The Path to Honour Part 30

"Certainly they have no objection to Lieutenant Gerrard," said Mrs Antony meditatively.

"None whatever, my dear, so that we shall positively be furthering their wishes. Come, Jane; ain't I only wise in bringing my indiscretions to you to set right, since you are such a dab at getting me out of a mess?"

"Fie, James, what slang! Indeed I don't wonder you affect to consult me, since it seems to me you will get your own way undisturbed."

James Antony might go on his way with his great laugh, and his wife shake her head at him in purely simulated reproof, but the results of their involuntary diplomacy were hardly as satisfactory to the objects thereof as to themselves. Gerrard's heart gave an ecstatic bound when his host mentioned casually on meeting him that Miss Cinnamond was staying at the Residency during the absence of her father at the front and her mother in the hills. All the way from the camp within sight of Agpur, during the hot voyage diversified with interludes of sniping from the river-banks, he had a.s.sured himself persistently that nothing should induce him to take advantage of Bob's generosity. But these good resolutions were forgotten as he lay in the palanquin which conveyed him from the landing-place to the Residency, listening, without comprehending what was said, to James Antony's gruff voice firing off items of latest intelligence like minute-guns. In a few moments he would see Honour, look into her frank eyes, hold her cool hand, begin the siege of her heart in which his faithful love--freed from the disturbing influence of Charteris's presence--must surely succeed in breaking down the rampart of maiden coldness within which she had entrenched herself. Yes, he was glad of Charteris's absence; thankful for it. Bob had bidden him of his own free will to go ahead, and was he to waste the opportunity for which he had so long yearned in vain?

But disappointment was waiting for him at the Residency. Honour remained so persistently in the background behind Mrs Antony that it seemed almost as if she was hiding. Her hand barely touched Gerrard's, her eyes shunned his, and her manner was constrained--almost awkward. Before Gerrard had crossed the verandah he had divined a reason for this change: she had read her own heart at last, and it was Bob Charteris that she loved. And here was he, lagging miserably superfluous on the stage for three or four weeks, while Charteris was held fast by his duties before Agpur, and was as unaware of his good fortune as he was unable to profit by it.

Second thoughts brought, if not a degree of hope, at least a less complete yielding to despair. Perhaps it was not Charteris whose image blinded Honour to the presence of her other lover. It might only be that people had been talking, that Mrs Jardine had presumed to offer Honour some advice inconsistent with the delicate nature of the situation, perhaps urged her to terminate it in Gerrard's favour, since she had, unasked, taken his candidature under her wing. That would be quite sufficient to account for the girl's coolness and constraint. The battle was not, then, absolutely lost, and it might even yet be possible to turn it into a victory. Gerrard would be very cautious, very diplomatic, and would keep their intercourse on the safe ground of their common preferences in prose and poetry, until he had enabled her to dissociate him in her mind from his too zealous champions.

Save in one respect, Honour responded to this treatment with a readiness that was almost embarra.s.sing. Her novel shyness fell from her when it became clear that Gerrard was not intending immediately to speak to her of love, and in discussing the new d.i.c.kens and the latest Tennyson she revealed herself to him almost as freely as of old. James Antony agonized his wife by portentous nods and winks behind their backs, indicative of the complete and final understanding now in course of accomplishment, but Mrs Antony was not so well satisfied, though she was unaware of the exact nature of the rift in Gerrard's lute. One day Honour broke into a deep discussion of the social and educational topics touched on in the _Princess_ with a question which had no relation to them whatever. It was clear that her thoughts were far from Gerrard's exposition of his views, or why should she suddenly have asked how long it took him to reach Charteris at Kardi with the guns after receiving his note entreating him to hasten? Gerrard set his teeth. It was Charteris, then. He answered the question fully, and also the others by which it was followed. Honour's curiosity on the subject of the unauthorised operations in Agpur seemed insatiable, and bit by bit she drew from him the whole history of the campaign. Following her lead, he made a loyal endeavour to keep Charteris in the forefront of his narrative, smiling bitterly to himself when once or twice she questioned him directly about his own doings. This was mere politeness, of course, it was Charteris in whom she was really interested.

