The Jungle Girl Part 25

"Anything I can do to help to bring that about I will."

The days went by; and Wargrave, aided by his clean living, the devoted nursing that he received, and the cool, healthy mountain air, began to mend. Major Hunt had recovered and returned to duty, relieving the officer sent from Headquarters to command during his illness. Colonel Dermot had come back from Simla with Frank's appointment to the Political Department as his a.s.sistant in his pocket. The murdered man had long ago been laid to rest by his comrades; but his slayer still sat fettered in the one cell of the Fort awaiting the a.s.sembling of the General Court Martial for his trial, and seeing from his barred window the even routine of the life that had been his for three years still going on, but with no place in it for him.

The period of Wargrave's convalescence was a very happy time for him.

Muriel had remained a whole month after the eventful night; for Mrs.

Dermot declared that, with the care of her house and children, she had no time to nurse the subaltern, and the girl must stay to do it while he was in any danger. So she lingered in the station to do him willing service, wait on him, chat or read to him, give him her arm when he was first allowed to leave his room, and did it all with the bright, cheerful kindness of a friend, no more. She never alluded to his words to her; but her patient somehow guessed that she had not been angered by the revelation of the state of his feelings towards her. And from the tenderness of her manner to him, the unconscious jealousy that she displayed if anyone but she did any service for him, he began to half hope, half fear, that she cared a little for him in return. But even as he thought this he realised that he must not allow her to do so.

At last the time came when she had to return to her father down in the vast forest; and bravely as she said goodbye to everyone--and most of all to Frank--the tears blinded her as she sat on the back of the elephant that bore her away and saw the hills close in and shut from her gaze the little station that held her heart.

Wargrave, however, was not left to pine in loneliness after her departure. All day long, if they were allowed, the children stayed with him, Eileen smothering him with caresses at regular intervals. They told him their doings, confided their dearest secrets to him and demanded stories. And "Fw.a.n.kie" racked his brains to recall the fairy tales of his own childhood to repeat to the golden-haired mites perched on his bed and gazing at him in awed fascination, the girl uttering little shrieks at all the harrowing details of the wicked deeds of Giant Blunderbore and the cruel deceit of the wolf that devoured Red Ridinghood.

But the subaltern, had a grimmer visitor one day. The orders came at last for Gul Mahommed to be sent to Calcutta to stand his trial without waiting for Wargrave's recovery, the latter's evidence being taken on commission. The prisoner begged that he might be allowed to see the wounded officer before he left; and, Frank having consented, he was brought to the subaltern's bedroom when he was marched out of the Fort on the first stage of his journey to the gallows.

It was a dramatic scene. The stalwart young Pathan in uniform with his wrists handcuffed stood with all the bold bearing of his race by the bedside of the man that he had tried to kill, while two powerful sepoys armed with drawn bayonets hemmed him in, their hands on his shoulders.

The prisoner looked for a moment at the pale face of the wounded man, then his bold eyes suffused with tears as he said:

"_Huzoor_! (The Presence!) I am sorry. Had I known that night it was Your Honour I would not have lifted my rifle against you. The Sahib has always been good to me, to all of us. My enemy I slew, as we of the _Puktana_ must do to all who insult us. That deed I do not regret."

Wargrave looked up sorrowfully at the splendidly-built young fellow--barely twenty-one--who had only done as he had been taught to do from his cradle. Among Pathans blood only can wash away the stain of an insult. The officer felt no anger against him for his own injuries and regretted that false notions of honour had led him to kill a comrade and were now sending him to a shameful death.

"I am sorry, Gul Mahommed, very sorry," he said. "You were always a good soldier, and now you must die."

The Pathan drew himself up with all the haughty pride of his race.

"I do not fear death, Sahib. They will give me the noose. But my father can spare me. He has five other sons to fight for him. If only the Sahib would forgive----."

Wargrave, much moved, held out his hand to him. The prisoner touched it with his manacled ones, then raised his fingers to his forehead.

"For your kindness, Sahib, _salaam_!"

