A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE

A TALE OF ANGLO-INDIAN LIFE

BY MRS. MILNE RAE

Author of "Bride Lorraine," "Morag: A Tale of Highland Life," etc.

HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO

A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE

CHAPTER I.

The early dawn had given place to the golden sunlight of the Indian morning, but there was still ample shade within certain nooks in the compound of a pleasant-looking two-storied house in one of the leafy roads of Madras. Under an old banyan tree, with its tent-like stems turned downwards and its dense canopy of green overhead, stood a dainty breakfast table. Early tea was over. One bamboo chair had already been vacated by its occupant; in the other, sat a young English lady.

Only two months previously Hester Rayner had left home a bride. "She is happy, I think," was always the remark, accompanied by a sigh, made by her anxious mother, as she passed the closely written pages of the latest letter across the rectory breakfast table to her husband.

The young wife's letters gave no untrue expression of her state of feeling, yet there were times when the dream-like sensation which pervaded her outlook on the new surroundings disturbed her. The spell of the East was strong; the tropical life, the vivid colouring, the brown-skinned multitudes, the waving palms, all seemed to belong to a bright pageant in which she was only a passing spectator. And now, with the simple sense of duty which had marked the only daughter of the Pinkthorpe Rectory, she was asking herself whether it was right to yield so entirely to the wooing of the magic present. Even her weekly journal from home seemed to deepen the glamour; all in that dear distant home was transfigured by its glow; never had the tender affection of father and mother felt so precious, and who would have believed that the couple of schoolboy brothers would prove so much more demonstrative in their first letters than in the days when she had painted their wickets, made sails for their boats, and was their willing helper in all school preparations? And again the unexpected was on its way.

It came in the form of a letter which a white-robed peon now handed to her. It was the first she had received from her brother Charlie, now at Oxford, and so notably a poor correspondent that the sight of his handwriting awoke keen expectation.

She was not long in finding its outstanding piece of news. The fair, uncovered head was at once recklessly exposed to the strengthening sun-rays as she hurried towards the house, though an instant object of solicitude to the vigilant domestic. But the lithe figure flew birdlike across the brown turf, and reached the safe shade of the verandah before the white-covered umbrella was brought to the rescue.

"Alfred, where are you?" called the gleeful voice, as she hurried in at one of the many doors which led from the verandah to the house. The room she entered was already carefully darkened, having its heavy green persiennes closed against the solar rays, though a chink of light served to reveal the occupant at the writing-table, who raised his eyes from the blue papers scattered before him. There was a gravity and placidity about his movements which suggested his being older than his years. His figure, though slender, was firmly knit. His fine-grained skin and whole appearance gave evidence of careful culture of the body, though the long thin hands, which were resting on his papers, were those of a man of the desk rather than a devotee of the polo or cricket field.

"News, Alfred, delightful news! Actually a letter from Charlie to tell us that Mark Cheveril, his great friend, is on his way to Madras!"

"Cheveril! Why, that name is surely familiar! Yes, he was Mark too. He was one of the smaller boys when I was at Hacket's."

Suddenly Mr. Alfred Rayner's delicately-pencilled eyebrows contracted to a frown. "But, I say, Hester, he's a half-caste, actually used to boast in the most shameless manner that his mother was an Indian. Little fool!"

"Yes, his father was a lieutenant in the Indian Army, and married an Indian princess. Wasn't it romantic? It must be from his mother he got his good looks, he is so dark and handsome."

"But, Hester, what an arrant fool the man must be to set foot in India again—half-caste as he is!"

"Why, it's been the dream of Mark Cheveril's life to go back to his native land. Father always said he particularly admired that trait in him."

"Just like one of your father's unworldly notions! Let me tell you they don't work east of Suez. I'm afraid, for instance, that it will be difficult for us to have anything to do with him."

Mr. Rayner tapped his papers thoughtfully with his thin hand.

"Anything to do with him," echoed Hester, her deep grey eyes dilating. "But Mark Cheveril is Charlie's greatest friend. Listen to what he says." She turned to the letter and read: "'I've just been thinking how delightful it will be for you to see Cheveril out there. Tell Rayner I took advantage of his carte blanche to invite him to stay with you, assuring him that he would be welcome, as I remembered how Rayner expatiated on the hospitality of Anglo-Indians——'"

"Didn't think I was to be asked to extend that hospitality to half-castes," muttered Mr. Rayner, bending over his writing table with a sulky air.

There was a perplexed look in his wife's eyes as she glanced at him. She had not seen that expression on her husband's face before.

"And what is this noble Eurasian going to do here does your brother say? Is he going to look out for a job?"

"Oh, no, he's got work in a good service, though I don't suppose it's so good as being a barrister like you," said Hester slowly, the gladness of her news tempered by her husband's more than chilly attitude. "I'm really awfully ignorant about Indian things, you see; I must coach myself up or I shall remain a 'griffin,' I fear. Charlie writes——" Again Hester turned to her letter, but this time with a little sigh. "... 'Cheveril passed the Indian Civil a year ago, as you will remember; he has since been at Oxford, and is now posted to Madras.'"

"The Indian Civil! Has the fellow really got into that?" exclaimed Mr. Rayner with undisguised astonishment. "I must have missed his name in the lists. Well, surely he will have learnt by this time to keep the fact of his mixed blood dark. We must give him a hint to that effect. It is silly and sentimental, to say the least of it. But seeing he's among the 'Covenanted Ones' he'll be worth curing of this mad freak." A smile played about Mr. Rayner's thin lips; then he added briskly, "Does your brother say what steamer he's coming by?"

"The Bokhara," replied Hester, her air of joyous expectation already exchanged for a soberer one.

"Then he's due this very day," said her husband, starting up. "Mark Cheveril may be here at any moment, Hester. I'll see if the steamer is in yet on my way to the High Court." He had evidently reconsidered his decision "not to know" the new arrival. "Wonder if I shall recognise him. He was only a little chap in Etons when I knew him at Hacket's. What's he like now?"

"He's tall and has dark hair. He always looked such a contrast to Charlie, who is so fair," said Hester, with a reminiscent smile, recalling how often the two friends used to walk hatless on the emerald lawn at home, the fair wavy hair and the dark head in close proximity.

"Yes, Charlie is too fair for a man. I love that blondeness in you, dear, but a slightly darker hue suits the masculine gender better," returned Mr. Rayner, glancing at himself, with a self-conscious smile, in a mirror hanging on the white wall near his writing table.

In his own estimation, and it must be acknowledged, in the estimation of others also, he fulfilled all the requirements of good looks. His dark hair framed a beautiful aquiline face, though too cameo-like perhaps in its perfection. There was something unpleasant in his expression, an air of hauteur, a lack of frankness, which detracted from his undeniably handsome face.

It was, in fact, Alfred Rayner's perfectly chiselled features which, after a very brief wooing, had been the passport to the heart of the young daughter of Pinkthorpe Rectory. Hester and he had met at a large house-party—the girl's first appearance in society. She had lately left school, and was becoming pleasantly conscious that she was a free agent, no longer told to do this and that, but tacitly challenged to exercise personal choice. She was not exactly in love with the young barrister, but being on the verge of her life's awakening, a word, a look, a touch, was enough to rouse her. And when these forces were skilfully applied by the wooer, aided by a good-natured hostess with the alleged feminine love of match-making, the result may be supposed. Though with the girl herself, the matter was no further advanced, even in her own account to her mother, than was consistent with saying frankly that she admired and liked the young stranger who had come into her simple days. Sweet home security had wrapped her all her young life, and before her now stretched the glamour of a happiness to come. Might it not be sweeter than any she had ever known, whispered imaginings, indefinite but luring as the balmy air of those June days in which she gave her "promise true" to go with this man. That it was to go "over the hills and far away" added only to the fascination of the prospect.

Even the haste of the wooing had its charm for the young girl; for Alfred Rayner asked nothing less of the anxious parents than that their precious daughter should be given to him at once. His short furlough being almost expired, his urgent request was that they should be married without delay and make their honeymoon on their voyage to India.

