Books: The Native Born

I >> I. A. R. Wylie >> The Native Born

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"Have I been a long time coming?" she asked, taking the chair he
offered her. "I am so sorry. The Rajah kept me."

Her voice sounded breathless and there was a forced lightness in her
tone which did not escape him. He bent a little over her.

"It does not matter," he said. "You look troubled. Is there anything
wrong?"

She laughed.

"Nothing."

He hesitated, and then went on slowly:

"There is one matter I want to speak to you about, Beatrice. It is the
matter of--our engagement. I think you are wrong to wish it kept
secret. I think it can only bring trouble and misunderstanding. Will
you not allow me to tell every one?"

The white satin slipper stopped its regular tattoo on the rugged
floor. She lifted her face to his and looked him full in the eyes.

"You think it was foolish and unreasonable to wish no one to know? But
I had my reasons--very good reasons. I wanted the retreat kept clear
for you."

"Retreat--for me?"

"Yes, for you. Captain Stafford, why did you ask me to be your wife?"

He drew himself stiffly erect.

"I told you at the time," he said sternly. "I was quite honest. I told
you that the best a man can bring the woman he marries is not in my
power to give you. It was--shipwrecked some time ago."

"Not so very long ago," she corrected.

"That does not matter. The point is that I believe it in my power to
make you happy--at any rate, it would always be my ambition to see you
so; and therein I should no doubt regain a great deal that I have
lost--"

"But you do not love me, Captain Stafford?"

"I have just said that I have lost the power of loving."

For a moment she was silent, her jeweled hands resting wearily on the
arms of her chair, her eyes sunk to the ground.

"You made me an honorable proposal, Captain Stafford," she said at
last. "You are an honorable man and inspire me with the desire to be
honorable also. Won't you take back your freedom while there is yet
time?"

"No."

"There are others--good women among whom you would find one who would
love you as you deserve. I do not love you. All I can bring is a
certain respect and friendship--that is all."

"I am grateful for so much," he said. He was thinking of Lois, and his
voice sounded hard and compressed.

"If I marry you it will be because I must."

He nodded.

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"Aware of that?" she said, looking up into his haggard face. "How
should you be 'aware of that?' Is my private life so public then?"

"You misunderstand me," he said, striving to cover up what he felt to
have been a wanton piece of brutality. "I only mean, you must for the
same reason that I must--because circumstances have linked us
inseparably together, and because--"

He broke off. The tall figure of the Rajah had passed the alcove and
he had seen Beatrice sink back in her chair. As the figure moved on
she broke into one of her harsh, jarring laughs.

"Good heavens, Captain Stafford," she exclaimed, "your arguments
haven't a leg to stand on! What are you marrying me for?"

"I have tried to explain," he said, swinging himself clumsily up to
the great lie of his life--"because I need you--and I hope you will
come to need me."

"You mean I _do_ need you? Well, perhaps I do!" She sprang to her feet
and held out her hand to him. "There! I seal the bargain. I warned you
but you would not be warned. _Vogue la galere!_ Tell the whole
world--it is better so."

He took the small firm hand and pressed it. At the same moment he saw
the Rajah approaching for a second time.

"I will leave you now," he said in a low, earnest whisper. "I fancy
the Rajah wishes to speak with you. It would be a good opportunity to
tell him that we are engaged."

She drew back her hand hastily.

"Yes--of course I shall tell him."

Stafford bowed ceremoniously, making way for Nehal Singh. As he did
so, he saw Lois enter the hall at Mrs. Carmichael's side. The two
women bowed to him, the elder in a way which he had learned to
understand. He drew aside out of their path, avoiding the genuine
kindness which Lois' eyes expressed for him.

"Pray God you believe the worst of me!" was the thought that flashed
through his mind. "Pray God I have taught you to forget!"

Nehal Singh had meanwhile taken Stafford's place at Beatrice's side.
As he had entered the alcove she had made an effort to pass out, but
her eyes had met his, and the look in them had held her rooted to the
ground. The color died and deepened by turns in her cheeks, and the
hand that clasped the ivory fan shook as it had never shaken before in
the course of a life full of risks and dangers. But then no man had
ever looked at her as this man did. She had outstared insolence and
snubbed sentimentality. She had never had to face such an honest,
pure-hearted worship as this young prince brought and laid silently at
her feet. No need for him to tell her that she embodied every virtue
and every perfection of which human nature is capable. She knew it,
and the knowledge broke the very backbone of her daring and stirred to
life in her sickened soul emotions which she could scarcely recognize
as her own.