The irony of his own antic.i.p.ations struck Gerrard forcibly after a fortnight or so princ.i.p.ally spent in talking about Charteris. Outside the air was filled with wars and rumours of wars, with reports that the Granthi army was moving on Ranjitgarh, or that this or the other Sirdar was about to cut the communications with Agpur, and in the society of James Antony and his intimates these were the topics that everybody discussed. But spending the mid-day hours in the damp heat of the drawing-room, where paper grew mouldy and the covers peeled off books, under the influence of the rains, with Mrs Antony occupied at a discreet distance with reading or letter-writing, Gerrard endured what would have been martyrdom but for the bitter-sweet sense of Honour's presence--possessing which he could not be wholly miserable. Continually there forced itself on him the change in her since the days when they had lamented together the supposed death of Charteris. She was restless, p.r.o.ne to a curious impatience, and the literary interests which had first drawn them together satisfied her no more. Only one explanation could fit the facts. Bob Charteris was not literary in his tastes, and Honour, with her heart awakened, had learnt to know that life was more than books.

As the time approached for Gerrard's return to active service, it struck him that she had perceived her unconscious cruelty, and was endeavouring to atone for it. He loved her the better for the thought, though it made him all the more miserable, since the tenderness in her voice, the tears he sometimes surprised in her eyes, must spring from a pity that was not at all akin to love. No doubt, too, she was thinking of Charteris, keeping the field in the rains, and extensively abused on all sides as the cause of the war, and Gerrard would have liked to a.s.sure her that he understood, and to prophesy a general revulsion of feeling when the Agpur business had been brought to a successful conclusion. But apparently sympathy was at a discount with Honour, for the slightest attempt to approach the subject--even an honest effort to a.s.sure her that Bob's safety should be his first care in the future, for her sake--brought back at once the sense of constraint, and made her manner hard and impatient, not to say snappish. Their final parting took place in public, but this was Gerrard's own fault, for he could not trust himself alone with her.

He might have been a weak fool to hang about her for so long, but to offer himself as a bearer of tender messages for Charteris was beyond him. She was very pale, and seemed to find difficulty in speaking, and he guessed at once that she was envying him his good fortune in seeing her lover so soon. But his selfishness in refusing to volunteer as a messenger was rightly punished, for Mrs Jardine, who had seen fit to appear at the Residency to borrow a fancy-work pattern from Mrs Antony, just as he was about to start, was not minded to leave things longer in the uncertainty which had tried her so deeply.

"What! no message for poor Mr Charteris?" she inquired archly, as Honour's hand touched Gerrard's to the accompaniment of a single murmured word of farewell.

"Miss Cinnamond knows that I should feel honoured in carrying any message of hers," he said stiffly.

Honour blushed red, though she looked annoyed. "Oh, give him my best wishes, please!" she said lightly.

"Very distant and suitable, I'm sure!" muttered Mrs Jardine, much disappointed, but Honour did not hear her.

"_You_ have not asked for any message--for yourself," she murmured, looking at Gerrard's sword-belt as if she had never seen one quite like it before.

"I did not venture--it is only your kindness that makes you think of it,"

he stammered.

"Perhaps you would rather not have it?" She raised her eyes for an instant and looked at him bravely. "My very best wishes--to you."

"_Bus, bus!_" shouted James Antony from the foot of the steps. "Don't be all day binding ladies' favours on your helm, Gerrard, my boy. Get it over; it ain't as bad as it looks."

He ran up the steps again, and his great hand descended heavily on Gerrard's shoulder, and Gerrard, thrilled through by the glance Honour had turned upon him, and with all his preconceived ideas shattered and clas.h.i.+ng under the impact of a wholly new thought, must perforce allow himself to be hurried away, vaguely aware that Mrs Jardine, baulked of her expected sensation, was apostrophizing the acting-Resident as a "naughty man!" At the foot of the steps he turned suddenly. One word with Honour, even in Mrs Jardine's hearing, and his doubts would be resolved for ever. But James Antony fairly dragged him on.

"No looking back now, my dear fellow. You must make me your messenger if you have anything to say. Do you forget that they are waiting for you at the _ghat_?"

Gerrard mounted his pony reluctantly, then looked eagerly round.

Honour's face might end his doubts as easily as her voice. But she was not to be seen; Mrs Jardine was nodding and smiling alone in the verandah, rather to the disgust of Mrs Antony, who was dimly visible in the doorway of the drawing-room. Gerrard could not detect the form crouched behind her spreading skirts, the face peering under her falling sleeve, and once again doubt attained mastery over his mind. If Honour had meant really to rebuke him for his backwardness, then was he indeed the most blessed of men, but perhaps she was only mildly chaffing Charteris's friend. It was not like her, but could one moment at parting give the lie to the experience, the settled certainty, of weeks of close intercourse? And she had not cared to wait to see him ride away!

During the river voyage, despite the ample opportunity he enjoyed for forming definite conclusions, Gerrard remained balanced between two contradictory opinions, and he was still much tumbled up and down in his mind when he landed and fell into the eminently bracing company of Charteris. British troops and siege-guns--not now to be spared from Granthistan--had come and were still coming up from Bombay, and the lines which had been fortified by the Darwanis and Habs.h.i.+abad force were now only part of an extensive position. Charteris pointed out the various spots, much changed now since the battle in which Gerrard had received his wound, as they rode up to the camp.

