CHAPTER II
THE SELF-INVITED GUEST
When Noel Wyndham entered Mrs. Musgrave's drawing-room that night, he was wearing his most alluring smile. He was evidently prepared to charm and be charmed; and his host, who privately regarded this addition to the party as a decided nuisance, could not but extend to him a cordial welcome. Will Musgrave, though grave and even by some deemed austere, was never churlish. He was a civil engineer of some repute, and had earned for himself a reputation for hard work which was certainly well deserved.
Nick Ratcliffe had been his close friend from boyhood, and the chance that had stationed him within a short distance of the native city of Sharapura in which Nick was for the next few months to take up his abode was regarded by both as a singularly happy one. It was not surprising therefore that he could not bring himself to look upon Noel's advent on that, their first evening together, with much enthusiasm.
His wife had broken the news with semi-humorous apologies. "I couldn't resist him, Will. You know what that boy is. Really I didn't ask him. He asked himself."
"Oh, all right," Will had replied, with resignation. "You'll have to look after him, and see he doesn't try to flirt too outrageously at first sight."
"I'll try," she had assented somewhat dubiously.
For Noel always flirted with every woman he met, herself included, and it was really quite impossible to stop him, or even to discourage him. He only laughed at snubs, and pursued his airy flights with keener zest.
She was not in the drawing-room when the self-invited guest arrived, and it fell to her husband to receive and entertain him. Noel, however, was extremely easy to entertain at all times. He was never bored.
"It was so awfully good of Mrs. Musgrave to let me come," he observed to his host, on shaking hands. "I had to beg jolly hard, I can tell you. She thought your other visitors might consider me one too many. But I'm sure they won't, and I'm immensely keen on meeting them. Have they arrived?"
"Two hours ago," said Will Musgrave.
"That's all right. My brother-in-law knows Ratcliffe, but I've never had the good luck to meet him. Something of a fire-eater, isn't he?"
Will laughed. "Oh, quite a giant in his own line."
Noel nodded. "Just as well. They are wanting a giant pretty badly up at the city if report says true. That young Akbar needs a firm hand. He passed us on parade yesterday, went by like the devil, kicking up a dust fit to choke the lot of us. Beastly young cad!"
"Ah! He isn't over fond of the Indian Army," said Will.
"The Indian Army would give him a damn good hiding if it got the chance," returned Noel, in righteous indignation. "I hope Ratcliffe will rub that into him well. The place is simply swarming with malcontents, and he encourages them. I believe they even flatter themselves we are afraid of 'em."
"I shouldn't say anything of that kind before Miss Ratcliffe," said
Will. "She has just got over a severe illness, and may be nervous."
"Great Scotland! This isn't the place for anyone with nerves!" ejaculated Noel. "I heard this morning that there's a most ferocious man-eater in the Khantali district. I'm longing to have a shot at him, but they say he's as cunning as Beelzebub, and never shows unless he has some game on. And the jungle's so beastly thick all round there. It doesn't give anyone a chance. Why can't His Objectionable Excellency turn his hand to something useful, and clear some of it away? By the way, I tried to catch a karait this morning. I am going to start a menagerie for Peggy's edification. But our khit, who is a very officious person when he isn't wrapt in contemplation of nothing in particular, interfered and killed the little beast before I had time to explain. I told him he was a silly ass, but he seemed to think he had done something praiseworthy. What's the best remedy for a karait's bite?"
"The only known remedy is to sit down and die with as good a grace as possible," said Nick, entering at the moment. "But it's just as well to be sure it is a karait before you take those measures, as there are more hopeful remedies for other species." He held out his hand to Noel with a cheery smile. "Pleased to meet you. I have already made the acquaintance of one member of your illustrious family."
"Have you though?" said Noel. "That's rather a handicap for me, isn't it?"
Nick's glance travelled swiftly over him and passed. "If you're as good a chap as your brother, you'll do," he said.
