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Then Tessa, weeping, threw herself upon Monck. "Do please not be angry with him! It was all my fault. You--you--you can whip me if you like!
Only you mustn't be cross with Peter! It isn't--it isn't--fair!"
He stood stiffly for a few seconds, as if he would resist her; and Stella leaned against the window-frame, feeling physically sick as she watched him. Then abruptly his eyes came to hers, and she saw his face change. He put his hand on Tessa's shoulder.
"If you want forgiveness for yourself--and Peter," he said grimly, "go back to your corner and stay there!"
Tessa lifted her tear-stained face, looked at him closely for a moment, then turned submissively and went back.
Monck came down the verandah to his wife. He put his arm around her, and drew her within.
"Why are you trembling?" he said.
She leaned her head against him. "Everard, what did you say to Peter?"
"Never mind!" said Monck.
She braced herself. "You are not to be angry with him. He--is my servant. I will reprimand him--if necessary."
"It isn't," said Monck, with a brief smile. "You can tell him to finish laying the cloth."
He kissed her and let her go, leaving her with a strong impression that she had behaved foolishly. If it had not been for that which she had seen in his eyes for those few awful seconds, she would have despised herself for her utter imbecility. But the memory was one which she could not shake from her. She did not wonder that even Peter, proud Sikh as he was, had quailed before that look. Would Monck have accepted even Tessa's appeal if he had not found her watching? She wondered. She wondered.
She did not look forward to the meal on the verandah, but Monck realized this and had it laid in the dining-room instead. At his command Peter carried a plate out to Tessa, but it came back untouched, Peter explaining in a very low voice that 'Missy _baba_ was not hungry.' The man's att.i.tude was abject. He watched Monck furtively from behind Stella's chair, obeying his every behest with a prompt.i.tude that expressed the most complete submission.
Monck bestowed no attention upon him. He smiled a little when Stella expressed concern over Tessa's failure to eat anything. It was evident that he felt no anxiety on that score himself. "Leave the imp alone!" he said. "You are not to worry yourself about her any more. You have done more than enough in that line already."
There was insistence in his tone--an insistence which he maintained later when he made her lie down for her afternoon rest, steadily refusing to let her go near the delinquent until she had had it.
Greatly against her will she yielded the point, protesting that she could not sleep nevertheless. But when he had gone she realized that the happenings of the morning had wearied her more than she knew. She was very tired, and she fell into a deep sleep which lasted for nearly two hours.
Awakening from this, she got up with some compunction at having left the child so long, and went to her window to look for her. She found the corner of Tessa's punishment empty. A little further along the verandah Monck lounged in a deep cane chair, and, curled in his arms asleep with her head against his neck was Tessa.
Monck's eyes were fixed straight before him. He was evidently deep in thought. But the grim lines about his mouth were softened, and even as Stella looked he stirred a little very cautiously to ease the child's position. Something in the action sent the tears to her eyes. She went back into her room, asking herself how she had ever doubted for a moment the goodness of his heart.
Somewhere down the hill the blue jay was laughing hilariously, scoffingly, as one who marked, with cynical amus.e.m.e.nt the pa.s.sing show of life; and a few seconds later the Rajah's car flashed past, carrying the Rajah and a woman wearing a cloudy veil that streamed far out behind her.
CHAPTER VI
THE ARRIVAL
Two months later, on a dripping evening in August, Monck stood alone on the verandah of his bungalow at Udalkhand with a letter from Stella in his hand. He had hurried back from duty on purpose to secure it, knowing that it would be awaiting him. She had become accustomed to the separation now, though she spoke yearningly of his next leave. Mrs.
Ralston had joined her, and she wrote quite cheerfully. She was very well, and looking forward--oh, so much--to the winter. There was certainly no sadness to be detected between the lines, and Monck folded up the letter and looked across the dripping compound with a smile in his eyes.
When the winter came, he would probably have taken up his new appointment. Sir Reginald Ba.s.sett--a man of immense influence and energy--was actually in Udalkhand at that moment. He was ostensibly paying a friendly visit at the Colonel's bungalow, but Monck knew well what it was that had brought him to that steaming corner of Markestan in the very worst of the rainy season. He had come to make some definite arrangement with him. Probably before that very night was over, he would have begun to gather the fruit of his ambition. He had started already to climb the ladder, and he would raise Stella with him, Stella and that other being upon whom he sometimes suffered his thoughts to dwell with a semi-humorous contemplation as--his son. A fantastic fascination hung about the thought. He could not yet visualize himself as a father. It was easier far to picture Stella as a mother. But yet, like a magnet drawing him, the vision seemed to beckon. He walked the desert with a lighter step, and Tommy swore that he was growing younger.
