A bird of passage

"Another fine, sunshiny day," is naturally of common recurrence in the East, and it was yet another magnificent afternoon at Ross—very bright, very warm, and very still. Underneath the long wooden pier vast shoals of little silver sardines were hurrying through the water, pursued by a greedy dolphin, and leaping now and then in a glittering shower into the air to escape his voracious jaws. Coal-black, stunted Andamanese were here and there squatting on the rocks, patiently angling with the most primitive of tackle, and two or three policemen, in roomy blue tunics and portentous turbans, were gossiping together about rupees and rice. Some half-dozen soldiers, with open coats and pipe in mouth, sat, with their legs dangling over the pier, fishing. Further on, with folded arms, and wistful eyes, a tall gaunt Bengalee stood, aloof and alone. He was a zemindar from Oude, and had been in the settlement since 1858 (an ominous date); now he was the holder of a ticket, was free to open a shop in the bazaar, and make a rapid fortune; free to accept a plot of the most fertile ground on the face of the globe, free to marry a convict woman, free within the settlement, but there his liberty ended. His body is imprisoned, but who can chain the mind? His is far away beyond those dim, blue islands, and the shining "Kala Panee!" In imagination he now stands, not upon Ross pier, but on wide-stretching plains far north; his horizon is bounded by magnificent forest trees, and topes of fragrant mangoes: once more he sees his native village, and the familiar well, his plot of land, his home; just as he saw it twenty years ago. But too well does he remember every inmate of those small, white-washed hovels; their faces are before him now—for, alas! what has been left to him but memory? Bitterly has he expiated those few frenzied weeks, when for a brief space, he and his neighbours felt that they had broken the accursed yoke, and trampled it beneath their feet—bitterer, ten times, is it to know that he was sold and betrayed by his own familiar friend!

At this maddening recollection, a kind of convulsive spasm contracts his features, and he mutters fiercely in his beard. He would gladly—nay, gratefully—give all that remains to him of life, just to have "Ram Sing" at his mercy for one short moment—ay, but one! These are some of the thoughts that flit through his mind, as he stands apart with folded arms, and his dark, hawk-like countenance immovably bent on the sea, deaf to the hoarse, loud laughter of Tommy Atkins, who has had a good "take"—to the screeching home-bound peacocks, and the discordant yells of the Andamanese at play.

They have no tragic memories, this group of young men coming down the pier in tennis garb; or, if they have, their faces much belie them—Mr. Quentin, Captain Rodney, Mr. Reid, and Dr. Malone (whose smooth, fair skin, and sandy hair disavow his thirty summers).

"I told you so!" he exclaimed, as he hitched himself up on the edge of the pier. "They are all gone out, every man Jack of them—the Creerys, the Homes, Dr. Parkes, and Mr. Latimer, not to speak of our two young ladies. They have gone down to Chatham to take tea with Mrs. Graham, and the island is a desert!"

"Fancy going three miles by water for a cup of hot water," said Mr. Quentin derisively; "but women will go anywhere for tea. Where are Jones and Lea?" he inquired.

"Where you ought to be, my boy: up decorating the mess for the dance this evening."

"Oh!" rather grandly, "I sent my butler over, and lots of flowers."

"If we were all to do that, I wonder 'what like it would be,' as they say in your native land, Reid?" remarked Dr. Malone. "And where is Green?"

"Out fishing with Lisle," replied Captain Rodney. "And, ahem! talk of angels, here they come," as at this moment a sailing-boat suddenly shot round a point and made for the pier.

"I've not seen Lisle for weeks!" remarked Dr. Malone; "not since the picnic on Mount Harriet. What has he been up to?"—to Mr. Quentin.

"Oh! he only enjoys society by fits and starts, and a little of it goes a long way with him."

"Hullo, you fellows!" hailed the doctor, leaning half his long body over the railings, "any luck?"

"Luck? I should just think so!" returned Lisle, standing up. "Two bottle-nosed sharks, a conger-eel, a sword-fish, and any quantity of sea-monsters, name and tribe unknown."

"Is that all?"

"No, not all. Green caught about a dozen crabs going out."

"Oh! now I say," expostulated Mr. Green, a fair young subaltern about six months from Sandhurst, "it was those beastly oars."