"Oh, I'm not," said Noel hastily. "If you're talking about Max, he's the only respectable Wyndham there is, and that's only because he hasn't time to be anything else. He wrote and told me you were coming here. I was at Budhpore then, but I set to work double quick and got myself transferred."
"What for?" said Nick.
Noel winked confidentially. "I wanted to see the fun," he said.
Again for the passage of a second Nick's eyes regarded him, and then over the shrewd, yellow face there flashed a sudden smile. "Are you a cricketer?" said Nick.
"You bet I am!" said Noel boyishly.
Nick nodded. "I was myself once."
"Only once, Nick?" protested Musgrave, with a smile that was scarcely humorous.
Nick turned to him with a semi-rueful grimace. "Oh, my cricketing days are over. All I'm good for now is to teach other fellows the rules of the game."
At this point a high voice made itself heard in the distance, imperiously demanding Noel's presence.
"Oh, Jupiter!" exclaimed Noel. "That's Peggy! Excuse me, you chaps! She has been saving up her prayers for my benefit, and I came early on purpose!"
He was gone with the words, with all an ardent lover's alacrity, and
Will Musgrave smiled.
"He's a heady youngster, but there's real stuff in him."
"Sound, is he?" said Nick.
"I should say so; but fancy he's a bit fiery," said Will.
There was nothing to denote fieriness in Noel's attitude as he composed himself a few seconds later for the ceremony of Peggy's devotions. It was a very simple ceremony, but conducted with extreme decorum, Peggy's ayah being sternly dismissed as a preliminary.
Noel sat on the edge of the bed while its small owner knelt upon it, head bowed in hands and lodged upon his shoulder. He had made a tentative movement to encircle her with his arm, but this had been gently but quite firmly forbidden.
"You mustn't cuddle while I'm sayin' my prayers," said Peggy. "You must put your hands together and shut your eyes. That's what Mummy does."
Noel complied with these instructions, but when Peggy was fairly launched he ventured to violate the last and steal a look at the fair head that rested against his shoulder.
Peggy was saying the Lord's Prayer with evident enjoyment. Noel listened with respect. There was the swish of a woman's dress in the passage outside. He listened to that also, his dark eyes watching the half-open door. His attention began to wander.
"Noel!" said a small, hurt voice at his side.
Noel's eyes shut as if at the pulling of a string. "Sorry, Peg-top! Go ahead!"
"You mustn't call me Peg-top when I'm sayin' my prayers!" protested
Peggy. "I wanted you to say Amen."
"Amen," said Noel humbly.
"It's no good now." There was a sound of tears in Peggy's voice. "You've just spoilt it all."
"Oh, I say!" pleaded Noel. "Well, try again! I'll say it next time."
"Can't," said Peggy. "It's wrong to keep on sayin' the same thing."
"I never heard that before," said Noel.
"It's in the Bible," asserted Peggy.
"Is it?" Noel sounded faintly incredulous.
"Yes, it is." There was a touch of indignation in Peggy's rejoinder.
"It's what the heathen do," she said.
Noel ventured to open his eyes, and found hers fixed severely upon him.
"Well, I'm awfully sorry," he said. "What had we better do?"
"You're not sorry," said Peggy accusingly. "Your eyes are all laughy."
"I'll swear they're not," declared Noel. "But I say, hadn't you better finish? Then we can have a cuddle."
"But I can't finish," said Peggy.
"Why not?"
"'Cos you interrupted, and I can't begin again." There was more than the sound of tears this time; the blue eyes were suddenly swimming in them. "And I haven't said my hymn, and you don't care a bit," she said in a voice that quivered ominously. Matters were evidently getting desperate.
"Yes, but you can say the rest," argued Noel, with the feeling that he was losing ground every instant. "What do you generally say next?"
"No, I can't. It wouldn't be sayin' them properly, and God doesn't listen if you don't say them properly."
