-gripping "Alarm," thecall that sends a thrill through every soldier's frame. For always ittells of disaster. Heard thus at night in barracks swift following on ashot it spoke of crime, of murder, the black murder of a comrade.

  The two women had risen anxiously.

  "What is it? Oh, what is it?" they asked.

  The subaltern spoke lightly to re-assure them.

  "Nothing much, I expect. Some man on guard fooling with his rifle let itoff by accident," he said quietly. "Excuse me. I'd better stroll acrossto the Fort and see."

  But Mrs. Dermot stopped him.

  "Wait a moment please, Mr. Wargrave," she said, running into the house.She returned immediately with her husband's big automatic pistol andhanded it to him. In her left hand she held a smaller one. "Take thiswith you. It's loaded," she said.

  Frank thanked her, said goodnight to both calmly, and walked down thegarden path; but the anxious women heard him running swiftly across theparade ground.

  "What is it, Noreen? What does it mean?" asked the girl nervously.

  "A sepoy running amuck, I'm afraid," replied her friend. "He's shotsomeone----."

  She swung round, pistol raised.

  "_Kohn hai_? (Who's that?)" she called out.

  A man had come noiselessly on to the shadowed end of the verandah.

  "It is I, _mem-sahib_," answered Sher Afzul, her Punjaubi Mahommedanbutler. He had been in her service for five years and was devoted to herand hers. He was carrying a rifle, for his master at his request hadlong ago given him arms to protect his _mem-sahib_. Before her marriagehe had once fought almost to the death to defend her when her brother'sbungalow had been attacked by rebels during a rising.

  "It would be well to go into the house and put out the lights,_mem-sahib_," he said quietly in Hindustani. "There is danger to-night."

  As he spoke he extinguished the lamp on the verandah and closed thedoors of the house. A second armed servant came quietly on to theverandah and the butler melted into the darkness of the garden; but theyheard him go to the gate as if to guard it.

  "You had better go inside, Muriel," said Mrs. Dermot, but made no moveto do so herself.

  The girl did not appear to hear her. She was listening intently for anysound from the Fort. But silence had fallen on it.

  "Muriel, won't you go into the house?" repeated her hostess.

  "Eh? What? No, I couldn't. I must stay here," replied Miss Bensonimpatiently. In the black darkness the other woman could not see her;but she felt that the girl's every sense was alert and strained to theutmost. She moved to her and put her arm about her. Against it she couldfeel Muriel's heart beating violently.

  Suddenly from the Fort came the noise of heavy blows and a crash,instantly followed by a shot and then fierce cries.

  "Oh, my God! What is happening?" murmured the girl, her hand on herheart.

  Presently there came the sound of running feet, and heavy bootsclattered up the rocky road towards the Mess past the gate.

  Then the butler's voice rang out in challenge:

  "_Kohn jatha_? (Who goes there?)"

  A panting voice answered:

  "Wargrave Sahib _murgya_. Doctor Sahib _ko bulana ko jatha_"--(WargraveSahib is killed. I go to call the Doctor Sahib)--and the sepoy ran on inthe darkness.

  "O God! O God!" cried the girl, and tried to break from her friend'sclasp. "Let me go! Let me go!"

  "Where to?" asked Noreen, holding the frenzied girl with all herstrength.

  "To him. He's dead. Didn't you hear? He's dead. I must go to him."

  She struggled madly and beat fiercely at the hands that held her.

  "Let me go! Let me go! Oh, he's dead," she wailed. "Dead. And I lovedhim so. Oh, be merciful! Let me go to him!" and suddenly her strengthgave way and she collapsed into Noreen's arms, weeping bitterly.

  They heard the clattering steps meet others coming down the hill and ahurried conversation ensue. Noreen recognised one of the voices. Thenboth men came running down.

  "It's the doctor," said Mrs. Dermot. "Come to the gate and we'll ask himwhat has happened."

  "Mr. Macdonald! Mr. Macdonald!" she cried as the hurrying footsteps drewnear.

  "Who's that? Mrs. Dermot? For God's sake get into the house. There's aman running amuck. Wargrave's killed. I'm wanted"; and the doctor,taking no thought of danger to himself when there was need of his skill,ran on into the darkness.