"There was an animal like a sea-cow that nearly towed us over to Burmah," said Mr. Lisle, as he came up the steps, "and finally went off with all the tackle."

"The sea serpent, of course!" ejaculated Dr. Malone. "And, by-the-way, how is it that we have not seen you for a month of Sundays, eh? Coming to the ball to-night?"

"Ball! what ball? How can there be one without ladies?"

"Nonsense, man alive! what are you talking about? Haven't we seventeen?" putting his hat under his arm and commencing to count on his fingers. "There is Mrs. King, Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Manners—the widow from Viper—Mrs. Creery——"

"Mrs. Creery! You may as well say Mrs. Caggett while you are about it."

"I may not. Mrs. Creery is a grand woman to dance, and you will see her and your humble servant taking the floor in style before you are many hours older! If all the ladies put in an appearance, and do their duty, we shall have an A1 dance. Of course you are coming?"

"No," put in Mr. Quentin, rather quickly. "How could you ask him? Does he look like a dancing man? Here are the fish coming up. What whoppers!" turning towards the steps.

"And here comes something else!" exclaimed the doctor, pointing to a white sail approaching the island. "It's easy to see what you have come down for, my boy!" to Apollo, who smiled significantly, and accepted the soft impeachment without demur.

"Quentin is a lucky fellow, isn't he?" said Mr. Green, addressing himself to Mr. Lisle with all the enthusiasm of ignorance. "He has had it all his own way from the first; none of us were in it! And although our circle of ladies is small, I'll venture to say we could show a beauty against Madras or Rangoon; yes, and I'll throw in Calcutta, too! I'll back 'La Belle Hélène' against anything they like to enter, for pace, shape and looks!"

Here Mr. Lisle turned upon his heel and walked away.

"What's up? What's the matter, eh?" demanded the youth of Mr. Quentin, who was now gazing abstractedly at the approaching boat, with a cigarette between his teeth.

"Oh, he did not approve of your conversation; he does not think ladies should be talked about, and all that sort of rubbish."

"Pooh; why not?—and was I not praising her up to the skies? What more could I have said? And I'm sure if you don't mind, he need not!"

"No, but he did," remarked Dr. Malone. "He looked capable just now of tossing you out as a sort of light supper to the sharks, my little C. Green!"

"And a very light meal it would be," said Mr. Green with a broad grin. "Nothing but clothes and bones. Here comes Miss Caggett and a whole lot of people, and won't she just walk into us for not decorating the mess!"

At this instant Miss Caggett and some half-dozen satellites appeared in view, and behind her, walking with Dr. Parkes, came a lady we have never seen before, Mrs. Durand, who had only that morning returned to the settlement.

"Well," cried the sprightly Lizzie, surveying the guilty group with great dignity, "I call this pretty behaviour! What a lazy, selfish, good-for-nothing set!" beginning piano, and ending crescendo.

Dr. Malone nodded his head like a mandarin at each of these adjectives, and declared,—

"So they are, Miss Caggett, so they are. I quite agree with you."

The young lady merely darted a scornful glance in his direction, and proceeded,—

"Mr. Quentin, well, I've given you up long ago. Mr. Green, I cannot say much to you, when grown-up people set you such an example" (a back-handed slap at Mr. C. Green's tender years). "Mr. Lisle, you here? and pray what have you got to say for yourself? What is your excuse?"

"My excuse," coming forward and doffing his hat, "is, that I have no more idea of decorating a room than one of the settlement elephants—in fact, my genius is of a destructive, rather than of a constructive order. But I am always prepared to appreciate other people's handiwork."

"Well, you are cool," staring at him for a second in scornful silence.

"Now, Dr. Malone," pointing at him with her parasol, "let us hear what you have got to say for yourself."

Dr. Malone rested his chin on the top of his tennis-bat, and calmly contemplated his fair questioner in a somewhat dreamy fashion, and then was understood to say,—

"That as long as Miss Caggett was in a ball-room, any other decoration was quite superfluous!"

To which Miss Caggett responded by rapping him on the knuckles with the handle of her sunshade, and saying,—

"Blarney!"