Here was a formidable difficulty; but Noel's brain was fertile. He had a sudden inspiration. "Look here!" he said. "I'll say the first part again for you, and you can say Amen. I haven't said mine yet, you know, so it doesn't matter for me. Then you can go on and finish. Will that do?"
Peggy gave the matter her grave consideration, and decided that it would. "But you must kneel down," she said.
There was no sound in the passage now. Noel peered in that direction, but detected nothing. Patiently he slipped on to his knees, and began to recite the Lord's Prayer.
Considering the difficulties under which he laboured, he acquitted himself with considerable credit. Peggy at least was fully satisfied, a fact to which her fervent "Amen"! abundantly testified. She took up her own petitions at once quite impressively, albeit with slightly accelerated speed to make up for lost time. At the end of her hymn she paused.
"Would you like me to ask God to make me grow up quick so that we can be married soon, Noel?" she asked.
"I shouldn't." said Noel.
"Not?" The wedgewood-blue eyes opened wide.
"No. Very likely you won't want to marry me when you're grown up," Noel explained.
Peggy was amazed at the bare suggestion of such a possibility. "Why, of course I'll want to marry you," she declared, hugging him. "You're the wery nicest man that ever was."
"No, I'm not. I'm a rotter," Noel made brief and unvarnished reply. "No one knows what I am—except myself. And no one ever will," he added almost fiercely. And then, with lightning change of front, he laughed. "Never mind! We'll go on being sweethearts. That's better than nothing, isn't it?"
Peggy was looking at him very seriously. "I'd go on lovin' you even if—if—you was to kill someone," she said.
"Thanks, Peg-top! Well, I've never done that yet, though there's no knowing how soon I may begin," said Noel carelessly.
"Oh, but it's very wicked to kill people." There was shocked reproof in
Peggy's tone.
"Depends," said Noel judicially. "Sometimes it's the only thing to do."
"Oh, Noel!" Peggy's disapproval was evidently struggling with her loyalty.
Something white gleamed in the doorway, and Noel's eyes suddenly sparkled. He abandoned the argument without a second thought.
"Pray come in!" he said. "Peggy is holding a reception. She always receives at this hour. Now, Peggy, stand up and tell this lady my name!"
"May I really come in for a moment?" said Olga. She stood hesitating on the threshold, a slim, girlish figure. "Don't let me disturb you! Mrs. Musgrave thinks she must have left her rings here. How do you do?"
She gave her hand to Noel who had moved to meet her He laughed audaciously into her face.
"Awfully pleased to meet you, Miss—er—Ratcliffe! Why didn't you come in before? I was in a beastly tight fix, and should have been glad of your assistance. I knew you were there."
"Did you?" she said. The smile that had grown so rare flashed over her face in response to his. "I wasn't eavesdropping really," she assured him. "I was only waiting for a suitable moment to present myself."
"Could any moment be anything else?" he asked her, bowing deeply.
She laughed at that without the faintest coquetry. "Very easily, I should say. Isn't little Peggy going to bed?"
"Of course she is," said Noel. "Hop in, infant! We've been officiating at a wedding to-day, she and I, and the excitement has turned our heads a little. That's the way, mavourneen!" as Peggy, a little shy in the presence of the newcomer, slipped into her bed. "You didn't introduce me though, did you?"
Peggy held his hand in embarrassed silence.
"Peggy scarcely knows me herself yet," said Olga. "Don't you think we might manage without?"
"I dared not have suggested it myself," said Noel, with an ease that belied him. "If we do that, we may as well pretend we're old acquaintances at once."
"Perhaps," said Olga. She was searching for her hostess's rings and spoke with a somewhat absent air.
"Especially as my name is Wyndham," he said.
She stopped short in her search and seemed to stiffen. Then slowly she turned towards him. "You are Max's—Dr. Wyndham's—brother!"
"I have that honour," said Noel drily.
She stood quite still for a moment; then: "I knew he had a brother in
India," she said. "But I didn't know we were likely to meet."