There was an enclosure in Stella's letter from Tessa, who called him her darling Uncle Everard and begged him to come soon and see how good she was getting. He smiled a little over this also, but with a touch of wonder. The child's wors.h.i.+p seemed extraordinary to him. His conquest of Tessa had been quite complete, but it was odd that in consequence of it she should love him as she loved no one else on earth. Yet that she did so was an indubitable fact. Her devotion exceeded even that of Tommy, which was saying much. She seemed to regard him as a sacred being, and her greatest pleasure in life was to do him service.
He put her letter away also, reflecting that he must manage somehow to make time to answer it. As he did so, he heard Tommy's voice hail him from the compound, and in a moment the boy raced into sight, taking the verandah steps at a hop, skip, and jump.
"Hullo, old chap! Admiring the view eh? What? Got some letters? Have you heard from your brother yet?"
"Not a word for weeks." Monck turned to meet him. "I can't think what has happened to him."
"Can't you though? I can!" Tommy seized him impetuously by the shouders; he was rocking with laughter. "Oh, Everard, old boy, this beats everything! That brother of yours is coming along the road now. And he's travelled all the way from Khanmulla in a--in a bullock-cart!"
"What?" Monck stared in amazement. "Are you mad?" he inquired.
"No--no. It's true! Go and see for yourself, man! They're just getting here, slow and sure. He must be well stocked with patience. Come on!
They're stopping at the gate now."
He dragged his brother-in-law to the steps. Monck went, half-suspicious of a hoax. But he had barely reached the path below when through the rain there came the sound of wheels and heavy jingling.
"Come on!" yelled Tommy. "It's too good to miss!"
But ere they arrived at the gate it was blocked by a ma.s.sive figure in a streaming black mackintosh, carrying a huge umbrella. "I say," said a soft voice, "what a d.a.m.n' jolly part of the world to live in!"
"Bernard!" Monck's voice sounded incredulous, yet he pa.s.sed Tommy at a bound.
"Hullo, my boy, hullo!" Cheerily the newcomer made answer. "How do you open this beastly gate? Oh, I see! Swelled a bit from the rain. I must see to that for you presently. Hullo, Everard! I chanced to find myself in this direction so thought I would look up you and your wife. How are you, my boy?"
An immense hand came forth and grasped Monck's. A merry red face beamed at him from under the great umbrella. Twinkling eyes with red lashes shone with the utmost good-will.
Monck gripped the hand as if he would never let it go. But "My good man, you're mad to come here!" were the only words of welcome he found to utter.
"Think so?" A humorous chuckle accompanied the words. "Well, take me indoors and give me a drink! There are a few traps in the cart outside.
Had we better collect 'em first?"
"I'll see to them," volunteered Tommy, whose sense of humour was still somewhat out of control. "Take him in out of the rain, Everard! Send the _khit_ along!"
He was gone with the words, and Everard, with his brother's hand pulled through his arm, piloted him up to the bungalow.
In the shelter of the verandah they faced each other, the one brother square and powerful, so broad as to make his height appear insignificant; the other, brown, lean, muscular, a soldier in every line, his dark, resolute face a strange contrast to the ruddy open countenance of the man who was the only near relation he possessed in the world.
"Well,--boy! I believe you've grown." The elder brother, surveyed the younger with his shrewd, twinkling eyes. "By Jove, I'm sure you have! I used not to have to look up to you like this. Is it this devilish climate that does it? And what on earth do you live on? You look a positive skeleton."
"Oh, that's India, yes." Everard brushed aside all personal comment as superfluous. "Come along in and refres.h.!.+ What particular star have you fallen from? And why in thunder didn't you say you were coming?"
The elder man laughed, slapping him on the shoulder with hearty force.
His clean-shaven face was as free from care as a boy's. He looked as if life had dealt kindly with him.
"Ah, I know you," he said. "Wouldn't you have written off post-haste--if you hadn't cabled--and said, 'Wait till the rains are over?' But I had raised my anchor and I didn't mean to wait. So I dispensed with your brotherly counsel, and here I am! You won't find me in the way at all.
I'm dashed good at effacing myself."
"My dear good chap," Everard said, "you're about the only man in the world who need never think of doing that."