Meanwhile Mrs. Durand had joined the group, and now received a very warm welcome. It was easy to see that she was a popular person at Port Blair. She was upwards of thirty, with a full but very erect figure, smiling dark eyes, good features, and white teeth, the upper row of which she showed very much as she talked. She wore a hat with a dark blue veil, a pretty cambric dress, and carried a red parasol over her arm (a grand landmark, that same parasol, for Mrs. Creery).

"Great events never happen alone!" quoth Dr. Malone, bowing over his bat. "Here, in one day, we have the mail in, the full moon, the ball, and Mrs. Durand! It is quite needless to inquire after Mrs. Durand's health?"

Mr. Quentin moved forward to accost the lady, his large person having hitherto entirely concealed his friend, and as he moved, Mrs. Durand's eyes fell upon Gilbert Lisle. She opened them very wide, shut them, and opened them once more, and said in a slow, staccato voice,—

"I believe I am not dreaming, and that I see Mr. Lisle. Mr. Lisle," holding out a plump and eager hand, "what on earth brings you here?"

Precisely what every one wanted to know.

Mrs. Durand had a habit of laying great stress on some of her words, and she uttered the word earth with extraordinary emphasis.

Her acquaintance, upon whom all eyes were now riveted, smiled, shook hands, muttered incoherently, and contrived, by some skilful manœuvre, to draw the lady from the centre of the crowd.

"I never was so amazed in my life!" she reiterated. "What put it into your head to come here, of all places?"

"Oh, I wanted to see something out of the common, and to enlarge my ideas."

"Indeed, I did not know that they required extension! One could understand our being here—we are sent, like the convicts; but outsiders—and, of all people, you!"

"There is first-class fishing to be had, and boating, and all that sort of thing; and the scenery is perfect," he answered.

"Granted—and pray how long have you been at Port Blair?"

"I came in July," he replied, rather apologetically.

"July!" she echoed, "and this is November!—five months! And may I ask what is the attraction, besides sailing and sharks?"

"The unconventional life, the temporary escape from politics and post cards, express trains, telegrams, and the bores of one's acquaintance."

"Well, every one to their taste, of course! You like Port Blair, give me park Lane. As to politics, we have our politics here. Have you not discovered that we are an absolute monarchy?"

"Yes," smiling; "but, alas! I am not in favour at court."

"No? neither am I. I'm in the Opposition. I'm one of the reds," laughing, and displaying all her teeth. "Here are all these people coming back, and I must go; I have a great deal to do at home. Remember, that I shall expect to see you very often—sans cérémonie. Oh, I suppose that tall girl is Miss Denis? Charlie says she is uncommonly pretty, and not spoiled yet. By the way," pausing, and looking at him significantly, "I wonder if you have been losing your heart, as well as enlarging your ideas?"

"Do I ever lose my heart?" he asked. "Am I an inflammable person?"

"No, indeed—quite the reverse; warranted not to ignite, I should say," shaking her head. "And now I really must be going, or Mrs. Creery will catch me, and cross-examine me. Of course, we shall meet this evening?" Mr. Lisle walked with her to the end of the pier, bending towards her, and apparently speaking with unusual earnestness, as Miss Caggett remarked. At the gate, he and the lady parted, he taking off his hat, she waving her hand towards him twice, as if to enforce some special injunction.

The gig was now alongside the steps, and its late passengers had ascended to the pier. Miss Denis was the last to leave the boat, and was at once surrounded by Mr. Quentin, Dr. Malone, Captain Rodney, and Mr. Green, a faithless quartette, who all quitted Miss Caggett in a body.

"Well, Miss Denis," said Mr. Green, "I am glad to see that you have not forgotten the button-hole I asked you to bring me," pointing to a flower in the front of her dress.

"Oh, this!" taking it out and twirling it carelessly in her fingers. "I certainly did not gather it for your adornment, but still, if you like," half tendering it; but becoming conscious of Mr. Quentin's greedy, outstretched hand, she paused.

"You surely would not?" he began pathetically.

"No, I would not, certainly not. I will give it to the sea," and suiting the action to the word, she tossed it over the railings into the water.

"Oh, Miss Denis," exclaimed Mr. Green with a groan, "how could you trifle with my feelings in such a manner? How could you raise me to a pinnacle of happiness, and cast me down to the depths of despair? Have you no conscience?"