"Then you are under the yoke again, Bob?" said Gerrard.

"Rayther, just a very few! The Brigadier has determined in his own mind that I am dead set upon presuming, so, to make it impossible, he snaps my head off every time he sees me, and at once."

"Hard luck, old boy!"

"Oh, I share it with my betters. By the bye, is it true that the Governor-General has been powdering Sir Edmund's wig?"

"In a way. Antony wanted to promise Sher Singh his life if he would surrender, and the G.-G. came down upon him like a hundred of bricks.

Told him that if he had put forth any such proclamation he would have to recall it, I believe, but happily things had not gone so far."

"I'm sorry for Sir Edmund, but I back Blairgowrie--which is jolly handsome behaviour, since he has written some uncommon nasty things about me. 'Pon my word, Hal, I'm right glad that they refused us our siege-guns, and left us here tied by the leg for the hot weather."

Gerrard looked at him in astonishment. "But if we had been able to stamp out Sher Singh's rebellion--as we could have done if they had supported us properly--it would have saved this second Granthi War, Bob."

"That's just it. We should have gone on trying to govern through the Durbar, and declaring that we were merely taking care of the country until Lena Singh comes of age, knowing that if he ever reigned alone it would mean the destruction of all we had done. But now the farce is at an end, and they must annex Granthistan. Our _ikbal_[1] stands fairly high, but it can't take the risk of a war bad enough to drag the C.-in-C.

from his Olympian retirement every two or three years. I'm sorry for Sir Edmund, who has done his very best to bolster up the Durbar, but facts are too strong for him."

"He will take it hard," said Gerrard. "Here is my camp, I see--my _campoo_,[2] I should say," as they were met by a cl.u.s.ter of salaaming Habs.h.i.+abadis, who testified loudly their joy at his return. "But why shouldn't I report myself to the Brigadier at once, Bob, and then come back and settle in?"

"Because you ain't wanted, my boy. You don't go dropping in on your General in that promiscuous style. You wait till it's convenient to him to send for you, and then you apologize for your existence in the most abject terms at your command. I happen to know--friend at court, you see--that you'll be summoned about sunset, and if you behave very nicely, and answer prettily when you're spoken to, you may even be honoured by an invitation to dinner."

"Learning one's place!" said Gerrard, with a wry look.

"Exactly--as I have been doing. Our days of independent action are over, old boy. If we had been allowed to capture Agpur it might have been different, but I don't know. Who wouldn't go from governing kingdoms to take up regimental work again?"

Gerrard did not possess the art of banis.h.i.+ng unpleasantness with a jest, and his brow was clouded as they rode up to his tent between the lines of the Habs.h.i.+abadis. For them, however, he had nothing but praise, rejoicing their hearts by admiration of their discipline, and learning, as he expected, that Charteris had continued their military education during his absence. General Desdichado was still maintaining a judicious seclusion, owing to a fresh attack of illness, it seemed, and Charteris remarked on the curious character of the ailment, which invariably became acute when there was a question of the General's coming in contact with any British officer.

"Scandal says that nothing but Sadiq Ali's direct command keeps him in the field at all," he added. "Otherwise he would sneak back to Habs.h.i.+abad, and drink himself to death there in peace."

They were inside the tent now, and Charteris turned suddenly on his friend. "Well, Hal, what news? Is that blessing of mine wanted, or not?"

"It's no good pretending I don't know what you mean, but on my life, Bob, I can't tell you."

"Can't tell--in a matter of this kind? Nonsense!"

"It's this way. Almost the whole of the time I was there I could have sworn she cared for you. We talked of nothing but you and your doings."

"Precious little in that. You did just the same when you thought I was dead, and it meant absolutely nothing."

"But it makes every possible difference when we both know you are alive.

At any rate, I was too jolly downhearted to court another refusal. But just as I came away, she looked at me in a way that made me think--and something that she said----"

"And you didn't make sure? My young friend, it strikes me that you fear your fate a good deal."

"Our Mr James hurried me away. But I am afraid--and I don't mind saying so--of risking my last chance."

"Why your last? I wish I were c.o.xcomb enough to be sure it was your last, and that you would lose it."

"But even if she refused us both again, you can't go on persecuting a girl who has said no to you three times."

"Why not? I shall go on asking her, if she says no a hundred times.

It's for her own good. No girl can really wish to be an old maid."

"Rather than marry you or me, perhaps."