"That," said Noel, "was partly his doing and partly mine. He wrote and told me that Captain Ratcliffe was coming to Sharapura, and I at once took steps to get myself transferred to the battalion here."
"Oh! Then you know Nick?"
"By repute," smiled Noel. "A good many people in India can say the same, though he may be without honour in his own country."
"Indeed he isn't!" said Olga proudly. "He is a hero wherever he goes."
"And you have come to take care of him?" asked Noel.
She faced him. "Did you know I was coming?"
"No. I thought it was Mrs. Ratcliffe. Max writes an abominable fist."
She seemed relieved. "Yes, I have come to take care of him. He never takes care of himself."
"And you know how to make him do as he is told?" asked Noel.
She smiled. "Oh, yes, I am quite capable. It isn't the first time I have taken care of him. We are very old pals."
"I envy you both," said Noel. "Is this what you are looking for?"
He had spied a ring under the edge of Peggy's biscuit-plate. He held it out to her with a graceful flourish.
But at this point Peggy, who had begun to feel neglected, overcame her shyness and shrilly intervened.
"Noel, that's not the way! You should say, 'With this ring—'"
"Peggy!" Noel interrupted, "you're going too fast. I'm much too old to travel at that pace. I will say good-night to you before you get me into trouble."
He stooped to kiss her, but Peggy was clinging like a marmoset round his neck when he stood up again. His brown face laughed through her curls.
"We're a horribly spoony couple," he said to Olga. "We've known each other just six weeks, and we got engaged to-day."
"Do you often get engaged like that?" asked Olga.
"Oh, rather!" said Noel. "It's much more fun than getting married. Cheaper too, and not so monotonous!" Again he laughed. "I assure you it's the easiest thing in the world to get engaged. Never tried it?"
It was unpardonably audacious; but that was Noel Wyndham's way, and somehow no one ever took offence.
Olga did not take offence, but she winced ever so slightly; a fact which Noel obviously failed to observe, being occupied with the difficult task of releasing himself from Peggy's ardent embraces.
When he finally obtained his freedom and stood up, Olga had passed out again into the passage. He threw a last kiss to his small sweetheart, and hurried after her.
CHAPTER III
THE NEW LIFE
"It isn't in the least what I thought it would be," said Olga.
"Nothing ever is," said Nick.
He was sprawling on a charpoy on the verandah of their new abode, smoking a cigarette with lazy enjoyment.
Though within sound of the native city, their bungalow stood well outside. It was surrounded by a compound of many tangled shrubs that gave it the appearance of being more isolated than it actually was. Not so very far away from it, down in the direction of Will Musgrave's growing reservoir, there stood a dâk-bungalow; and immediately beyond this were corn-fields and the native village that clustered along the edge of the river. The cantonments were well out of sight, more than a mile away along the dusty road, further than the polo-ground and race-course.
Behind the bungalow, approached only through a dense mass of tall jungle grass, stretched the jungle, mile upon mile of untamed wilderness, home of wild pig and jackals, monkeys and flying foxes. Very quiet by day was that long dark tract of jungle, but at night strange voices awoke there that seemed to Olga like the crying of unquiet spirits. Neither by day nor night did she feel the smallest desire to explore it.
The native city of Sharapura held infinitely greater fascinations for her. Some of its buildings were beautiful, and she was keenly interested in its inhabitants. She never entered it, however, save under Nick's escort. He was very insistent upon this point, and he would never suffer her to linger in the long, narrow bazaar, with its dim booths and crafty, peering faces.
Down by the river there was a mosque about which pigeons circled and cooed perpetually, but beggars were so plentiful all round it that it was next to impossible to pause near the spot without being beset on all sides, a matter of real regret to the English girl, who longed to wander or stand and admire at will.
In His Excellency the Rajah she was frankly disappointed. He had been educated in England, and had acquired a patronizing condescension of demeanour which she found singularly unattractive. He never treated her with familiarity, but she did not like the look of his dusky eyes. They always smiled, but to her there was something unpleasant behind the smile. In her private soul she deemed him treacherous.