  "I must--I will go!" cried Muriel.

  "Very well. Perhaps it's not true. We must know. We may be able tohelp," replied her friend.

  And with a word to Sher Afzul to guard her babies from danger she seizedMuriel's hand, and the two girls ran towards the Fort in the track thatWargrave had followed to his death, it seemed.

  * * * * *

  Pistol in hand Wargrave had raced across the parade ground. At the gateof the Fort he was challenged; and when he answered an Indian officercame out of the darkness to him.

  "Sahib," he said hurriedly. "Havildar Mahommed Ashraf Khan has been shotin his bed in barracks. The sentry over the magazine is missing with hisrifle."

  Wargrave entered the Fort. Opposite the guard-room the detachment wasfalling in rapidly, the men carrying their rifles and running up fromtheir barrack-rooms in various stages of undress. By the flickeringlight of a lantern held up for him a non-commissioned officer wascalling the roll, and his voice rumbled along in monotonous tones. Theguard were standing under arms.

  "Put out that lamp!" cried the subaltern sharply. It would only serve tolight up other marks for the invisible assassin if, like most men whorun _amok_, he meant to keep on killing until slain himself. "No; takeit into the guard-room and shut the door."

  In the darkness the silence was intense, broken only by the heavybreathing of the unseen men and the clattering of the feet of somelate-comer. Suddenly there rang out through the night the most appallingsound that had ever assailed Wargrave's ears. It was as the cry of alost soul in all the agony of the damned, an eerie, unearthly wail thatfroze the blood in the listeners' veins. In the invisible ranks menshuddered and clutched at their neighbours.

  "_Khuda ke Nam men, kiya hai?_ (In the Name of God, what is that?)"gasped the subaltern.

  The Indian offic
er at his side answered in a low voice:

  "It is Ashraf Khan crying out in pain, Sahib. He is not yet dead."

  "_Subhedar_ sahib, come with me," said Wargrave. "Let your _jemadar_(lieutenant) take the men one by one into the guard-room and examine therifles to see if any have been fired. We don't know yet if the missingsentry did the deed."

  The _Subhedar_ (company commander) gave the order to his subordinate andfollowed Wargrave to the barrack-room in which the crime had beencommitted. The sight that met the subaltern's eyes was one that he wasnot easily to forget.

  The high-roofed chamber was in darkness save at one end where a smalllamp cast weird shadows on the walls and vaulting ceiling. At this endand under the flickering light a group of figures stood round a bed onwhich a man was writhing in agony. He was struggling in delirious frenzyto hurl himself to the stone floor, and was only held down by the unitedefforts of three men. From a bullet wound in his bared chest thelife-blood welled with every movement of his tortured body. He had beenshot in the back as he lay asleep. The lips covered with a bloody frothwere drawn back tightly over the white teeth clenched in agony, and redfoam lay on the black beard. Out of the sweat-bathed, ghastly face theeyes glared in frenzy. The features were contorted with pain. Again andagain the wild shrieks like the howl of a mad thing rang through thelong room and out into the night.

  With tear-filled eyes and heart torn with pity Wargrave looked down athim in silence. Ashraf Khan was one of his best men. "But where is thedoctor sahib?" he asked the native officer suddenly.

  The _subhedar_ stared and shook his head. In the excitement no one hadthought of sending for the medical officer. Wargrave turned to one ofthe men around the bed.

  "Mahbub Khan, run hard to the Mess and call the doctor sahib. Here,stop!" He remembered that Macdonald did not possess a revolver. For allone knew he might encounter the murderer on his way. Wargrave thrustMrs. Dermot's pistol into the sepoy's hand, saying, "Give the sahibthat."

  The man, who was barefoot, ran out of the chamber and went to his ownbarrack-room for his shoes, for the road was rocky and covered withsharp stones. The subaltern turned away with a sigh from the bedside ofhis poor comrade. He could do nothing now but avenge him. As he walkedaway from the group he trod on an empty cartridge case and picked it up.It had recently been fired. It told its tale; for it showed that theassassin had reloaded over his victim and intended that the killingshould not end there. If he were the missing sentry then he had ninemore cartridges left--nine human lives in his blood-stained hand. And asthe subaltern crossed the verandah outside the barrack-room the_jemadar_ met him and reported that all the rifles of the detachment hadbeen examined and found clean except the missing weapon of the sentry, ayoung Pathan sepoy called Gul Mahommed. It was remembered that the dying_havildar_ (sergeant) had reprimanded him hotly on the previous day forappearing on parade with accoutrements dirty. So little a cause wasneeded to send a man to his death!