He stood quite close to her, but he did not touch her. In all their
acquaintance he had never, except when he had taken her hand in
farewell, made any attempt to draw nearer to her than the strictest
etiquette allowed. Other men--men whom she hardly knew--had taken the
opportunity which a ride or drive offered to kiss her, and had been
offended and surprised at her contemptuous rebuff. (What girl in Marut
objected to being kissed?) This man had treated her as though she were
holy, an object to be respected and protected, not to be handled as a
common plaything; and her heart had gone out to him in gratitude and
admiration. But tonight his very respect was painful to her. For a
moment she would have given the best years of her life to know that he
despised her and that all was over between them; and then came the
revulsion, the wild longing to hold him to her as though his trust in
her were her one salvation.

"Lakshmi!" he said, in a voice broken with feeling. "Lakshmi, you are
the most perfect woman God ever sent to earth. Every hour I grow to
know you better I feel how pale and empty of all true beauty my life
was until you came. How can I thank you for all you have given me?"

"Hush!" she said. "You must not talk to me like that. You must not."

"Why should I not tell you what is true?"

"Because--oh, don't you see?"--she gave a short, unsteady laugh--"we
English don't tell people everything that is true. A man does not say
that sort of thing to a woman--"

"To one woman!" he said.

"Yes, to one woman, perhaps. But I--I--" She hesitated, the truth
struggling feebly to her lips. She felt herself turn sick and faint as
she looked into his earnest face. She knew what answer he had ready
for her, and though it would have brought the end for which she was
praying, she sought with all her strength to keep it back. All the
brutality in her character, her indifference to the feelings and
opinions of others, failed. She dreaded the change that would come
into his eyes; she did not believe that she could bear it. Tomorrow
would be time enough. But was it any longer in her power to determine
when it would be time enough? There was an expression in Nehal Singh's
face which told her that he had already decided, and that the reins
had suddenly slipped from her hands into his.

"Rajah--" she began, wildly seeking for some inspiration which would
give her back control over herself and him. But the triviality died on
her lips as the truth had died. A shrill cry broke above the dying
waltz, and the Rajah and Beatrice, startled by its piercing appeal,
turned from each other and confronted a catastrophe which
overshadowed, and for the moment obliterated, their own threatening
fate.

The dancers had already retired to the sitting-out alcoves. Only one
figure occupied the floor, and that figure was Stafford's. He was
crossing the room and had reached the center when the cry had been
uttered. The amazed and startled watchers saw Lois rush toward him and
with an incredible strength and rapidity thrust him to one side. A
second later--it scarcely seemed a second--the immense golden
chandelier crashed with a sound like thunder on to the very spot where
he had been standing. A moment's uproar and horrified confusion
ensued. The place, plunged in a half-darkness, seemed filled with dust
and flying fragments, and people hurrying backward and forward,
scarcely knowing what had happened or what had been the extent of the
accident. Stafford's voice was the first to bring reassurance to the
startled crowd.

"It's all right!" he shouted. "We are both safe, thank God!"

They saw that he was deadly pale, though otherwise calm and collected.
In the first moment of alarm he had instinctively caught Lois in his
arms, as though to shield her from some fresh danger, but immediately
afterward he had let her go, and she stood apart amidst the debris of
the wrecked chandelier, trembling slightly, but firmly refusing all
assistance.

"I owe my life to you," Stafford said to her, with awkward gratitude.

"You do not need to thank me," she answered at once. "I did what any
one else would have done in my place. I saw it coming."

"How did it happen?" The question came from Nehal Singh, who had
forced his way to her side. "I can not understand how such an accident
was possible."

There was an anxiety in his manner which seemed to increase during
Lois' brief hesitation.

"I hardly like to say," she said at last, in a troubled voice. "I
could not believe my eyes, and even now it seems like a dream. Or a
shadow might have deceived me. I don't know--"

"Please tell me what you saw, or thought you saw!" the Rajah begged
earnestly.

"I seemed to see the chandelier being lowered," she said, with an
irrepressible shudder, "and then from a dark hole in the ceiling a
hand appeared--a black hand with a knife--"

One of the women moaned, and there was afterward a silence in which a
wave of formless fear surged over the closed circle. The men exchanged
questioning glances, to which no one had an answer.