For two years Mr. Alfred Rayner had been practising as a barrister in Madras, and was able to expatiate in glowing words on the many-sided charm of life for the dominant race in the tropical land. His young wife had found as yet that those descriptions were, if anything, under the mark. During those early days she used playfully to tax her gratified husband that he had not conveyed to her half the charm of the bright Eastern land whose spell had hitherto been unbroken. But as she stood now in that darkened room having told her joyful news, the shaft of light which fell on his face revealed to her a little dark cloud in her heaven of blue. It was the first time she had felt that she and Alfred were not entirely in unison. Nor was the recollection quite covered when after breakfast she watched him going down the broad, white, sunlit flight of steps from the verandah to enter his office-bandy, though he called to her, "I'll see if the Bokhara is in and send you word."

After watching the white-covered carriage disappear along the avenue shaded by its casuarina trees, she retraced her steps slowly to her husband's writing room. Its darkness seemed dense after the glare of the verandah. For a moment she stood oppressed by it, then with quick gestures hurried to throw open the heavy green shutters and let in the fierce sun-rays. She seated herself on her husband's chair, leaning on his table, her cheek resting on her hand, her face shadowed by a sense of trouble. How cold had been the frown on Alfred's face as he had sat there! What a peevish reception he had given to her news, and what a complete surprise to her was the source of his annoyance! That Mark Cheveril, Charlie's best friend, who during his short visits to Pinkthorpe Rectory had won golden opinions from all; that he, her own good friend and comrade, should be viewed as a person of social disabilities was a revelation to her. It seemed a breach of good feeling, and disloyal to her home estimates, to entertain such an idea for a moment. Nor was her husband's sudden change of front on hearing that Charlie's friend was coming to enter the great service any more explicable to the carefully nurtured English girl. She must think it out!

CHAPTER II.

Veeraswamy, the butler, had, according to his master's standing order, lowered the heavy rattan blinds of the verandah, and duly excluded the strengthening sun-rays from the rooms under his charge. It was therefore something of a surprise to a visitor now being announced to pass from the surrounding gloom to a chamber flooded with sunshine.

"Oh, this is good," he exclaimed, in a frank, ringing voice. "Why, I expected to find you a bunched-up mystery of white muslin reclining in a dark room; and here you are basking in a glorious light, delightfully like the Hester of Pinkthorpe, even to your pinky frock!"

"Mark, this is a happy surprise!" cried Hester with a radiant smile, coming forward from the writing-table where she sat. "This is a joy, you are my first visitor from home!"

"And you, my first welcome to my native land."

"It was only this morning I heard from Charlie that you were on your way. But did you not meet my husband? He drove off meaning to meet the Bokhara."

"Then Mr. Rayner and I must have missed each other. I'm sorry! We got in earlier than was expected, and I, with one of my fellow-passengers, drove at once to the Club, where I deposited my baggage and had breakfast; then I came on here."

"Oh, but you must come and stay with us. Everybody stays with everybody here, you know. And you see what great spaces we have——"

"Yes, they are most satisfactory. I've often seen them in my dreams," said the young man, bending forward, his face all aglow. "You cannot imagine the excitement, the exaltation, I felt when our steamer all at once stood still, and I looked out in the first flush of the dawn and saw the amber sands and the long straggling arms of the eastern town. I kept saying: 'This is India, the home of my mother, the wonderful land where my father came to begin his life-work, to find love and an early grave!'"

Hester's attitude as she listened to these eager words would have proved wholly sympathetic had there not crept into her mind the recollection of her husband's warning. Should she break the ice at once and give a timely caution to her old friend and comrade that he must not label himself as belonging to the community said to be so despised? No, she could not, she decided; besides, surely Alfred's prejudices were like a gossamer thread which would at once snap in the presence of this strong-natured man.

"You and my husband must meet at once," she said eagerly. "Our peon can fetch your luggage; you needn't even go back to the Club. We'll have tiffin and a long chat."

"I only wish I could stay, but I've promised to lunch at the Club with my ami de voyage; and then, by the way, I believe I'm inveigled into an engagement for the afternoon. The Brigadier-General, whom I met at the Club, asked me to a garden party at his house this afternoon——"

"Oh, yes, we're going to Mrs. Glanton's party. You'll meet Alfred there. Then surely we'll be allowed to take possession of you, and we'll drive home to dinner together."

"Thanks, that will be delightful! I find that for three days I'm still a free man. I'm posted to Puranapore, if you know such a place. My knowledge of it dates only from this morning. My chief-to-be very considerately wrote suggesting that I should tarry a few days in Madras."

"That's good. I have heard of Puranapore. Alfred has some clients there."

"I've no doubt Mr. Rayner will be able to tell me much that I want to know."

"Of course he will. He's been two years here, you know, and is quite an old Indian now. You and I are 'griffins,' as they call new-comers here. Alfred will be delighted to tell you all he can, I'm sure."

Soon they passed to that topic so near to the heart of Anglo-Indians—the home across the sea—and to the centre of it all to the girl, the ivy-clad Pinkthorpe Rectory set amid its green fields and hedges where the sun smiled but never scorched as in this eastern land.

Mark Cheveril was able to give her the latest news, for he had paid a brief farewell visit to it before he sailed.

"I'm thinking of what a delightful picture I shall be able to make of you basking in the sunshine as I saw you when I came in. It will go into my letter which I promised to write to your mother by the first mail," said Mark, as he rose to go. "Then we are to meet at this said Mrs. Glanton's?"

"'This said Mrs. Glanton's,' forsooth!" laughed Hester, raising her eyebrows. "I assure you she is a very formidable leader of society here. Alfred has the greatest admiration for her, thinks her a perfect model for new-comers like me. But I fear I shall never attain to her splendid manners," she added, with a little sigh.

Mark Cheveril, as his eye rested on the fair young wife, involuntarily hoped that she would not model herself on any Mrs. Glanton, however much her husband might wish it, but would remain the bright girlish presence that had graced her happy English home.

They were standing in the verandah now. The hired bandy which had been waiting under a tree was called, and the visitor drove off to keep his appointment at the Club.

The little cloud of the morning had been chased away from Hester's heart by the spell of the revived comradeship. To be sure, no managing hostess had intervened between these two to foster any warmer feelings than good fellowship. But Hester's loyalty was well developed, and her husband's sneering words of the morning still haunted her. Should she have ventured to sound the warning note, struck no doubt from her husband's larger experience, and would it have been wiser to do so even before he began his life in the East? She had friendship enough to do so. Had they not ridden together along leafy Worcestershire lanes and talked of many things? But there was a glance in Mark Cheveril's serene hazel eye, an innate courtesy about his whole deportment which made her divine that he would receive any such warning with gentle disdain. In fact, she decided, she must warn Alfred to beware of broaching the subject.

Mr. Rayner only returned from the High Court in time to join his wife on their drive to the garden party. She told him of Mark Cheveril's arrival, and of his already having found his way to Clive's Road; of the prospect of their meeting him now and of his returning with them; but she observed that her husband listened absently to the news. His preoccupation regarding the coming entertainment caused her some surprise. Social functions of the kind in the home county had never created the desire to make an impression which seemed to lurk under Alfred's excitement over his handsome new landau and the well-matched pair of Australian horses with their couple of smart syces.

The queue of carriages was already far stretching on the leafy road which skirted the Glanton's compound when Mr. and Mrs. Rayner's landau took its place there; but at last it came to their turn to alight and follow the stream of guests along the broad crimson strip to the spot where the hostess had elected to receive them.

Hester's eye was charmed by the picture suddenly unfolded to her on the wide flat lawn of the spreading compound, bordered by its glades of dense shrubberies intersected by winding walks. The mellow light of the late afternoon sun tinged all the landscape, turning to gold the graceful over-hanging palms, revealing glimpses of the green waters of the tank which sparkled like jets of emerald, and etherealising the Indian garden for the first time to the eyes of all new-comers.

The long hot months were over, and, freshened by the recent rains, Madras was again considered suitable for the highest officials. The civil and military element was well represented. Red coats mingled picturesquely with the smart feminine toilettes just emerged from the latest box from home. The groups on the lawn vied with the bright schemes of colour in the flower beds which the gardeners had been labouring over for days with much repotting and many libations from earthenware chatties.

Mr. and Mrs. Rayner soon perceived the ample form of their hostess. Their names were announced by a white-robed peon. Mrs. Glanton received the young bride graciously, and seemed gratified by her evident appreciation of the bright scene.

"This promises to be a charming gathering," remarked Alfred Rayner, shaking hands with his hostess.