  The first thing to be done now was to hunt for the murderer. While hewent free no one's life was safe. Wargrave shuddered at the thought ofdanger coming to Muriel or her friend, and he hoped that they weresafely shut in their house. It was a difficult problem to know where tobegin the search. The Fort was full of hiding-places, especially atnight. And already the assassin might have escaped over the low wallsurrounding it. As Wargrave stood perplexed another Indian officer ranup, accompanied by two men with rifles.

  "Sahib! Sahib!" he whispered excitedly. "The murderer is in my room, theone next that in which Ashraf Kahn was shot. I left the door wide openwhen I ran out. It is now shut and bolted from the inside and someone ismoving about in it."

  The subaltern went along the verandah to the door and tried it. It wasfirmly fastened.

  "Here, sahib!" cried a sepoy who ran up with a comrade carrying a heavylog.

  "_Shahbash_! (Well done!) Break in the door," said Wargrave.

  Other men, who had come up, seized the long log and dashed it violentlyagainst the door. The bolt held, but the frail hinges gave way and thedoor fell in.

  "Stand back!" cried Wargrave.

  It seemed certain death to enter the room in which a murderer lurked indarkness, armed with a rifle and fixed bayonet and resolved to sell hislife dearly. But the subaltern did not hesitate. He was the only sahibthere and of course it was his duty to go in. He could not ask his mento risk a danger that he shirked himself. That is not the officer'sway, whose motto must ever be "Follow where I lead."

  Wargrave sprang into the room unarmed. He was outlined against the faintlight outside. A spurt of flame lit the darkness; and the subaltern, ashe tripped over the raised threshold, felt that he was shot. Hestaggered on. A rifle lunged forward and the bayonet stabbed him in theside; but with a desperate effort he closed with his unseen assailantand grappled fiercely with him. Struggling to overpower the assassinbefore his ebbing strength left him he fought madly. The Indian officersand sepoys blocking up the doorway could see nothing; but they couldhear the choking gasps, the panting breaths, the muttered curses and thestamping feet of the combatants locked in the death-grapple. They couldnot interfere, they dared not fire. In impotent fury they shouted:

  "Bring lamps! Bring lamps!"

  Then, groaning in their powerlessness to aid their beloved officer, theylistened, as a light danced over the stones from a lantern in the handof a running sepoy. The moment it came and lit up the scene they rushedon the murderer wrestling fiercely with Wargrave and dragged him off asthe subaltern collapsed and fell to the ground. The glare of the lanternshone on his white face.

  "The sahib is dead!" cried a sepoy, and sprang at the murderer who wasstruggling in the grip of the two powerfully-built Indian officers.Others followed him, and his captors had to fight hard and use all theirauthority to keep the prisoner from being killed by the bare hands ofhis maddened comrades. Only the arrival of the armed men of the guardsaved him.

  Frenzied with grief the sepoys bent over their officer lying motionlessand apparently dead on the stone floor. They loved him. Many of themwept openly and unashamed. The _subhedar_ knelt beside him and openedhis shirt. The blood had soaked through the white mess-jacket thatWargrave wore.

  The native officer looked up into the ring of brown faces bent over him.Suddenly he cried angrily:

  "Mahbub Khan, why hast thou not gone for the doctor sahib as thou werttold, O Son of an Owl?"

  The face staring in horror between the heads of the sepoys was hurriedlywithdrawn, and Mahbub Khan, who had lingered to see the end of thetragedy, turned and pushed his way out of the crowd.

  Macdonald found the subaltern lying to all appearances dead on thebroken door out in the open, where they had gently carried him.

  "Hold a light here," he cried as he knelt down beside the body.

  By now a dozen lanterns or more lit up the scene. The doctor laid hisear against Wargrave's chest and held a polished cigarette case to hislips. Then he pulled back the shirt to examine his injuries.