Then he turned and walked proudly out of the room and Wargrave heard the tramp of heavy feet on the rocky road outside as the prisoner was marched away on the long trail to the gallows. Two months later Gul Mahommed was hanged in the courtyard of Alipur jail in Calcutta before detachments of all the regiments garrisoning the city.

The subaltern had long chafed at the restraint of an invalid before Macdonald took him off the sick-list and he was free to wander again with Colonel Dermot in the forest and among the mountains. Before the hot weather ended Raymond came to spend three weeks with him and be initiated into the delights of sport in the great jungle.

When the long imprisonment of the rains came Wargrave began to suffer in health; for his wounds had sapped his strength more than he knew and Macdonald shook his head over him. Nor was he the only invalid; for little Brian grew pale and listless in the mists that enveloped the outpost constantly now, until finally the doctor decreed that his mother, much as she hated parting from her husband and her home, must take the children to Darjeeling. And he ordered the subaltern to go too.

Frank did not repine, after Mrs. Dermot had casually intimated that Muriel Benson was arranging to join her at the railway station and accompany her on a long visit to Darjeeling.

It was Wargrave's first introduction to a hill-station; and everything was a delightful novelty to him, from the quaint little train that brought them up the seven thousand feet to their destination in the pretty town of villas, clubs and hotels in the mountains, to the glorious panorama of the Eternal Snows and Kinchinjunga's lofty crests that rise like fairyland into the sky at early dawn and under the brilliant Indian moon.

As Mrs. Dermot could not often leave her children it was Muriel, who knew Darjeeling well, who became his guide. Together every day they set out from their hotel, together they scaled the heights of Jalapahar or rode down to watch the polo on the flat hill-top of Lebong, a thousand feet below. Together they explored the fascinating bazaar and bought ghost-daggers and turquoises in the quaint little shops. Together they went on picnics down into the deep valleys on the way to Sikkhim. They played tennis, rinked or danced together at the Amus.e.m.e.nt Club; and the ladies at the tea-tables in the great lounge smiled significantly and whispered to each other as the good-looking fair man and the pretty, dark-haired girl came in together when the light was fading on the mountains. Frank forgot cares. He ceased to brood unhappily--for it had come to that--on Violet, who, as her rare letters told him, had spent the Hot Weather in the Bombay hill-station of Mahableshwar and was now enjoying life during the Rains in gay Poona. She seldom wrote, and then but sc.r.a.ppily; and it seemed to him certain that she was forgetting him.

And he felt ashamed at the joy which filled him at the thought. Was he always destined to be only the friend of the girl he loved, the lover of the woman to whom he wished to be a friend?

CHAPTER XII

"ROOTED IN DISHONOUR"

Government House, Ganeshkind, outside Poona, the residence of the Governor of Bombay during the Rains, was blazing with light and gay with the sound of music; for His Excellency was giving a fancy dress ball.

Motors and carriages were still rolling up in a long line to the entrance where the gorgeously-clad Indian Cavalry soldiers of the Governor's Bodyguard--tall and stately back-bearded men in long scarlet tunics, white breeches and high black boots, their heads swathed in gaudy _loongies_ (turbans) with tails streaming down their backs, holding steel-headed bamboo lances with red and white pennons in their white-gauntleted right hands--lined the approach. Inside, the splendid ballroom, ablaze with electric lights, was crowded with gaily-dressed figures in costumes beautiful or bizarre. The good-looking, middle-aged baron who was the King's representative in the Bombay Presidency was standing, dressed as Charles II., beside his plain but pleasant-featured wife in the garb of Amy Robsart, receiving the last of their guests, while already the dancing had begun.

Later in the evening a group of officers in varied costumes stood near one of the entrances criticising the dresses and the company.

"By George, that's a magnificent kit," said a Garrison Gunner just arrived on short leave from Bombay. "What's it supposed to be?"

"A Polish hussar, I think," replied a subaltern in Wellesley's Rifles.

"No, he's Murat, Napoleon's cavalry leader," said an Indian Lancer captain.