"It would have been a precedent," she answered gaily. "I know you only too well—you would have demanded a bouquet every time I returned to the island."

Here, for the first time, her eyes fell upon Mr. Lisle, who had now joined the outer circle—Mr. Lisle, whom she had not seen for six weeks. She coloured with astonishment, and accorded him rather a stiff little bow. He did not come forward, but contented himself with merely raising his hat, and remaining in the background.

Helen had once rather timidly asked after him, from Mr. Quentin (it seemed so strange, that he had never been over to Ross, since the day of the picnic, when they had made that never-to-be-forgotten expedition down the mountain, escorted by torches and fire-flies).

To Miss Denis's somewhat faltering question, Mr. Quentin had brusquely replied "that Lisle had on one of his sulky fits, and the chances were, he would not come over to Ross again—he was an odd, unsociable, surly sort of beggar!"

Apparently he had now recovered from the sulks; for there he stood, looking as sunburnt, as shabby, and as self-possessed as ever!

"We had a pleasant sail," remarked Mrs. Creery, "but I could not go in at Chatham on account of Nip! Mrs. Graham makes such a fuss about that hideous puppy of hers—and, after all, it's only Nip's play! Of course, I could not leave the poor darling in the boat by himself, so we had our tea sent out to us, and were very happy all the same," hugging him as she spoke with sudden rapture.

But Nip (whose play was death to other dogs) stiffened his spine, and threw back his head; he evidently considered public endearments inconsistent with personal dignity. He weighed fully twenty-four pounds, and why Mrs. Creery carried an animal who had the excellent use of his four legs, was best known to herself.

As she proceeded up the pier, with his head hanging over her shoulder, he surveyed Dr. Malone and Lisle, who walked behind him, with unconcealed contempt.

"What a fool she makes of herself about that beast!" muttered the former. "He despises us for not being carried too. I see it in his eye! Brute! I'd like to vivisect him."

"Only imagine!" exclaimed Miss Caggett suddenly, "Miss Denis has never been to a dance in her life!—and," giggling affectedly, "never danced with any but girls."

"And remember," said Jim Quentin, impressively turning and speaking to Helen in a tender undertone (for the benefit of his friend), "that you have given me the promise of the first waltz."

The party had now reached a little square, from whence their various paths diverged.

"You wait for me on the pier like a good fellow," he said to his companion. "I am just going to walk home with Miss Denis."

Every one now departed in different directions, excepting Mrs. Creery, who remained behind at the cross-roads, for a moment, and waving her green umbrella, called after them authoritatively,—

"Now mind that none of you are late this evening!—especially you men!"

Mr. Lisle went slowly back to the pier; it was almost deserted now. Tommy Atkins had adjourned to his well-earned supper, the jailer to his rice, the Andamanese to unknown horrors. The zemindar is alone—alone he stands, and sees what is to him another wasted sun sink into the sea like a ball of crimson fire! Apparently he is unconscious of a figure, who comes and leans over the railings, with his eyes fixed abstractedly on the sea, till with a sudden flash they become riveted on something, scarcely deserving such eager inspection—merely a floating flower! As Gilbert Lisle gazed, he was the prey of sore temptation. Surely, he argued with himself, there would be no harm in picking up a castaway lily, even Quentin would hardly grudge him that, and he might as well have it as the sea! Then he turned half away, as if thrusting the impulse from him (the convict now noticed him for the first time); but the flower was potent, and drew him back; he leant his arms on the railings, and stared at it steadily. The zemindar watched him narrowly out of his long, black eyes. The Sahib was debating some important question in his own mind! he looked at his watch, he glanced nervously up and down the pier, apparently his companion was as nought. Then he hurried to the foot of the steps and unmoored a punt, and rowed out several lengths, in quest of what? A white flower that the tall English girl had thrown away.

The native followed his quest with scornful interest. He has it now;—no, it has evaded him, and still floats on. Ah, he has reached it this time, he has lifted it out of the water, as reverently as if it were one of the sacred hairs of Buddha! He has dried it; he has concealed it in his coat!

Bah! the Feringhee is a fool!