  "Oh, is he dead? Is he dead?" cried a trembling voice.

  The doctor, looking up angrily, found Miss Benson and Mrs. Dermotstanding over him. The sepoys had silently made way for them.

  "You shouldn't be here, ladies," he said with justifiable annoyance."This is no place for you. No; he's not dead. And I hope and think thathe won't die."

  "Oh, thank God!" cried the two women.

  The sepoys crowding round and hanging on the doctor's verdict could notunderstand the words but saw the look of joyous relief on their facesand guessed the truth. A wild, confused cheer went up to the stars.

  "Mr. Macdonald," said Mrs. Dermot bending over him again. "Will youbring him to my house? There is no accommodation for him in your littlehospital, you know; and he'd have no one to look after him in the Mess.I can nurse him."

  The doctor straightened himself on his knee and looked down at theunconscious man.

  "Yes, Mrs. Dermot, it's a good idea," he replied. "There is nowhere elsewhere he'd get any attention. My hands are full with
Major Hunt. He'staken a turn for the worse. His temperature went up dangerously highto-night; and he was almost delirious."

  He stood up.

  "I can't examine Wargrave properly here. He seems to be wounded in twoplaces. But I hope it's not--I mean, I think he'll pull through. Hispulse is getting stronger. I've put a first dressing on; and I think wecan move him. Hi! stretcher _idher lao_. (Bring the stretcher here!)"

  Suddenly Wargrave opened his eyes and looked up in the doctor's face.

  "Is that you, Macdonald?" he asked dreamily. "Never mind me; I'm allright. Go to poor Ashraf Khan. If he must die, at least give himsomething to put him out of his misery. I can wait."

  His voice trailed off, and he relapsed into unconsciousness. Orderinghim to be carried away the doctor, after a word with the Indianofficers, entered the barrack-room. It was useless. Ashraf Khan had justdied.

  The crowd fell back in a wide circle to let the two hospital orderliesbring up the stretcher for Wargrave and, as they did, left a group ofmen standing isolated in the centre. All of these were armed, except onewhose hands were pinioned behind his back. His head was bare, his facebruised and bleeding, and his uniform nearly torn off his body. Itneeded no telling that he was the murderer.

  Miss Benson walked up to him with fierce eyes.

  "You dog!" she cried bitterly in Urdu.

  The man who had smiled defiantly when the hands of his raging comradeswere seeking to tear the life out of his body and had shouted out hiscrime in their faces, cowered before the anger in the flaming eyes ofthis frail girl. He shrank back between his guards. The sepoys lookingon howled like hungry wolves and, as Mrs. Dermot drew the girl back,made a rush for the murderer. The men of the guard faced them withlevelled bayonets and ringed their prisoner round; and the sepoys fellback sullenly.

  Suddenly a shrill voice cried in Hindustani:

  "Make way! Make way there! What has happened?"

  The circle of men gapped and through the opening came Major Hunt,white-faced, wasted, shaking with fever and clad only in pyjamas and agreat coat and with bare feet thrust into unlaced shoes. He staggeredfeebly in among them, revolver in hand.

  "Heaven and Earth! Is Wargrave dead?" he cried and tottered towards thestretcher.

  Suddenly the pistol dropped from his shaking hand and he fell forward onthe stones before Macdonald could catch him.

  "This is madness," muttered the doctor. "It may kill him. I hoped hewouldn't hear the alarm."

  "Bring him to my house too," said Mrs. Dermot.

  Another stretcher was fetched, the Major lifted tenderly into it, andthe sad procession started, the sepoys falling back silently to makeway.

  Major Hunt having been put to bed in one of the guest-rooms of thePolitical Officer's house, Macdonald, with the aid of the subaltern'sservant, undressed Wargrave and examined his injuries, Noreen holding abasin for him while Muriel, shuddering, carried away the blood-tingedwater and brought fresh. The shot-wound, though severe, was notnecessarily dangerous, and the bullet had not lodged in him. The doctorwas relieved to find that the bayonet had not penetrated deeply but hadonly glanced along a rib, tearing the intercostal muscles and inflictinga long, jagged but superficial wound which bled freely. Indeed, the mostserious matter was the great loss of blood, which had weakened thesubaltern considerably.