"Yes, I thought it would prove a nice preface to the gaieties of the season. The Brigadier wanted a succession of dinner-parties first, but you understand, Mr. Rayner, the question of who will meet and mix cordially is always a thorny business, and after all the fatigue of entertaining, one often gets a hornet's nest about one's ears. So disagreeable to have people sulking at one for fancied slights, especially so early in the season."

Hester's face wore a slightly puzzled expression, but her husband answered vivaciously:

"That is so, Mrs. Glanton. In fact, only this morning I was explaining to my wife the Scylla and Charybdis of these social disabilities."

"Ah, I see you are wise, Mr. Rayner," returned the hostess, with a responsive smile. "One cannot learn one's lessons too early, one avoids shoals of quicksands later on. Oh, the tales I could tell! And now you will understand how pleased I am to have gathered Madras together for what I call my neutral party. I felt sure I was striking the right key."

"A very minor key, I should say, mother," said the daughter of the house, strolling up and lowering her parasol, then greeting the guests.

"Ah, my dear Mrs. Rayner," said Mrs. Glanton, "I am so glad that you and dear Clarice are friends. She has all the experience of her first season to share with you, and you, my dear, have your home complexion;" and she lightly tapped Hester's sleeve with her fan as she moved aside to greet new relays of guests.

Clarice Glanton had been reckoned the chief beauty of Madras during the last season. She had undeniably well-cut features and a graceful carriage, but though no older than the young wife, she lacked that indefinable air of youth which made Hester's chief charm. There was certainly no symptom of the "close friendship" between the two, and the girl's thin lips curled with a faint cynical smile as she heard her mother's remark. It had been her intention to pass on, being on the outlook for a guest who had not yet appeared, but now she felt it incumbent upon her to exchange a few words.

"I'm afraid you'll feel dreadfully bored, Mrs. Rayner," she said in her staccato voice. "The seats are full, the sets for Badminton, archery, and croquet made up for the moment. But there will be some movement soon. You are devoted to croquet, I recollect," she added, turning to Mr. Rayner; then her attention was attracted by a tall young man advancing along the crimson strip.

"Ah, this must be the gentleman my father met fresh from the steamer this morning and invited to join our party, charging me to entertain him too," remarked Clarice, her sharp eyes scanning the coming handsome figure with its easy grace.

"Oh, Alfred, here he is,—here is Mark Cheveril," exclaimed Hester eagerly.

"Then you know him, Mrs. Rayner? Cheveril, yes, that is his name. Wherever has my mother disappeared to? I suppose I must act as hostess."

With a more gracious smile than she had previously bestowed on Hester, she went forward to meet the guest. After a brief interchange of polite words, on Miss Glanton's side marked by studied graciousness, Mark turned to greet again his old friend with a bright smile; while, with an air of nonchalance which surprised his wife, Alfred Rayner came forward to introduce himself, reminding Mark that they were old school acquaintances.

"In the dear old Hacket days, of course! How could I have forgotten that it was then your name was familiar to me! I remember your face perfectly. You are very little changed except that you were then in 'jackets.'"

"And you in Etons. I certainly shouldn't have recognised you, Cheveril, though I do remember some—of your talk." "Too well," he was going to add, but bit his lip and glanced at his wife.

"I expect I talked a good deal of nonsense," responded Mark with a laugh, secretly wondering what of his childish prattle still lingered in the mind of this sharp-looking man with his impassive face, who was saying now with rather a patronising smile:

"Well, I suppose we all live and learn." Then he added, with a neat bow: "Glad to hear you are to be our guest at Clive's Road to-night. We shall have an opportunity of talking over things new and old."

Miss Glanton, in her rôle of brevet-hostess, did not mean to permit more talk between two male guests, especially as she was desirous of monopolising one of them.

"May I introduce, Major Ryde, Mrs. Rayner?" she said, as a dapper-looking officer appeared, evidently with the intention of joining Miss Glanton. Divining Hester's disappointment on being separated from her friend, she added with a smile:

"Believe me, Mrs. Rayner, Major Ryde is as useful to the new-comer as a well-stocked 'Lady's Companion' to a housewife. He knows everybody and everything about everybody. I used to call him the young woman's best companion last season, did I not, Major Ryde?"

"I believe, Miss Glanton, you did me that honour last season, but I should put emphasis on the 'last,'" replied the major with a reproachful air. Then turning to his new charge, he piloted her towards the refreshment tent, which seemed to be the centre of popularity at the moment, to judge from the echoes of gay laughter and talk mingling with the jangle of tea cups and wine glasses which met them as they drew near.

"Now, Mrs. Rayner, seeing the creature comforts have been served, I must try to live up to Miss Glanton's character of me if you will put me to the test," said Major Ryde politely, as they left the tent. "I see there is no chance of entering the croquet lists at this moment." He glanced towards the lawn where more than one game was now in progress, elderly couples poising their mallets with an air of enjoyment, the crack of the boxwood balls sounding in the clear air as they were skilfully driven to their goal.

Hester had been an adept at the game on the home-lawns, but she did not feel inclined to enter the lists at the moment.

"Suppose we have a stroll among the shrubberies," suggested her companion.

It was among those very winding green paths that Hester had been hoping to be permitted to wander in company with her husband and her old friend, and to have the pleasure of seeing them welding together. But that would come later. She turned with gracious courtesy to respond to the amiable effort on the part of her escort and assure him that she had been longing to explore those green labyrinths.

"What a pretty effect all these gay uniforms give to a garden-party. I have seen nothing like this at home, and I don't think there were any uniforms at the only party I've been to since I came to Madras."

"Mrs. Teapes? You are right, Mrs. Rayner. I commend your discernment. That was a judge's house. In fact it is only at Government House, or on occasions when His Excellency or the Commander-in-Chief honours the gathering, that it is de rigueur to don our war-paint. Glad you think it so attractive! The younger men are getting lazy and prefer mufti when they can get off with it. I confess I think a well-made man never looks better than in full dress. Ah, here comes our Commander-in-Chief! Perhaps you'd like to wait and have a look at him before we begin our walk."

Hester saw an elderly man of gracious presence advance along the crimson strip to greet the hostess, his refined face lit up by a smile of singular sweetness. He was followed by his suite.

"Very glad the Chief has put in an appearance," continued the major, "Mrs. Glanton will be gratified. Very good of him to come, he is a weary man often—has seen much service. There is the Brigadier coming to greet him."

"What a fine pair of soldiers they look!" said Hester.

"They are all that," assented Major Ryde warmly. "Glad we've got a man for a Brigadier at last, instead of the little spinning-top we had, who couldn't get on his horse without his syce's back for a foot-stool, and even when mounted, was so scared by his frisky mare's paces when the band began to play that he had her ears stopped with cotton wool!"

Hester laughed, but inwardly commented that there was more than one officer of the spinning-top order as she glanced at her rotund companion. They had now reached the shady walks which she had longed to penetrate, and not being given to repartee of the sort which fitted her companion's topics, the conversation threatened to languish.

"Your friend Clarice is a smart girl, Mrs. Rayner," he remarked, as he caught sight of a pair of strollers on a path alongside, separated by thick shrubs. "But, to my mind, she rather overdoes it at times. See how she's captured that 'griffin'? I can see her leading him about there," said the major, as he glanced maliciously through the tangled creepers.

"But don't you think people must learn to talk pleasantly about everything—and nothing—when they have a great deal of entertaining to do like Miss Glanton? They seem so hospitable and invite everybody."

"That's just what they do—invite 'everybody'! It's Mrs. Glanton's patent method of making herself popular. She loves the voice of the majority. Very pretty in you, however, to set it down to kindness and that sort of thing—wish we had more of the bloom of charity among us, but I fear it wears off like the lovely English bloom"; and the major cast an admiring glance on the fair face of his companion.

As the talk rolled on, Hester began to think that Major Ryde's remarks were more outspoken and personal than she had been used to think quite in good taste, though she could not help feeling half amused by the smart running commentary with which he enlarged on his fellow guests, as soon as they were out of hearing.

It was therefore with true pleasure that she perceived at a little distance a lady to whom she had drawn more than to any other since her coming to Madras.

"Oh, yes, that's Mrs. Fellowes, from the sepoy cantonment at Royapooram," assented Major Ryde, showing in his tone the contempt he affected for the Native Infantry.

Hester's smile had already beckoned the older lady. The major, perceiving that his tête-à-tête was now interrupted, descried another companion and politely withdrew.