The wearer of the costume alluded to was pa.s.sing them in a waltz. He was a young man in a splendid old-time hussar uniform, a scarlet dolman thick-laced with gold, a fur-trimmed slung pelisse, tight scarlet breeches embroidered down the front of the thighs in gold, and long red Russian leather boots with gold ta.s.sels. He was good-looking, but not in an English way, and the swarthiness of his complexion and a slight kink in his dark hair seemed to hint a trace of coloured blood. He was plainly Israelite in appearance; and the large nose with the unmistakable racial curved nostril would become bulbous with years, the firm cheeks flabby and the plump chin double.

"That dress cost some money, I'll bet," said the Gunner, cheaply attired as a Pierrot. "Just look at the gold lace. I say, he's got gla.s.s b.u.t.tons."

"Gla.s.s be hanged, Fergie, they're diamonds. Real diamonds, honour bright, Murat wore diamonds. He was buckin' about them in the Club to-night," said a captain in a British infantry regiment quartered in Poona. "That's Rosenthal of the 2nd Hussars from Bangalore. Son of old Rosenthal the South African multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of course."

"Who's the woman he's dancing with?" asked the Gunner. "Jolly good-looking she is."

"That's Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political somewhere in the Presidency.

Rosenthal's always in her pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar."

As the dance ended the many couples streamed out of the ballroom and made for the _kala juggas_--the "black places," as the sitting-out spots are appropriately termed in India from the carefully-arranged lack of light in them. Mrs. Norton, looking very lovely as Mary, Queen of Scots, and her partner crossed the verandah and went out into the unlit garden in search of seats. The first few they stumbled on were already occupied, a fact that the darkness prevented them from realising until they almost sat down on the occupants. At last in a retired corner of the garden Rosenthal found a bench in a recess in the wall. As they seated themselves he blurted out roughly:

"I'm sick of all this, Vi. When do you mean to give me your answer? I'm d.a.m.ned if I'm going to hang on waiting much longer. I'm fed up with India and the Army. I mean to cut it all."

"Well, Harry, what do you want?" asked his companion, smiling in the darkness at his vehemence.

"Want? You. And you know it. I want to take you away from this rotten country. What's all this----," he waved his hand towards the lighted ballroom, "compared to Paris, Monte Carlo, Cairo, Ostend when the races are on? Let's go where life is worth living. This is stagnation."

"Oh, I find it amusing. You forget, we women have a better time in India than in Europe. There are too many of us there, so you don't value us."

"Better time. Oh, Law! What rot!" He laughed rudely. "You've never lived yet, dear. Look here, Vi. My father's one of the three richest men in South Africa; and all he's got will come to me some day. As it is he gives me an allowance bigger than those of all the other men in the regiment put together. I hate the Service and its idiotic discipline. I want to be free--to go where money counts. d.a.m.n India!"

"Doesn't it count everywhere?" she asked, fanning herself lazily. His rough, almost boorish, manner amused her always. She felt as if she were playing with a caged tiger. "Doesn't it here?"

"No; in the Army they seem to think more of some d.a.m.ned pauper who comes of a 'county family,' as they call it, than of a fellow like me who could buy up a dozen of them. I hate them all. And I mean to chuck it.

But I want you to come with me, Vi. And, what's more, I mean to have you."

"But your father wishes you to stay in the Service. You told me so yourself. Will he like it if you leave--and will he continue your allowance?"

"Oh, I'll get round him. He's only got me. He's no one else to leave his money to. It'd be all right, Vi. Answer me. I mean to get you."

He grasped her wrist and tried to drag her towards him. She laughed and held him off.

"Take care, my dear boy. Darkness has ears. We're not alone in the garden, please remember. If you can't behave prettily I'm going back to the ballroom. Come, there's the music beginning again."

He tried to seize her in his arms, but she eluded his grasp with a dexterity that argued practice, and, rising, moved across the gra.s.s. He followed sulkily, dominated by her cool and careless indifference. When they reached the verandah one of the Government House aides-de-camp rushed up to her.