  Wargrave did not recover consciousness until early morning. When heopened his eyes they fell on Muriel sitting by his bed. He showed nosurprise and the girl, scarce daring to believe that he was awake andknew her, did not venture to move. But as he continued to look steadilyat her she gently laid her hand on his where it lay on the coverlet.

  Then in a weak voice he said:

  "Dearest, I mustn't love you, I mustn't. I'm bound in honour--bound toanother woman and I must play the game. It's hard sometimes. But if Idie I want you to know I loved you, only you."

  Her heart seemed to stop suddenly, then beat again with redoubled force.Was he conscious? Was he speaking to her? Did he know what his wordsmeant? She waited eagerly for him to continue; but his hand closed onhers in a weak grip and, shutting his eyes, he seemed to sleep. The girlsank on her knees beside the bed and stared at the pale face that inthose few hours had grown so hollow and haggard. Did he really love her?The thought was joy--until the damning memory of his other wordsrecurred to her and a sharp pain pierced her heart. There was anotherwoman then--one who held his promise. Who was she? He could not besecretly married, surely; no, it must be that he was engaged to someother girl. But he loved her--her, Muriel. He wanted to say so, he hadsaid so, though he strove to hold back, in honour bound. He would playthe game--ah! that he would do at any cost to himself. For she knew hischivalrous nature. But he loved her--she was sure of it. Then the doubtscame again--did he know what he was saying? Was it perhaps only deliriumthat spoke, the fever of his wounds? The girl suffered an agony worsethan death as she knelt beside the bed, her forehead on his hand. AndNoreen, entering softly an hour later, found her still crouched there,weeping bitterly but silently.

  Shortly after sunrise Macdonald entered the house, wan and haggard, forhe had not been to bed all night. Besides the hours that he had spentwith his patients he had been busy in the Fort all night. He had to makean autopsy of the dead man, and, as the only officer available,investigate the crime, examine the witnesses and the prisoner who calmlyconfessed his guilt, and telegraph the news of the occurrences toRegimental, Divisional and Army Headquarters. He found Major Huntsleeping peacefully; but Wargrave woke as he tiptoed into the room andlooked up at him, at first not seeing the women. He was fully consciousand asked eagerly for an account of what had happened. Noreen and Murielshuddered at the delight with which he heard of the murderer's capture;for they were too tender-hearted to understand his passionate desire toavenge the cruel slaying of one of his men. When he turned away fromMacdonald and saw Muriel his eyes shone eagerly for a moment, thenseemed to dull as memory returned to him. He begged Mrs. Dermot toforgive him for upsetting her domestic arrangements by his intrusioninto the house.

  Later in the morning Noreen was sitting alone with him, having sentMuriel to lie down for a couple of hours. She had not been to bedherself, but after a bath and a change of clothing had given herchildren their breakfast and bidden them make no noise, because theirbeloved "Fwankie" was lying ill in the house. Yet she could not forbearto smile when she saw the portentous gravity with which Eileen tiptoedout into the garden to tell Badshah the news and order him to be veryquiet.

  Now, looking fresh and bright, she sat beside Wargrave's bed. Since thedoctor had left him he had lain thinking. He felt that Violet must beinformed at once that he had been hurt but was in no danger, lest shemight learn of the occurrence through another source and believe him tobe worse than he really was. As he looked at Mrs. Dermot the desire toask her instead of Macdonald if she would be the one to communicate withMrs. Norton grew overwhelming, and he felt that he wanted to confide toher the whole story, sure that she would understand. And she could tellMuriel--for he had been quite conscious when he had spoken to the girlin the morning. It was only right that she should know the truth, but heshrank from telling it to her himself.

  So he opened his heart to Noreen; and the understanding little womanlistened sympathisingly and made no comment, and undertook to explainthe situation to Muriel. So, an hour or two later, when Macdonald wasagain with the subaltern, she went to her friend's room and told her thewhole story.

  The girl's first feeling was anger at the thought of Frank making loveto a married woman.