CHAPTER III.

The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet of water in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque than any Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by graceful over-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the setting sun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparkle like a bed of gems.

"Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed with delight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where the bright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and none grow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs. Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They would add just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room."

"Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, though the stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!—--This excessively long parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!"

But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight of slippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing the prize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, but the tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined.

"Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes.

Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herself ankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slipped one step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into the water. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to her companion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both her hands to help her.

The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walk alongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake, through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instant crashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appeared through the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with a smiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in her hand.

"Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display of knight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the cross walk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and her companion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in a bantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slithery steps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! And your pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you been about to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing at the older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings and ruined frock and hastened to defend her friend.

"Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasol she held out—but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr. Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend.

The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked into the refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of the Pinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend.

Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her guests, and said pointedly:

"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs. Rayner."

"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me. Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you are wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"

"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."

Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened silently to the account of her misfortune.

"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp attack of fever."

"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "But it will be wise to go—or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs. Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.

"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied Clarice, shaking her head.

"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off alone.

"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think, Cheveril? I shall drive you home."

"Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Will that not be simplest?"—"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when he recollected his semi-hostess was by his side.

"Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why, you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!"

"You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr. Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. The Brigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too."

Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, though she felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemen disappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with the ladies.

The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long in that city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk had fallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester when she reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of the afternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs. Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. Major Ryde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which had obliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over which Alfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for Mark Cheveril, he might as well have still been on the Bokhara for all she had seen of him!

A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealing over her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship; and she was now to have a fresh proof of it.

The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into the verandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her jhapra for to hook up Missus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message.

"What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, having already made acquaintance with the useful article then coming into vogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras.

"Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal done put under, it make werry warm Missus clothes."

"That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirts too," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten her plight and its possible consequences.

"Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed her mistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, all excitement, gave directions for the placing of the jhapra above the charcoal fire.

Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks to Mrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; its promptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton's party at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the jhapra.

"We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr. Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton was in readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, having been secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneous with Hester's.

Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had been placed for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would have heard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidently more perceptive than friendly.

"Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has just been telling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She had slipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got a ducking."

"And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger home in that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of that fellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart. Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. They aren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only a struggling barrister like myself!"

"And his wife a rector's daughter—told me so herself this afternoon when Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound the possibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde.

"You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She looks charming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder too how he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not an heiress."

"What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth with a benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperate climate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteer them over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, he comes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form of Regnier—some chap that came over with the Conqueror——"

"Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, what more, Stapleton?"

"Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a large allowance from his people."

"So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well, anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor—such are not unknown on our Indian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whose appearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "I hear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. at Puranapore. Don't envy him his job!"

"No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said another speaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited with being slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a great shikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between the Hindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly. He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Got on badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately that Printer was really a mauvais sujet. Cheveril looks an honest, energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Rayner tacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," he ended, glancing at the two retreating figures.

"Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearly exhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shall see Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has with Rayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too."

Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile, Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond of interest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links between them than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he had received a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that his sister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to be married in a few days.

Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regret swept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whom he had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himself as best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautiful little antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little note of thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, a treasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side.

Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and the spirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for any possibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expert whip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was, however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in the wonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fading glow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softly stirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering the road. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustling murmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points of light, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising even from the grass and glittering against the darkening sky.

"What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had come down from the firmament," said Mark.

"Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory," replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight, they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transform themselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our only illusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," he added, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin too early to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by his wife's description of the young man.

But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention. They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down a wayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctively raised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!"

The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation.

"If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would have been under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himself with an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn't we pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to be waiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that so nearly wrought him destruction!"

Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps, planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of the foot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of a certain wistful, expectant look it wore.

"I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again.

"Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "He needn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drive in! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!"

"A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all the more because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am of mixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood with such——"

"Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner, after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added, slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to me something of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new to India to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me that even when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in some talk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fine Service—and lucky you are—you must keep a quiet tongue in your head about that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry you through if you persist in knocking your head against that post. And there's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "I was just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with Judge Teape near you, that he looked much more chi-chi than you did, though he's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend upon it Hester and I will never breathe your secret. Now there's a compact!" And Rayner bowed graciously.

There was something so offensive in his tone and suggestion that Mark was for a moment struck dumb.

Mistaking his silence, Rayner added, in a patronising tone: "You're taking offence at what I've been saying, old chap. I assure you it's for your good!"

"Offence? No, rather I should like to try to bring you to a better mind," said Mark stoutly. "These prejudices of yours are not new to me. I haven't attained to my years without having them dinned into me at home——"

"Well, perhaps your cure will be best brought about by coming out here, after all! You'll get disillusioned fast enough. Mark my words, I shall enjoy watching the process! A vile, low set are these Eurasians—as they like to be called. Now look here, Cheveril, I'll make a compact with you. Watch these crawling creatures for six months in silence, without disclosing your connection with them, and at the end of that time I'll give you leave to proclaim yourself an East Indian!"

"Thanks, Rayner, you mean kindly, I've no doubt, but I cannot enter into such a compact with you or any man. Not that I'm vain enough to take it for granted that all the world is so interested in me or my forebears as to think it necessary to descant on them at every market cross, but truth and honour must be our shield and buckler," observed Mark in an earnest tone.

It was too dark for him to see the sardonic smile that crossed his companion's face, as he muttered to himself: "High-flown young fool! But I must at once annex Hester, so that I may preserve him as a useful friend in that Puranapore business. I must write to Zynool and tell him to win over the young cub, by hook or by crook, before he cuts his teeth!"

The handsome Australians were now dashing along the avenue, and halted before the broad white flight of steps of the house in Clive's Road, which in the dusk looked a genuine marble palace. Its portico of chunam pillars was gleaming like the purest white Carrara. Lamps twinkled everywhere, for its owner liked a display of light. Through the many open windows of the large dining-room one could see the dinner table, with its tall silver lamps, artistic arrangement of flowers, and elegant furnishings, round which white-robed servants flitted.

Among the gleaming pillars of the verandah stood the lady of the house clad in shimmering white, with the red water-lilies at her breast and a joyful smile on her red lips.

"Here we are," said Rayner, throwing the reins to the syce. "If Mark Cheveril, I.C.S., will honour my humble abode with his presence," he added with a histrionic air.

"A humble abode, Rayner? Say rather a palace!" said Mark, springing from the mail-phaeton.

"Well, a palace if you like," returned his host with the pride of possession in his eyes. "And there stands my princess!"

CHAPTER IV.

"I think you are most inconsiderate, Hester, to take Cheveril to that squalid suburb when he might be playing tennis with the fair Clarice at the Adyar," Mr. Rayner was saying, as his wife and their guest stood in the verandah preparing for an early morning drive.

"Except for three reasons you might call me 'inconsiderate,' Alfred," replied Hester, smiling. "First, Mark promised he would go and see Mrs. Fellowes this morning; second, he does not like tennis; and third, Royapooram isn't a squalid suburb, but one of the most picturesque military cantonments."

"Yes, it certainly looked very picturesque when it was pointed out to me from the deck of the Bokhara, with those wonderful palms dipping down it seemed into the sea. I want to make its nearer acquaintance, and I must add Mrs. Fellowes' also," said Mark, as the landau appeared, and Hester, in pretty morning apparel, took her seat in it, followed by her guest.

Her husband watched them as they drove away, then slowly returned to his darkened writing room.

"Wish they hadn't been bound for Mrs. Fellowes'," he muttered. "She affects Eurasians, I know, and Cheveril may meet some of those detestable creatures I particularly wish him to avoid. Pity I didn't give Hester a hint in time!"

Meanwhile, the landau was carrying the pair along the leafy roads towards the sea, and soon it was threading its way by the crowded First Line Beach full of bustling commercial activity. Great droves of muscular coolies were pushing loads which good British dray horses would not lightly have tackled; but the strong shiny brown limbs, made supple by frequent oilings, seemed to have no difficulty in dragging their burdens, which they did with unconscious grace, and even with cheerfulness, judging from the resonant chorus of shouts. One side of the sea front was given up to shipping in all its varieties, while the other was lined by many-hued buildings, some so evidently of the Georgian period that one did not need to glance at the date above their Greek-pillared porticos. They were intersected by higher parti-coloured buildings of chunam, and except for one or two hotels, all given up to business purposes of varying degrees of importance. Against the substantial blocks were huddled some ramshackle erections which had evidently seen better days, but which were now fast sinking into godowns for storage, their peeling façades lending picturesqueness to the street scene on which Mark was looking with keen interest.