He invariably wore European costume, with the exception of his green turban with its flowing puggaree. He was an excellent and graceful horseman, and spoke English with extreme fluency.
Nick spent a good many hours of every day at the Palace, and they were always on the best terms; yet Olga never saw him go without a pang of anxiety or return without a thrill of relief.
Probably her recent severe illness had had a lasting effect upon her nerves, for she was never easy in his absence, though Daisy Musgrave did much to reassure her. She had taken Olga under her wing as naturally as though they had been related, and they were much together.
The old life had begun to seem very far away to Olga, her childhood as remote as a half-forgotten dream. The blank space in her memory remained as a patch of darkness through which her thread of life had run indeed but of which no record remained. She had ceased to attempt to read the riddle, half in dread and half in sheer helplessness. It did not seem to matter. Surely, as Max had once said to her, nothing mattered that was past.
She did not spare much thought for Max either just then, instinctively avoiding all mention of him. She had a vague consciousness that was more in the nature of a nightmare memory than an actual happening, that they had parted in anger. Sometimes there would rush over her soul the recollection of piercing green eyes that searched and searched and would not spare, and her heart would beat in a wild dismay and she would shrink in horror from the vision. But it was not often that this came to her now. She had learned to ward it off, to put away the past, to live in the present.
For nearly a month she had been established with Nick in the bungalow on the outskirts of the city, and the novelty of things had begun to wear off. She was not strong enough to go out very much, and beyond a few calls with Nick and a dinner or two at the cantonments she had not seen much of the social life of Sharapura.
That night, however, they were to attend a State dinner at the Palace, to which all the officers of the battalion and their wives had been bidden. Olga was relieved to know that the Musgraves were also going, for at present she was intimate with no one else, with the possible exception of Noel, who visited them in a fashion which he described as "entirely unofficial" almost every day. He seemed to entertain a vast admiration for Nick, and as Olga was wholly in sympathy with him on this great point, they did not find it difficult to agree upon smaller matters. She even bore with his bare-faced Irish compliments, mainly because she knew he did not mean them and she found it easier to be amused than offended.
The new life was undeniably one of considerable interest, and now and then, more particularly when she went for her morning ride with Nick—a function which Noel almost invariably attended when off duty, appearing with a brazen smile and not the faintest suggestion of an excuse—the old zest would awake within her, almost deluding her into the belief that her lost youth had returned.
She still had her hours of depression and strange heart-heaviness so alien to her nature, and even in her lighter moments she was far more restrained than of yore—shrewd still, quick of understanding still, but infinitely graver, more womanly, more reserved.
Nick, who watched her as tenderly as a mother, sometimes asked himself if after all he and Jim had done the right thing. Her remoteness worried him. She seemed to live in a world of her own, asking no questions, making no confidences. Not that she ever barred him out. He was well aware that she had not the vaguest desire to keep him at a distance. But her old spontaneity, her child-like demonstrativeness, seemed to have gone, and a nameless shadow haunted the eyes that once had been so clear.
They often sat together on the verandah as now, when the day's work was done, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, always in complete accord.
Olga's remark that the India to which Nick had introduced her was wholly unlike her expectations had been called forth by some comment of his upon the Rajah's exceedingly British tastes.
"I thought things would be much more primitive," she said.
And Nick laughed, and after a long draught of whisky and soda observed that possibly they were more primitive than she imagined. After which he stretched himself luxuriously, and asked her if she were aware that they were within a week of Christmas Day.
"Of course," she said. "Did you imagine I had forgotten? It seems so strange to have nothing to do."
He sat up very abruptly with his knees drawn up to his chin and blinked at her with extreme rapidity. "Olga," he said, "I believe you're homesick."
The colour that of old had been so quick to rise faintly tinged her face as she shook her head. "Oh, no, Nick! Don't be absurd! How could I be, with you?"
"I'm not absurd—on this occasion," returned Nick.