"That's just the way," Beatrice heard some one behind her say. "We
dance on the crust of a volcano or under a threatening avalanche.
Sooner or later the one gives way or the other falls. There is no real
safety from these devils."

Meanwhile Nehal Singh had approached the wreckage and was examining
the crown, to which a piece of gilded rope and chain were still
attached. One or two of the men were engaged in stamping out the
candles, which still sputtered feebly on the floor. The rest stood
about uncomfortably, hypnotized by an indefinable alarm.

"I fear you did not dream, Miss Caruthers," the Rajah said at last.
"The rope has been cut--the chain unlinked. Some wicked harm was
intended to us all."

"Not to us all," Stafford observed coolly. "I think you will admit,
Rajah, that whoever the murderer was, he would have chosen a more
advantageous moment if he had intended general damage. My life was the
one aimed at, and I am all the more convinced that I am right, because
this is the third time within twenty-four hours that I have escaped by
a miracle from accidents which were not accidental."

The Rajah started sharply around.

"How?--what do you mean?" he demanded.

"Yesterday my boat on the river was plugged. To-day a native tried to
frighten my horse over the ravine. This"--pointing to the
chandelier--"is the third attempt."

"Do you know of any one who could have a grudge against you?"

"No."

"Or against--your family?"

There was a slight hesitation in Stafford's manner. He frowned as a
man does who has been pressed with an unpleasant question.

"That is more possible," he admitted.

Nehal Singh made no further remark. He stood staring straight ahead
into the half-darkness, and every eye in that uneasy assembly fixed
itself on his face, as though striving to read from his expression the
conclusion to which his mind was groping. For his exclamation after
Stafford's first announcement had betrayed that a sudden suspicion had
flashed before him, and they waited for him to take them into his
confidence. But they waited in vain. He seemed to have forgotten their
existence, and the silence grew tense and painful. All at once, Mrs.
Berry, who was clinging to her husband's arm, uttered a scream, which
acted like a shock of electricity on the overstrained nerves of those
who stood about her.

"Look! Look!" she cried. "Miss Caruthers is on fire! Oh, help! Help!"

She turned and rushed like a frightened sheep to the back of the hall,
crying incoherent warnings to those who tried to bar her headlong
flight. It was a catastrophe upon catastrophe. How it happened no one
knew--possibly some half-extinct candle had done the work. In an
instant Lois' white silk dress had become a sheet of flame which
mounted with furious rapidity to her horror-stricken face. In such
disasters it is only the question of a fraction of a second as to who
recovers his wits first. Almost on the top of Mrs. Berry's heedless
scream Beatrice had sprung toward the doomed girl--with what intention
she hardly knew--but before she was in reach of danger Adam Nicholson
thrust her to one side and, folding Lois in his arms, flung her to the
ground.

"A rug--a shawl--anything!" he shouted.

Mrs. Carmichael tore the long wrap from her shoulders, and a dozen
willing hands lent what assistance first occurred to them. But
Nicholson fought his enemy alone.

"Stand back!" he commanded. "Stand back!"

They obeyed him instinctively, and stood helpless, watching the short,
desperate struggle between life and death. Scarcely a moment elapsed
before the flames died down--one last tight drawing together of Mrs.
Carmichael's wrap, and they were extinct. Nicholson stumbled to his
feet, the frail, unconscious burden in his arms.

"Please make way," he said. "I do not think she is badly hurt, but she
must be taken home at once. Stafford, go and see if the carriage is
there."

His own face was singed, and one of his hands badly burnt, but he did
not seem to notice his own injuries. Colonel Carmichael, who had
entered the hall with him at the moment of the accident, helped to
clear the road. His features in the half-light were grey with the fear
of those last few moments.

"You have saved our little girl!" he said brokenly to Nicholson. "You
have saved her life. God bless you for it, Adam!"

"That's all right," was the cheerful answer. "You know, Colonel, Lois
and I were always helping each other out of scrapes, and I expect it
was my turn." He looked down at the pale face against his shoulder,
and there was an unconscious tenderness in his expression which
touched the shaken old man's heart.

"She will be glad to hear it was you, Adam," he said. "You were always
her favorite."