Now the carriage was nearing the lines of the Native Infantry. Not far from them stood various detached bungalows, surrounded by compounds, where the officers sojourned, with a sprinkling of other residents who liked this suburb so near the sea. Clusters of low, thatched, mud villages, with enclosures of bamboo, where semi-nude children crawled about like sandhoppers, nestled under the groups of tall feathery palms which, Mark had noticed, seemed to dip into the sparkling waters of the ocean.

Colonel Fellowes, commanding officer of the sepoy regiment, occupied one of the pleasantest houses in Royapooram. It was a much less pretentious abode than the Rayner's house in Clive's Road, for the suburb was old and unfashionable, but its compound wore a snug social air which made it look more like a home garden, Mark thought, as he followed Hester to the house.

Mrs. Fellowes was specially delighted to see her young friend as a proof that she had not suffered from her slip on the treacherous steps of the tank. She welcomed Mark with cordiality, introducing him to her husband, a tall spare man of bony frame with a simple earnest face, bronzed by the suns of many hot weathers on Indian plains where he had trained his sepoys and loved them like children.

"Yes, the Colonel and I like to think of our bungalow as a cottage with roses looking in at the window," Mrs. Fellowes was saying, as Mark, with the keen eye of the new-comer, commented on the home-like attributes of the bungalow with its trellised verandah, where creepers twined their graceful tendrils, and roses and wisteria climbed up its amber-coloured walls and pillars. "But I hope we shan't make the mistake of some Anglo-Indians and try to reproduce it at home."

"I believe you are right, Mrs. Fellowes," returned Mark. "My father's people happen to live in Shropshire, not far from Styche Hall, Clive's birthplace, and I always regretted he should have replaced the old black-timbered house by a mansion with verandahs."

"Yes," said Colonel Fellowes, who had joined them, "I once made a pilgrimage to see that house—Clive being one of my heroes. We should have worshipped that simple black-timbered house if it had still been extant. All the same, the present one isn't the gorgeous palace Macaulay would have us believe. Poor Clive, he was much maligned, as many of the makers of India have been! What would the Carnatic, for instance, be now, but for Clive? A tiger jungle—only the tigers two-footed instead of four, and tearing each other to bits!"

"The result has been good, certainly," replied Mark, "but are you sure it was not the hungry mouth of the rapacious West, craving for pepper and cardamoms, and hankering after the fabled gold and gems of Hindustan, that brought the white men? Remember he came as a suppliant trader to these shores and first begged for crumbs!"

"Granted!" returned Colonel Fellowes. "Just as the Israelites came to the land of Canaan—sent by the same Hand. Depend upon it the hosts of our forefathers were the hosts of God, as Kingsley says. But talking of reproducing chunam palaces at home, I was amused to hear Rayner saying the other day at the Club that he had got a plan of his house in Clive's Road, and meant to reproduce it in Belgravia! 'First catch the standing room,' said I. He's an ambitious young fellow that, and a pushing one! I wish his ambition would take the form of giving his wife a good mount. I told him of a perfect one to be had at Waller's stables, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"But Mrs. Rayner used to be a keen horsewoman," said Mark, recalling vividly some pleasant rides in Worcestershire lanes.

"Well, strange as it may seem, he has an unaccountable prejudice against riding, though he is a good whip and has several pairs of fine Arabs besides the two Walers. I begged him, if he wouldn't come himself, to let Mrs. Rayner ride of a morning with my wife. She was most keen, but he wouldn't hear of it. Selfish, I call it! She is so charming, quite the nicest of our brides this season," added the colonel, his eyes following Hester's slender figure as she strolled along the lawn walk with his wife.

Mark fully endorsed his remark though he did so silently, inwardly commenting on the personal note which all conversation seemed to take in his new social surroundings. He had observed it on the previous evening when more than one of those to whom he had been introduced made comments more frank than friendly concerning his future chief and others which, in home circles, would have been considered somewhat out of taste. Perhaps it was a trait of this Anglo-Indian society, bred of the narrowness of its range of topics. It was perforce illuminating to a new-comer, though he felt that the suggestion of selfishness in Hester's husband was painful when he recalled the parting words of her mother on the Pinkthorpe Rectory. "We would fain that Hester had chosen one of whom we knew more than Alfred Rayner. As her father says, he is still an unknown quantity. In fact, the dear child's choice was too hurried. You will do much to reassure us, Mark, if you can tell us that the man of her choice is strong to lean on, tender and true!"

Even already from his few hours' acquaintance, Mark felt by no means sure that he could banish Mrs. Bellairs' anxiety by the assurance for which she longed. There seemed to him a curious hardness about Rayner, combined with a lack of manliness, making visible shallow ambitions. He wore them "on his sleeve" in fact, and Colonel Fellowes had not far to probe in putting his finger on such weaknesses. But Mark hoped that Hester had not discovered any such flaws, and he desired, brother-like, to shield her from the knowledge of them. Rayner could hardly live beside one so true and sweet as she was without being influenced for good. Whenever he could get release from his duties at Puranapore he would surely be able to trace her ennobling influence on her husband, and till then he must forbear to sound any note of trouble to the anxious mother far away.

"Ah, here comes someone we don't see every day," exclaimed Mrs. Fellowes, going forward to greet a visitor who came slowly along the shady walk. He was a man about Colonel Fellowes' age, tall but not so erect and with less broad shoulders. His face was not so bronzed as the soldier's, but his skin had a more withered look, and there was a pathetic light about his deep, penetrating grey eyes. The curves of his thin lips betokened a settled sadness, though his face lit up with a rarely pleasant smile as he returned Mrs. Fellowes' greeting.

"Welcome, Mr. Morpeth, you are a sight for 'sair een,' as my old Scots aunt used to put it."

Mark was more than astonished at the cordiality of Mrs. Fellowes' greeting when he recognised in the visitor the man whom the restive Australians of the mail-phaeton had almost trampled under foot, and whom Alfred Rayner had characterised as a "greasy half-caste." On the first opportunity he asked his hostess the name of the guest.

"David Morpeth," she replied, "a man whom we are proud to know, though he is an East Indian," she added, lowering her voice. "You know—or perhaps you don't know yet—what an inveterate prejudice there is against these people. I always say that David Morpeth would redeem a nation; he lives and toils for his despised people, pours out his money and his life for them, often, I fear, with very poor return. He has even enlisted me, and we have started one or two things together. I must add, that though Mr. Morpeth is of that despised mixed blood, he is really personally much respected here; but he declines social advances from any quarter, so my husband and I feel honoured when he puts in one of his rare appearances. Besides, I value the little change for the dear man from the toils of those wretched people."

"I should like to be introduced to Mr. Morpeth, if you don't mind," said Mark eagerly.

"By all means! How nice of you, Mr. Cheveril!"

Mrs. Fellowes, with a pleased air, led the way to the shade of a tamarind tree where the helper of his people stood talking pleasantly to a little fair-haired English boy, the son of Mrs. Fellowes' next door neighbour.

David Morpeth's face wore a bright smile now, very different from his sad stern mien of the previous evening. Mark felt ashamed when he recalled the incident, but could not venture to apologise, though, somehow, he knew that the older man recognised him as one of the occupants of the mail-phaeton. An evident air of surprise seemed to mingle with his recognition, though all awkwardness was at once eliminated by Mark Cheveril's greeting.

"Mrs. Fellowes has just been telling me of your efforts for our poor brothers, and I want to give you the hand of fellowship," he said with a frank smile.

"I welcome it heartily, sir," returned David Morpeth with a half startled air, though his whole face beamed. Then a puzzled look flitted across it as he said slowly, fixing his deep eyes on the young man: "I believe I speak to the new Assistant-Collector of Puranapore just arrived from England? I must not take advantage of your inexperience, Mr. Cheveril. I am an East Indian—a half-caste, and I naturally try to help my own people!"

"And I also am an East Indian. My father's wife was a Hindu girl. I've always been proud of the link with this great country—my mother's land!"