  "Seems to me it's the married woman who made it to him, from what I cangather," said Noreen, a little annoyed with Muriel for her way ofreceiving the story. "He did not say so, but it was easy to guess thetruth. Now, my dear, don't be absurd. Men are not angels; and if apretty woman flings herself at the head of one of them it's hard forhim to keep her at arm's length. And you've seen yourself in Darjeelinghow some of them, the married ones especially, do chase them." Her eyesgrew hard as she continued, "I rem
ember how Kevin once was----." Thenshe stopped.

  "But Frank! How could he? Oh, how could he? And he loved her," sobbedthe girl.

  "Don't be silly, Muriel. I tell you I don't believe he ever did. Heloves you now."

  "Oh, do you think he does? What am I to do?"

  "Nothing. Merely go along as you've been doing. Just be friendly. Anddon't be hard on him. He's had a bad time. I've always felt that therewas something troubling him. Now I know; and I'm not going to let himruin himself and throw away his happiness for a woman who's not worthit. He's the nicest, cleanest-minded man I've known after Kevin and mybrother. He saved my babies, and for that I'd do anything for him. Ifeel almost as if he were one of my children; and I'll stand by him ifyou won't."

  "Oh, but I will, I will," cried the girl. "But how can I help him?"

  "As I said, by acting as if nothing had happened and just keeping onbeing friends. It oughtn't to be hard. See how he's suffering and thinkhow brave he's been. Remember, he loves you; and you do care for him,don't you? I've an idea that he hopes that this woman is tiring of himand may set him free. Of course he didn't say as much, but----." Shenodded sagely. Her intuition had told her more of his feelings in aminute than Frank had dared to acknowledge to himself in many months."Anything I can do to help to bring that about I will."

  The days went by; and Wargrave, aided by his clean living, the devotednursing that he received, and the cool, healthy mountain air, began tomend. Major Hunt had recovered and returned to duty, relieving theofficer sent from Headquarters to command during his illness. ColonelDermot had come back from Simla with Frank's appointment to thePolitical Department as his assistant in his pocket. The murdered manhad long ago been laid to rest by his comrades; but his slayer still satfettered in the one cell of the Fort awaiting the assembling of theGeneral Court Martial for his trial, and seeing from his barred windowthe even routine of the life that had been his for three years stillgoing on, but with no place in it for him.

  The period of Wargrave's convalescence was a very happy time for him.Muriel had remained a whole month after the eventful night; for Mrs.Dermot declared that, with the care of her house and children, she hadno time to nurse the subaltern, and the girl must stay to do it while hewas in any danger. So she lingered in the station to do him willingservice, wait on him, chat or read to him, give him her arm when he wasfirst allowed to leave his room, and did it all with the bright,cheerful kindness of a friend, no more. She never alluded to his wordsto her; but her patient somehow guessed that she had not been angered bythe revelation of the state of his feelings towards her. And from thetenderness of her manner to him, the unconscious jealousy that shedisplayed if anyone but she did any service for him, he began to halfhope, half fear, that she cared a little for him in return. But even ashe thought this he realised that he must not allow her to do so.

  At last the time came when she had to return to her father down in thevast forest; and bravely as she said goodbye to everyone--and most ofall to Frank--the tears blinded her as she sat on the back of theelephant that bore her away and saw the hills close in and shut from hergaze the little station that held her heart.

  Wargrave, however, was not left to pine in loneliness after herdeparture. All day long, if they were allowed, the children stayed withhim, Eileen smothering him with caresses at regular intervals. They toldhim their doings, confided their dearest secrets to him and demandedstories. And "Fwankie" racked his brains to recall the fairy tales ofhis own childhood to repeat to the golden-haired mites perched on hisbed and gazing at him in awed fascination, the girl uttering littleshrieks at all the harrowing details of the wicked deeds of GiantBlunderbore and the cruel deceit of the wolf that devoured RedRidinghood.

  But the subaltern, had a grimmer visitor one day. The orders came atlast for Gul Mahommed to be sent to Calcutta to stand his trial withoutwaiting for Wargrave's recovery, the latter's evidence being taken oncommission. The prisoner begged that he might be allowed to see thewounded officer before he left; and, Frank having consented, he wasbrought to the subaltern's bedroom when he was marched out of the Forton the first stage of his journey to the gallows.