They had reached the great doors, which the Rajah himself had flung
wide open, when Travers sprang up the steps to meet them. He was
dishevelled, breathless, and exhausted as though with hard running,
and his eyes, as they flashed from one to the other of the little
procession, were those of a madman.

"What has happened?" he demanded frantically. "I was outside with
Webb. What has happened?--Oh!" He caught sight of Lois in Nicholson's
arms, and his cry was high and hysterical, like a frightened woman's.

Stafford seized him by the shoulder and dragged him back into the now
empty hall.

"Control yourself!" he said roughly. "Don't behave like a fool. She is
all right, but they won't want you interfering, especially if you
can't keep your head."

"They won't want me!" Travers exclaimed, staring at him. He then broke
into a discordant laugh. "Why, my good Stafford, they'll have to have
me, whether they want me or no. Lois is mine--mine, I tell you; and
that fellow, Nicholson, had better look to himself--"

"You are beside yourself, Travers. Nicholson saved her life. What do
you mean by saying she is yours?"

"She is to be my wife. Who can have more right to her than I have?"

The two men stared at each other through the semi-darkness. One by one
the lights at the side of the hall were extinguished by the
softly-moving servants. The hushed voices of the departing guests died
away in the distance.

"Your wife!" Stafford repeated slowly. "Since when is that, Travers?"

"Since this afternoon. Let me pass!"

Stafford made no effort to detain him. He stood on one side, and
Travers hurried down the steps. A minute later he was driving his trap
down the avenue at a pace which boded danger for himself and for any
who dared to cross his path.

CHAPTER XVII

FALSE LIGHT

The way to the new Bazaar lay to the right of the mine through a
forest clearing, and was one of Marut's most beautiful roads. Of late,
increased traffic had held the English pleasure-seekers from their
once favorite haunt, and in this early evening hour the bullock wagons
had not as yet begun their journeyings to and from the residential
quarter to the Bazaar, and the road was pleasantly quiet and peaceful.
Hitherto Beatrice had kept her thoroughbred at a constant and
exhausting canter, but here, against her resolution, she pulled up to
a walk and let the cool scented air from the pines blow gently and
caressingly against her hot cheeks.

"This is one of the moments which Fate herself can not take from us,"
she said to her companion. "It is perhaps a very brief moment, but it
is unclouded. We are just glad and happy to be alive in such a lovely
world, and all the outward circumstances which make our lot hard and
bitter are forgotten. Great and little worries are put on one side,
and we can feel like children to whom the past and future is nothing
and the present everything."

"I know what you mean," Nehal Singh answered, "and the hours spent
with you are always those which no one can ever take from me."

She bent over her horse and stroked the glossy coat with her gloved
hand. Then she remembered that she would never ride him again, and the
thought pained her. It was _his_ horse, and this was their last ride
together, though he did not know it. She was going to tell the
truth--or something like the truth--now. No, not now--later on, when
they turned homeward. Then she would tell him, and it would be well
over. But there was no hurry. All that was still in the future. The
moment was hers--a happy moment full of unalloyed charm such as she
had never known in her barren, profitless life. She was not going to
throw it away unless he forced her, and hitherto he had made no
attempt to lead the conversation out of the usual channels.

It was the first time that they were alone together since the eventful
evening at the club, and in the intervening week enough had happened
to give them food for intercourse. By mutual consent, the accident of
the chandelier was not touched upon. Nehal Singh, though promising to
investigate the matter thoroughly, had shown a distress out of
proportion to his responsibility, and it was understood that for some
reason or another, the subject was painful to him. On the other hand,
he had shown a lively and warm-hearted interest in Lois' recovery. She
had sustained little more than a severe shock, and he had been
constant in his attentions, as though striving to atone for an injury
he had unwittingly done her. The accident had also served to deepen
his interest in Adam Nicholson.

"That is a man!" he had said to Beatrice, as they had spoken of his
presence of mind, and his enthusiasm had rung like a last echo of his
old boyishness. "I can not understand why Travers seems to dislike him
so."