David Morpeth's eyes spoke unutterable things as he gazed on the handsome open face of the young man. He seemed spell-bound by his declaration and kept silence for a moment. He walked a few paces away with his hands folded behind him, and Mark heard him uttering low tremulous words. Retracing his steps he came and stood in front of the young civilian, laid his hand on his shoulder, and spoke in a slow measured tone like one unaccustomed to lighter talk; his address, like his searching eyes, had something that reminded one of the descriptions of the ancient seer.

"Yours is a noble confession, young man! May you be able to live up to it! But believe me, there will be many a sorrow, many a tear. I would fain have further talk with you. I cannot tell you how I rejoice that my steps led me here this morning to feel the grasp of your young hand, but I must go now, this is not the place for further parleying," he added, glancing beyond the tamarind tree with a sudden startled air.

Instinctively Mark glanced round, wondering what could be the cause of his agitation. There seemed none. Only Hester was crossing the lawn, probably to suggest that it was time to bring their visit to a close. Surely the gracious presence of the young English lady could not call up the sudden air of discomfort on the old man's face. Then he recalled Alfred Rayner's insolent demeanour on the previous night, and his refusal even to apologise to the man whom he called a "greasy half-caste." Yes, that must be what made the sensitive man shrink into his shell. He did not wish to encounter the wife of his insulter, Mark decided, as he held out his hand, saying:

"We must meet again before I leave for Puranapore. I shall come and get some of your wisdom while I can."

With a glad smile Mr. Morpeth raised his sun-topee and hurried down the shady walk which made a short cut to the entrance gate.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that elusive Mr. Morpeth has eluded me again," said Hester. "I watched Mrs. Fellowes introduce you to him and said to myself, 'Now's my chance,' and when I perceived you and him in deep conversation I didn't like to intrude, and now he's gone. I saw him here once before and thought he had such a sad interesting face, I longed to know him."

"Yes, he is interesting," returned Mark, "specially so to me. He is an East Indian by birth. I only wish for this and other reasons I was not to be banished from Madras. I'm sure this David Morpeth and I would become fast friends, especially since there is the bond of race between us."

Hester looked grave, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak. Here surely was the opportunity for giving Mark some warning on this point concerning which her husband had dwelt with such harsh words. The ice had not been broken on the topic as yet, and she felt she must go softly, all the more since Alfred was now seeming to belie his words and proving an entirely gracious and helpful host; for she had not heard of the episode of the homeward evening drive. It must surely have been only a fit of passing petulance which had made Alfred speak so. It would be worse than foolish in her to refer to the matter now, she decided, as, after taking leave of Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes, they drove home to baths and late breakfast.

"Here is a list I've been framing for you of important people you've got to call on, Cheveril," said Mr. Rayner with a paterfamilias manner, as he walked into the breakfast-room, evidently bent on initiating his guest in all the intricacies of social procedure in Madras. "The new-comer has to call first here, so you must positively leave cards at all those houses, Government House included, since you are bent on leaving us to-morrow."

"What a formidable array of names!" exclaimed Mark, raising his eyebrows as he scanned the sheet. "Why, one would think you were going to put me up for a constituency, Rayner, if there was such a thing in this part of the world?"

"You may thank your stars, there is not, for then you might have to canvass all the half-caste warrens, kiss babies as black as your boot, et cetera. Thank goodness, Englishmen will never sink to that! No, the constituency I desire you should cultivate is one of pure Englishmen. I've only given you the names of socially desirable people. You must plough through those calls, Cheveril, they are a sacred rite for the new-comer. Great mistake not to leave your card on all big entertainers, for instance! Puranapore is not so far off that you cannot respond to every desirable invitation. The fair Miss Clarice will be sure to claim you for her coming ball. In fact, I saw an invitation in her eyes, mouth, and every feature of her face!" he added, with a laugh which jarred upon Mark, who, though he was not what is called "a lady's man," and perhaps because he was not, possessed that innate chivalry for woman which seemed to rise to the surface when the slightest note of disrespect for them was sounded.

But truly, as Mark acknowledged to himself, Rayner was proving a most painstaking host. He was actually pressing the use of one of his carriages on his acceptance, and Hester assured him that the landau was at his service, as she had duly responded to all social obligations, having been, she laughingly assured him, kept up to the mark by her husband.

Mark would not hear of appropriating an article which, in this hot climate, he understood to be as essential as one's boots, and had, in fact, already ordered a hired carriage for this enforced round of visits.

His host at length departed for the High Court with semi-paternal injunctions that his guest must not skip a single name in his valuable list.

Presently the hired bandy, which had been waiting under a tree for some time, was summoned, and Mark's butler, whom, on his host's recommendation he had engaged that morning, stood salaaming below the verandah steps preparatory to opening the carriage door.

"Where master wishing to drive?" asked Narainswamy in his best English.

"Morpeth house, Vepery," was the reply.

CHAPTER V.

In a quarter of Madras where dwelling houses were not separated by so many acres of garden ground as in the more fashionable suburbs, there stood, at the corner of a shady road, a white wooden gate. It was a feature rare in the Belgravia of the town where peeling chunam posts with rusty iron sockets were often the only traces of the departed gate; one of the changing tenants having probably demanded that it should be dispensed with, another that it should be replaced, to be assured by the obsequious landlord that the order would be executed at once, though the gate in question was most likely broken up for firewood or eaten by white ants, the polite Mussulman not having the remotest intention of replacing it, however much he might assure successions of tenants that the gate was on its way to be fitted to the old posts.

But what mattered such traces of dilapidation to those often changing inmates? Were not pleasant homes, trim gateways, verdant lawns, awaiting them across the sea when the requisite number of rupees had been amassed, the years of service expired, and the exile only a memory?

Within the precincts of this white gate, however, no change of owners had interrupted its careful tendance for many a year. No period of rankness had intervened in the trim compound. Under the tall grey pillar-like stems of the cocoanut-tope behind the bungalow, the grass, by means of much watering, was almost as green as an English lawn. Shapely tamarinds, dark mango, and neem trees brooded over the garden where a wealth of old-fashioned flowers grew and prospered, sheltered by various ingenious contrivances from the scorching rays of the sun and the devastation of the monsoon. Green colonnades of broad-leaved plantains, with their curious spikes of fruit, made a dividing line between the flower-beds and the well-kept vegetable garden at the end of which, beside the tank, a picotta was mounted, where an agile coolie swung on the primitive pump, propelling the water from below and sending it along a labyrinth of little intersecting mud-channels percolating the thirsty earth.

The visitor, who was now opening the white gate, had sprung from his bandy at the entrance to the avenue, evidently electing to walk towards the house, a proceeding as novel as it was distasteful to the syce, who sat sulky and inanimate on his perch for some moments before he decided to seek the shelter of a shady nook on the road. In fact, he had been led to expect from Dorai Cheveril's butler—the result of crumbs of news picked up from the breakfast table—that he was to have a succession of lively doings; a call at Government House to begin with, then a round of gay compounds where there would be many of his own species to fraternize with. But this 'Morpeth house,' he knew, did not offer such possibilities.

No feature of the carefully-tended garden escaped Mark Cheveril's keen eye as he made his way to the peaceful bungalow. Its verandah looked invitingly cool even in the noontide glare, overhung as it was by graceful creepers. The visitor thought he might see his new friend seated in its green recesses, but all seemed empty and silent. He was too recent an arrival to know that bells and knockers are conspicuous by their absence from an Indian abode. All beyond the verandah was open, revealing vistas of cool darkness within, but he decided that to enter unannounced would hardly be permissible even in this land of open hospitality. Recalling that Mrs. Fellowes had told him Mr. Morpeth was a lonely bachelor, he came to the conclusion that both he and the servants must be absent, and was turning to go when he heard a sign of life. A rich baritone voice broke the silence. Mark could detect in its timbre the speaking voice of the old East Indian, who, since his arrival in Madras, had twice cast his spell upon him. The air he was singing was melodious, and the words fell with clear cadence on the still noontide:

"Light of those whose dreary dwelling
Borders on the shades of death,
Come and all Thy love revealing,
Dissipate the clouds beneath."

Mark listened fascinated. It seemed to him like a solemn invocation, a passionate prayer uttered by the lonely man. The echo of those simple words was to come back to him in after years, recalling the day he stood a young hopeful civilian at the entrance of his life in the land, new and wonderful to him, listening to the cry of the old pilgrim who had borne the burden and heat of that land all his years, and whose dearest aim had been to bring light to some of those "dreary dwellings" bordering on the shadow of death.