  It was a dramatic scene. The stalwart young Pathan in uniform with hiswrists handcuffed stood with all the bold bearing of his race by thebedside of the man that he had tried to kill, while two powerful sepoysarmed with drawn bayonets hemmed him in, their hands on his shoulders.

  The prisoner looked for a moment at the pale face of the wounded man,then his bold eyes suffused with tears as he said:

  "_Huzoor_! (The Presence!) I am sorry. Had I known that night it wasYour Honour I would not have lifted my rifle against you. The Sahib hasalways been good to me, to all of us. My enemy I slew, as we of the_Puktana_ must do to all who insult us. That deed I do not regret."

  Wargrave looked up sorrowfully at the splendidly-built youngfellow--barely twenty-one--who had only done as he had been taught to dofrom his cradle. Among Pathans blood only can wash away the stain of aninsult. The officer felt no anger against him for his own injuries andregretted that false notions of honour had led him to kill a comrade andwere now sending him to a shameful death.

  "I am sorry, Gul Mahommed, very sorry," he said. "You were always a goodsoldier, and now you must die."

  The Pathan drew himself up with all the haughty pride of his race.

  "I do not fear death, Sahib. They will give me the noose. But my fathercan spare me. He has five other sons to fight for him. If only the Sahibwould forgive----."

  Wargrave, much moved, held out his hand to him. The prisoner touched itwith his manacled ones, then raised his fingers to his forehead.

  "For your kindness, Sahib, _salaam_!"

  Then he turned and walked proudly out of the room and Wargrave heard thetramp of heavy feet on the rocky road outside as the prisoner wasmarched away on the long trail to the gallows. Two months later GulMahommed was hanged in the courtyard of Alipur jail in Calcutta beforedetachments of all the regiments garrisoning the city.

  The subaltern had long chafed at the restraint of an invalid beforeMacdonald took him off the sick-list and he was free to wander againwith Colonel Dermot in the forest and among the mountains. Before thehot weather ended Raymond came to spend three weeks with him and beinitiated into the delights of sport in the great jungle.

  When the long imprisonment of the rains came Wargrave began to suffer inhealth; for his wounds had sapped his strength more than he knew andMacdonald shook his head over him. Nor was he the only invalid; forlittle Brian grew pale and listless in the mists that enveloped theoutpost constantly now, until finally the doctor decreed that hismother, much as she hated parting from her husband and her home, musttake the children to Darjeeling. And he ordered the subaltern to go too.Frank did not repine, after Mrs. Dermot had casually intimated thatMuriel Benson was arranging to join her at the railway station andaccompany her on a long visit to Darjeeling.

  It was Wargrave's first introduction to a hill-station; and everythingwas a delightful novelty to him, from the quaint little train thatbrought them up the seven thousand feet to their destination in thepretty town of villas, clubs and hotels in the mountains, to theglorious panorama of the Eternal Snows and Kinchinjunga's lofty creststhat rise like fairyland into the sky at early dawn and under thebrilliant Indian moon.

  As Mrs. Dermot could not often leave her children it was Muriel, whoknew Darjeeling well, who became his guide. Together every day they setout from their hotel, together they scaled the heights of Jalapahar orrode down to watch the polo on the flat hill-top of Lebong, a thousandfeet below. Together they explored the fascinating bazaar and boughtghost-daggers and turquoises in the quaint little shops. Together theywent on picnics down into the deep valleys on the way to Sikkhim. Theyplayed tennis, rinked or danced together at the Amusement Club; and theladies at the tea-tables in the great lounge smiled significantly andwhispered to each other as the good-looking fair man and the pretty,dark-haired girl came in together when the light was fading on themount
ains. Frank forgot cares. He ceased to brood unhappily--for it hadcome to that--on Violet, who, as her rare letters told him, had spentthe Hot Weather in the Bombay hill-station of Mahableshwar and was nowenjoying life during the Rains in gay Poona. She seldom wrote, and thenbut scrappily; and it seemed to him certain that she was forgetting him.And he felt ashamed at the joy which filled him at the thought. Was healways destined to be only the friend of the girl he loved, the lover ofthe woman to whom he wished to be a friend?