Beatrice had made no reply. She had her own ideas on the matter,
having a quick eye for expressions, and she knew that the news of
Lois' engagement had been a shock both to Nicholson and to the
Carmichaels. Travers was one of those men whom the world receives with
open arms in society, but repudiates at the entrance to the family
circle; and of this fact Travers himself was bitterly conscious. And,
on the other hand, there was Nicholson, the accepted and cherished
friend, to whom the world looked with unreserved respect and deserved
admiration. It was not altogether surprising that the two men had
little in common, and on Travers' side there was added a certain
amount of satisfied spite. His instinct told him that he had won Lois
at the critical moment, and that another twenty-four hours would have
seen her safe under the reawakening influence of an old, only
half-forgotten friendship; and Nicholson, too, felt dimly that a
cunning and none too scrupulous hand had shattered a secret hope that
he had cherished from his first year in India. Altogether, there was a
stiffness between them which the world was quick to recognize without
understanding. But Beatrice had made her observations, and, as it has
been said, had come to a definite conclusion. Her interest in Lois was
now thoroughly aroused, and the vision of a dark, suffering little
face against a white pillow recurred to her as she walked her horse
beside Nehal Singh's. As they passed out of the wood, her companion
lifted his whip and pointed in front of them.

"Look!" he said.

She raised her hand to the rim of her helmet, shading her eyes from
the dazzling sun, and gazed in the direction which he indicated.

"Why!" she exclaimed, smiling, "a model world, Rajah!"

"Yes," he answered, "that is what I have tried to make it. I do not
think plague or disease will ever find firm foothold here, and one day
my people will learn to do for themselves what I do for them. They are
as yet no more than children who have to be taught what is good and
bad. There is the chief overseer."

A respectable looking Hindu, who stood at the door of his hut,
salaamed profoundly. It was as though he had given some secret signal,
for in an instant the broad street was alive with dark, scantily clad
figures, who bowed themselves to the dust and raised cries of welcome
as the Rajah and his companion picked their way among them. It was a
picturesque scene, not without its pathos; for their joy was sincere
and their respect heartfelt. Beatrice glanced at Nehal Singh. A flush
had crept up under his dark skin, and his eyes shone with suppressed
enthusiasm.

"Is their homage so precious to you?" she asked.

"It is a sign that I have power over them," he answered, "and that is
precious to me. Without power I could not do anything. They believe
that I am God-sent, and so they obey blindly. Otherwise, these changes
would have been impossible." He paused, smiling to himself; then, with
a new amusement in his dark eyes, he looked at Beatrice. "My people
are not fond of an over-abundance of clothing," he observed. "Do you
consider a change in that respect essential?"

Beatrice stared at him, and then, seeing that he was laughing, she
laughed with him.

"Certainly not! If the poor wretches knew what we poor Europeans have
to suffer with our artificial over-abundance, their obedience would
stop short at such a request. What made you think of such a thing?"

"It was Mr. Berry who spoke to me about it. He said I ought to insist
on them having what he called decent attire. It seems he had been
using his influence in vain, and was very unhappy about it. He said as
much that--that trousers were the first and most necessary step toward
salvation." He looked quickly at her to see if she was offended at his
outspokenness, but she only laughed.

"Poor Mr. Berry is a Philistine," she said. "He can't help thinking
absurdities of that sort."

"Would you mind telling me what you mean by a Philistine?" he asked.

"A Philistine is a person who sees everything in its wrong
proportions," she answered. "He mistakes the essential for the
unessential, and _vice versa._ He can never recognize the beauty in
art or nature, because he can never get any further than the
unpleasant details. One might call him a mental earth-worm who has
only the smallest possible outlook. Mr. Berry, for instance, has
never, I feel sure, felt the charm of India and its people. He is
always too overpowered by the fact that the clothing is too scanty for
his idea of decency. You must not take him as an example of European
taste, although you will find only too many like him."

"I am glad to have your reassurance," Nehal Singh replied. "Mr. Berry
angered me, and I can well understand that he has no influence among
my people. They are very innocent in their way, and they can not
understand where the wickedness lies. Nor do I wish them to
understand. It does not seem to me necessary." His mouth settled in a
new and rather stern line. "I shall order Mr. Berry to leave them in
peace."

She smiled at this little outburst of autocracy.

"You do not wish your people to become Christians?" she asked.

"I shall not interfere in their religion," was the quick answer--"or,
at any rate, I shall force nothing. If my people believe truly and
earnestly in their gods, I shall not destroy their belief, for then
they will believe in nothing. And the belief is everything. As for
me"--his voice sank and grew suddenly gentler--"I am different. I have
been led by a light which I must follow."

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