The Path to Honour Part 29

"I say this, you old villain, that you nearly lost us the battle, and if Lieutenant Gerrard should die, I give you my word I'll have you shot for neglect of duty in the face of the enemy!" cried Charteris furiously.

"The Sahib is pleased to forget that I am accountable only to my own master," said the General, and retired in good order, though with as much haste as was compatible with a very unsteady walk.

The unpleasant business of extracting the bullet brought Gerrard to his senses, and Charteris found his hand wrung almost to numbness as he knelt by his side. Those were the days before anaesthetics, and a bullet in the shoulder required a good deal of torture before it could be got rid of.

"I thought it was all up with me, Bob," whispered Gerrard when the operation was over.

"Not just yet, old boy. If it had been an inch or two more to one side, now----"

"When I went down among the horses' feet, I meant. It was you got me out, old fellow, I know."

"Had to do a good many things first, I'm afraid, and it wasn't very easy to find you. Case of 'None could see Valerius, And none wist where he lay.' By the bye, Hal, should you say that those _dangawalas_[1] of Granthis were playing fair to-day, or not? Did they fire as Sher Singh advanced?"

"Oh yes, they fired," said Gerrard dreamily.

"You don't mean that they fired at us?"

"No, they fired--all right--but----" his voice became weaker, and he seemed satisfied not to finish. The doctor made Charteris a sign not to disturb him further, and he was obliged to give the Granthis the benefit of the doubt.

An attack of fever, complicated by his wounds, kept Gerrard from all rational conversation for some time, but when he recovered his senses, he thought that it was still the night of the battle. On the roof of the tent brooded the gigantic shadow of Charteris in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, writing busily by the usual light of a candle-end stuck into the neck of a bottle.

"Bob!" said Gerrard weakly. Charteris was at his side in a moment.

"Want anything, old boy? By Jove, I'm uncommon glad to hear your voice again--talking sensibly, that is.

"But it's only a few hours since you brought me in here."

"A few fiddlesticks! My dear fellow, it's three weeks."

"Bob, have they sent us the siege artillery?"

"No, and they won't. Guns are too precious to move without escort, and British troops are too expensive to cart about in the rains. So here we are, twiddling our thumbs till better times come."

"But what about the country--and Sher Singh?"

"Sher Singh is safe in Agpur. We've got him shut up there, at any rate. But Granthistan is in a blaze, Hal. The Commander-in-Chief is on his way up-country. It's another Granthi War--thanks to their delay."

"And our Granthis?"

"Oh, they marched off bag and baggage to join Sher Singh the other night, when the news came that we were not to be reinforced till the cold weather. I didn't hear of their going till they had nearly reached Agpur, and I wasn't particularly anxious to stop them when I did."

"Better rid of them. You know they fired blank all day--the day of the battle, I mean?"

"That was the trick, was it? I couldn't get it out of you. Not that it would have made much difference if I had known, I suppose. I tell you, Hal, there was a moment when, if only the heavy artillery had come up, we held Sher Singh in the hollow of our hands. He was in such a panic when he got back to Agpur that he actually fired on his own troops when they crowded across the bridge after him. They would have handed him over to us like lambs if we could have threatened the city then. But it's no use crying over spilt milk. I'm going to make use of this interval in hostilities to send you to Ranjitgarh for a bit, old boy. If they won't use the river to send us our big guns, we may use it to recruit our invalids a bit. It can't be as hot at Ranjitgarh as it is here. But I put you on your honour to come back. No one must lead the Habs.h.i.+abadis into Agpur but you. You will find me relegated to my original obscurity by that time, with a duly appointed Brigadier--a _nya jawan_[2]--riding roughshod over my tenderest feelings, but you can still swagger as the officer accompanying the forces of a friendly state."

Gerrard had not been listening. "Bob," he whispered, "I--I can't go to Ranjitgarh."

"Why not, old boy'?"

"She may be there. They will have fetched the ladies down from the hills if there is trouble."

"I think not. Old Cinnamond has taken the field, but there are plenty of troops in Ranjitgarh. But if she is there, Hal?"

"I might speak--I ain't master of myself, Bob."

"Well, my dear fellow, and why not? Have you forgot what I said--that you were to have the next turn? Speak, by all means, and take her with my blessing, if she'll take you."

"Bob, I won't have it. I have been making a fool of myself when I didn't know what I was saying, and you are behaving like a brick because you are sorry for me."

"Ton my word, it's nothing of the sort. I can say now what I wouldn't say once, that I had rather see her happy with you than unhappy with me. I'm not going to let you outdo me there, you see, though I may be a little bit late."

"Good old Bob!" said Gerrard weakly.

"Not a bit of it. Ain't we chums, old boy? Now remember, _pop_ goes the weasel!"

[1] Mutineers.

[2] New hand.

CHAPTER XXI.

FAINT HEART AND FAIR LADY.

"My dear, I fear you will think I have been indiscreet."

Mrs James Antony looked up, and caught her husband's humourously deprecating expression. "Oh, James, I know that means you have done something dreadful, and want me to get you out of the difficulty!" she sighed. "Well, love, what is it?"

"I have sent a _kasid_ to meet poor Gerrard, to tell him he is to come to us, and we will take no refusal. As soon as the man was gone, I remembered that you would probably object to his being thrown into Miss Cinnamond's company."

"But surely you must see for yourself, love, that it would be most awkward for both of them? I almost think I had better ask Mrs Jardine to take in dear Honour for the time. She would be delighted, I am sure."

"You know best, my dear. If Lady Cinnamond would not mind finding herself under such an obligation to Mrs Jardine, it is not for me to make objections."

"She would dislike it extremely, love, as you well know. But what else is there to be done?"

"I don't myself see why there should be any awkwardness at all," said James Antony st.u.r.dily. "If Miss Cinnamond is going to marry Gerrard, they had better come to an understanding and get it over, and if not--why, they will have to meet in the future, and they may as well begin now. If the girl chooses to be silly about it, she had better go back to her mother."

"But, James, love, you don't consider. How could I let her go back, knowing that poor dear Mrs Cowper has taken such a dislike to her sister?

Now that she has lost her babe, it would be terrible if they met before time had softened her grief a little. And it is not as if dear Honour were in the least to blame. I am sure she was keeping house for her father most beautifully when he was compelled to take the field. We are indebted to the Cinnamonds for so many civilities that it would be hard indeed if we could not help them out of a difficulty by entertaining the poor girl for a while."

"Quite so, my dear, but it would also be hard if the poor girl could not help us by a.s.sisting to entertain a fellow-guest for a while. In fact, I consider that by bringing them to a mutual understanding we should be doing a kindness not only to the young people themselves but to the General and Lady Cinnamond."