The singing ceased, and Mark mounted one or two of the flat entrance-steps, deciding to make his way through the open doors and announce himself. But the old man's sense of hearing was quick.

"I thought I heard a step," he said, coming from the darkness within, a welcoming smile on his face. "My boys are all away at rice and siesta, no doubt."

"I hope I'm not intruding, Mr. Morpeth. I thought I should like to begin my calls by taking advantage of your kind invitation to come and have a talk with you."

"A kind and gracious thought, Mr. Cheveril. You come to cheer a lonely old man."

"But you have many interests, many solaces, Mr. Morpeth. I heard you singing like a true musician as I reached your verandah. In fact, I must plead guilty to eavesdropping. Both the air and the words were new to me and held me."

"Yes, it's a favourite of mine. But you from England must be familiar with all Charles Wesley's hymns?"

"I fear you credit me with more knowledge about many good things than I can lay claim to, Mr. Morpeth. Hymnology has not been much of a study with me."

"Ah, but you must make the acquaintance of Charles Wesley. There is real poetry in his hymns, much more than in his brother John's. They have a beautiful haunting power which the others lack. I was glad to find that pearl among English deans—Stanley—acknowledging this in one of his books lately. But what am I thinking about, Mr. Cheveril? This is not the hour to linger in the verandah! Come and seek the coolness of my homely den here."

Mr. Morpeth led the way into the drawing-room of the house which had been fitted up as a library. In the rows of teakwood dwarf-bookcases, raised from the ground by carved lions couchants high enough above the matting to protect them from the ravages of white ants, were well-filled shelves of books. A case from home lay half unpacked on the floor. A roomy writing-table with well-filled pigeon-holes showed traces of manifold labours. The furnishing of the room evidently belonged to a period when it was possible to get good wood, before so many of the great forest trees were cut down. The polished chunam of the walls told of days when coolies were plentiful and lent the strength of their sinewy arms to rub the shell-lime till it gleamed like marble, even in the light of day.

"What a delightful room!" exclaimed Mark. "It looks more English than anything I've seen here, and yet you've never been——" He paused without finishing his sentence as he glanced at the brown-skinned man.

"Never been in England? No, and I fear I never shall be, though it used to be my dream in the years when I was too poor to carry it out. Yet I see now there came a time when I ought to have gone to England—but regrets are vain," he added, and a look of trouble stole into his eyes.

Habituated from his childhood to respect the English as a superior race, David Morpeth had suffered himself to be perhaps unduly crushed by that aristocracy of colour which he had so long reverenced. He had bent the knee before the prejudice against those of mixed blood, conscious of having neither the will nor the power to contend against it. His life therefore had flowed into other channels. A solitary man, he had attached himself to the domiciled community with all the fervour of a true vocation. But for occasional friendly souls like Mrs. Fellowes, he had hitherto experienced a great loneliness. He had begun life in Calcutta attached to a wealthy merchant firm, and by virtue of his high character, was eventually received as a valued partner. When he retired from active business, he elected to make his home in an old family house in Madras which had long been let, and around which was a colony of his own people.

Freyville, Vepery, soon became a centre of kindly offices for the Eurasians. David Morpeth would indeed have been welcomed in other circles, but, as Mrs. Fellowes had explained to Mark that morning, he had given himself body and soul to the despised race.

Mark Cheveril had been quick to note the chivalry of his heart, and it found an echo in his own.

"Mrs. Fellowes told me you are so immersed in work for our people that you don't even take a holiday to the hills."

"Ah, you see I have a large family to look after, but there is good cheer in the work. You must not believe all you hear about the inevitable degradation of the mixed race."

"I should be the last to believe anything of the kind. It would be a death-knell to my hopes of helping them, but I must be a learner for some time to come."

"Ah, but a sympathetic one! That makes all the difference! It is the cruel inveterate prejudice against the whole class that has led to their degradation. They have accepted the verdict passed on them by the pure races, and it has crushed them. Their tendency is to look down on manual labour, and yet in industrial callings they cannot hold their own with the inhabitants of the soil. The poor among them have sunk so low, wearing out hopeless lives in wretched crowded dens. Often only a shed with a mat as covering suffices for a home. They have neither physical nor mental energy to strike out careers for themselves. Inevitable pauperism we have, of course, as in England, and it is often encouraged by indiscriminate giving that plays into the hands of loafers, many of them pure Europeans who will not work, preferring to become beggars. It's easy enough to throw a bone to a dog and be done with it, and the well-wishers of our people are well to watch with jealous eye those trouble-hating Europeans, ay, even among the clergy, who would salve their consciences by merely giving alms."

"Yes, Mrs. Fellowes told me she used to be one of those till you enlightened her."

"And now she proves a priceless helper to a class that troubles me even more than the loafers, and for which neither you nor I can do anything," said Mr. Morpeth, with a frank smile. "Those scores of young women who live sordid, useless, aimless lives, the daughters perhaps of decent, hard-working fathers. Those girls ought to be earning a livelihood, but false notions of 'shabby gentility'—shall we call it?—impels them to lounge about all day with the proverbial idle hands which the Evil One finds so handy. From poor warrens of homes they come forth bedecked in tawdry finery that they spend their lives in sticking together. Faugh, it makes one ill to see them lolling about their pandals and ogling at passers-by," Mr. Morpeth added, with a truly British shrug of his shoulders which brought a smile to Mark Cheveril's face. "It is these eyesores," he went on, "that Mrs. Fellowes and one or two like-minded helpers have tackled. Some of them don't even know how to write or add up a sum, though they are full-grown women, and their powers of reading are so lame that many among them cannot read the simplest story with ease or pleasure, though, I understand, some are great readers and devour 'yellow backs.' Mrs. Fellowes has instituted sewing classes, and we are beginning to have higher ambitions. We mean to get them bred as printers. The compositor's trade seems specially suited for women; and Mrs. Fellowes has great plans of having them properly trained as ladies' nurses, and is already trying to enlist the Medical Staff on their behalf. Then we have a little pet scheme of getting the more deft-fingered apprenticed to watchmakers and jewellers. We think they might be in requisition for the zenanas where jewellery is so all important."

"But what about the young men? Is it only the women who have sunk to such a state of do-nothingness?"

"Ah, it is in them my hope lies! They are my sons," said Mr. Morpeth, with an eager smile. "To make them more manly, more truthful, to make their souls—that is what I live for now! You may guess then," he added slowly, fixing his eyes on Mark, "how glad an hour struck for me this morning when you made yourself known as one brave enough to come to the rescue!"

"As a humble volunteer only. But I recognise the claim, and here I am! I was going to ask you, surely there are many among the Eurasians who ought to make their way into various services? I have wondered, for instance, why they should be debarred from the army ranks?"

"And many of them have hereditary connection with the British Army too! I confess it has always seemed to me that connection should be fostered. The ranks of the Native Infantry are of course impossible. They could not live as sepoys. Some have distinguished themselves as lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and are in receipt of incomes that would astonish their forefathers. But, alas, many of these try to repudiate their connection with the despised race; from them we often get only sneering words and black looks."

"Base, I call that! But all the more honour to the chivalrous helper!"

"Well, I often think if they could only see what a short-sighted policy their attitude is, even from a selfish point of view, I should not encounter the opposition I do when I seek posts for really capable young men. Why, they often prefer natives in offices! In fact, it is the declared policy of the Imperial Government that appointments should be reserved only for pure Indians. A false policy to my mind, and one that in the end will not strengthen the British Raj! But I must not preach sedition to a Covenanted member of the Service! I am forgetting myself!"

"By no means; your point of view is valuable to me. I seek enlightenment. It does seem the irony of fate that such a state of matters should exist. I feel it is a good omen, Mr. Morpeth, that I should so early in my day have met with an inspirer like you. I shall not be able to give you the help I might had I not been going to Puranapore. But whatever I can do is at your service. You must let me help you with your various organisations. My income is much more than sufficient for my personal wants," said Mark, as he rose to go.

"Well, rupees are needed, as Mrs. Fellowes will tell you. She is an excellent beggar! But I hold now what I value more than silver and gold," said David Morpeth, as the young man laid his hand in his. "That is the clasp of a friendly hand. May it prove a hand that shall undo heavy burdens, loose the bands of wickedness, to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke, as the prophet calls on us to do in a voice that rings through the ages!"

As Mark Cheveril looked into the face of the lonely man, he felt the spell of the beauty of holiness, and was more glad than ever that he had made his first call on one so stimulating, though his name was not on Mr. Alfred Rayner's visiting list.

As he waited at the white gate while Mr. Morpeth's butler was signalling to the drowsy syce to bring up the carriage, Mark was accosted by a young woman who had evidently been hanging about the neighbourhood of the cactus-hedge which skirted the compound. She was a weedy-looking girl, with a slender swaying figure dressed in tawdry finery, but her face was undeniably pretty.

"One of Mrs. Fellowes' protégées, no doubt," Mark decided, and was about to step into the carriage when the girl said breathlessly, keeping her eye fixed furtively on the white gate evidently in fear lest the master of the house should put in an appearance:

"I'm awfulee sorry to trouble you, sir, but I saw you in a lovelee mail-phaeton with Mr. Alf Rayner last night, and when I spied you steppin' in here I thought I should make so bold as to ask where he's livin' now—Alf, I mean?"

Mark felt distinctly surprised at this familiar mention of his friend's husband, all the more as he recalled Mr. Rayner's remarks concerning the domiciled community to which this girl evidently belonged.

Perceiving his hesitation, the girl hastened to explain:

"You see, sir, I've been away in Calcutta for months and months, so I'm a bit behind in news of my friends."

"Then Mr. Rayner is your friend?"

"He's all thatt," responded the girl, with a giggle which at once decided Mark that he was probably dealing with an impostor who might give trouble to his hostess.

"I don't feel at liberty to give you the address you ask. But if you know Mr. Morpeth, or Mrs. Fellowes, they will no doubt see you," added Mark hesitatingly.

"Ho, so you think I'm 'a case,' do you? You want to hand me over to them, I see! Don't you trouble! I'll find Mr. Rayner on my own account," said the girl, tossing her head as she went off with rapid steps.

CHAPTER VI.

Sometimes when Mr. Morpeth felt specially wearied with the labours of the previous evening, he varied his early morning walk by a drive in his little victoria. To-day he had allowed his syce to drive him along the winding roads of the suburbs, heedless whither he was being carried. Rousing himself at length from his reverie, he saw he had now reached the green precincts of Nungumbaukum, and decided to take a stroll. He alighted, and directed his syce to follow while he walked along the road.

As he passed one of the houses he overheard sounds of bitter weeping from the other side of the straggling hedge. A gap in the thicket—a mode of exit much favoured by the native servants—permitted him to catch a glimpse of a little native girl. Sobs painful to his kind heart fell on his ear, and pausing in his walk, he asked in Tamil;

"What ails you, little one?"

The child glanced up with startled air and, peering through the twisted tendrils, caught sight of the speaker. Encouraged by the kind voice and seeing its owner was in European dress, she replied in the best English she could muster, the words broken by sobs:

"Please, sah, Missus say I done steal gold ring. I never done no such ting. My heart done break. I not want to live one minute more. I go drown in tank!"

"Then you did not touch your Missus' ring, little girl?"

"Oh, no, no, I not once touch Missus' ring," wailed the child. "But what I do? Nobody believin' me. Ramaswamy butler hurt werry sore to make me 'fess," and again the dusky head was bent in low weeping.

"What's the matter with your hand?" asked Mr. Morpeth, observing that her right hand was rolled in a comer of her red saree. "Let me see it!"

The small brown hand was obediently held out, showing swollen and bleeding fingers. Little chips of wood, of which some fragments remained, had been pushed under the nails, lacerating the flesh.

"H'm, torture! Just as I suspected!" muttered Mr. Morpeth. "Who did this?"

"Butler done take me into godown make me 'fess. When I no 'fess, he make fingers plenty sore"; and again the child burst into convulsive sobs.

Just then the sound of voices was heard, and the girl leapt from her hiding-place with a look of terror, only to come into view of a stout matron and a young lady who were approaching the dividing hedge between their own and their neighbour's compound.

"There's the little thief, I declare!" exclaimed the young lady, catching a glimpse of the red saree. "And see this gap in the hedge, she's no doubt made it flying from justice."

"Well, it will serve our purpose, for I must go at once and tell Mrs. Rayner how disappointingly her protégée has turned out," said Mrs. Harbottle, crossing the dividing line.

"How could you expect anything else, mama? Mrs. Rayner has only been two months in the country," returned the young lady, with the scorn of new-comers bred of two cold weathers in India.

"Look, the creature's going to slip through our fingers after all. She's making a dart through the hedge to the road"; and Miss Harbottle, hurrying forward, pounced upon the child, and seized the maimed hand still rolled in the saree, causing her to shriek with pain.

"Be quiet, you wicked little thing! I believe you're hiding my ring there. Give it up this instant, or I shall tell Mrs. Rayner what a thief you've turned into. A nice whipping you'll get from her ayah, your old granny; and I hear you tried to bite my butler into the bargain!"

"Ai, Missus, I not done nossin' bad. I not done steal ring! I not done bite butler, he only bleeding my fingers," the child wailed. Remembering the kind face which had looked pityingly upon her from the other side of the hedge, she sprang towards the gap, but the friendly figure had disappeared and Miss Harbottle's fingers were gripping her shoulder like a vice and dragging her along the compound.

Rosie was the granddaughter of Mrs. Rayner's ayah. She was a comely little maid with great lustrous eyes. Her home had been in the godown with her grandmother, who, as all good ayahs do, considered it her function to keep watch and ward over her mistress's belongings, and it early struck Hester that the child must have a very lonely life. She had already grown fond of her ayah, who was indeed worthy of her confidence, being one of the best of her type. The bright, delicate-featured old face, with its nut-brown colouring, framed by wavy grey hair, and the ready responsive smile, had at once attracted her. The ayah, on her side, was devoted to her young mistress, and was not long in telling her of her two treasures, Jan and Rosie, the boy and girl of her dead daughter. For Jan, she had managed to find service, but she had never been able to make up her mind to part with the winning little Rosie. The child, too, was useful to her in many ways. She found her rice always prepared for her to her liking when she went for her mid-day and evening meals. Rosie did a little "titching" too, the ayah assured Mrs. Rayner, but as her clothes were merely lengths of coloured muslin draped gracefully about her little person, there were not many seams to sew. The ayah had the voluble and quaint command of English common to Madrassee servants, and in a wonderful way had been able to impart it to Rosie, though, as to reading English, that was beyond even granny ayah herself. What a joy it was to her therefore when one day her mistress called Rosie to her and gave her her first lesson! The little girl was bright and intelligent, and Hester had passed hours which might have hung heavy on her hands in teaching her to read, and in telling her the simple stories she had been wont to relate to her young brothers at home. The ayah meanwhile would pass and repass on tiptoe, stealing joyful glances at her mistress and the little maid. Thus, in so short a time, a strong link was forged between the young English lady and the ayah's granddaughter. When therefore Mrs. Harbottle chanced to find Rosie so honoured, and heard her connection with her neighbour's excellent ayah, she set her heart on having her as an assistant to her own dull, heavy-featured attendant. Hester decided that such a beginning, so near the watchful grandmother, was a favourable chance for Rosie, and the bargain was concluded.

All hitherto had gone smoothly, and great was Hester's consternation, when looking out from the verandah of her bedroom where she sat busy with her home-mail, she perceived Mrs. Harbottle and her daughter dragging Rosie across the lawn. Hurrying downstairs she was met by a voluble tale from the two ladies in chorus.

"But are you sure the ring is really lost?" she asked in an undertone. "Things often turn up again—are only mislaid."

"This is lost sure enough. Stolen by that imp from my ring-stand on my dressing-table. This very morning when I was at early tea that brat was alone in my room 'tidying up,' forsooth!" Mrs. Harbottle reiterated her accusation while Rosie lay prone on the gravel, a pathetic little bundle of heaving sobs.

The telepathic agency, ever at work among the many domestics of an Anglo-Indian household, now brought the old ayah to the spot to hear what had happened to her one ewe-lamb. The nut-brown tint of her face was replaced by a greyish hue, her features seemed suddenly sharpened as she took in the situation. Folding her lean brown arms, she stood a pathetic, statuesque figure as she listened to the denunciations of the angry Englishwoman. Her eyes turned with a gaze of anguish on the little huddled figure, and catching sight of the muffled hand she went forward and made to undo the end of the red saree.