"It's the fashion for absentees to be homesick all the world over at Christmas-time. However, we are not bound to follow the fashion. How are we going to celebrate the occasion? Have you any ideas to put forward?"
"None, Nick."
He nodded. "That makes it all the easier for me. Shall we give a picnic at Khantali—you and I? It won't be much fag for you if you drive over with Daisy Musgrave. Noel can take most of the provisions in his dog-cart. He's a useful youngster. How does that strike you? There is a ruined temple or a mosque at Khantali, I believe, and you like that sort of thing."
He paused. She was listening with far-away eyes. "Yes, I shall like that," she said. "It is very nice of you to think of it."
Nick straightened his knees and got up. "Do you know what I would do if
I had two hands, Olga mia?" he said.
She looked up questioningly. His face was for the moment grim.
"I would take you by the shoulders and give you a jolly good shaking," he said.
She opened her eyes in astonishment. "Really, Nick!"
"Yes, really," he said. "You didn't hear a word of what I said just now."
"Oh, but I did!" she protested, flushing in earnest this time. "I heard you and I answered you."
"Oh, yes, you answered me," he said, "as kindly and indulgently as if I had been prattling like Peggy Musgrave. I won't put up with it any longer, my chicken. Understand?"
He put his hand under her chin and turned her face upwards.
She quivered a little and the tears sprang to her eyes. "I'm sorry,
Nick," she said.
He shook his head at her. "I won't have you sorry. That's just the grievance. Be hurt, be indignant, be angry! Sulk even! I know how to treat sulks. But don't cry, and don't be sorry! I shall be furious if you cry."
She smiled up at him wistfully, saying nothing.
"Fact of the matter is," proceeded Nick, "you're spoilt. It's high time I put my foot down. If you don't wake up, I'll make you take a cold bath every morning and swing dumb-bells for half an hour after it."
She began to laugh. "I love to see you playing tyrant, Nick."
He let her go. "I'm not playing, my child. I'm in sober, deadly earnest. Have you made up your mind yet what you're going to say to young Noel when he asks you to marry him?"
She started. "Oh, really, Nick!" she said again, this time with a touch of annoyance in her tone.
He smiled as he heard it. "It's coming, I assure you. You see, the station is short of girls, and our young friend is impressionable. He is the sort of amorous swain who gets engaged to a dozen before he settles down to marriage with one. The question for you to decide is, are you going to be one of the dozen?"
"No, that I certainly am not." Olga spoke with undoubted emphasis, and having spoken rose and laid her hands upon Nick's shoulders. "I don't think he would be so silly as to ask me," she said. "And if he did, I certainly should not be silly enough to say Yes."
"I'm glad to hear that anyway," said Nick briskly. "I was afraid you might accept him out of sheer boredom."
"Nick! I'm not bored!"
He looked at her quizzically, as if he did not quite believe her.
"I am not bored," she reiterated, with something like vehemence. "I am happier with you than with anyone else in the world."
"Really?" said Nick, still smiling.
"Don't you believe me?" she said.
He laughed. "Not quite, dear; but that's not your fault. What are you going to wear to-night?"
Nick could switch himself from one subject to another as easily as a monkey leaps from tree to tree, and when once he had made the leap no persuasion could ever induce him to return. Olga knew this, and abandoned the discussion, albeit slightly dissatisfied.
They separated soon after to dress for the Rajah's dinner. Olga had chosen a dress of palest mauve, and very fair and delicate she looked in it. In a crowd of girls she would doubtless have been passed over by all but the most observant, but she was not one of a crowd at Sharapura. There were not many girls in that region, or Noel Wyndham's volatile fancy had scarcely strayed in her direction.
She told herself this with a faint smile, as she took a final glance at herself when her ayah had finished. There never had been any personal vanity about Olga, and that night she told herself she looked positively ugly. What in the world did Noel see in her, she wondered? It seemed incredible that any man could find anything to admire in the colourless image that confronted her.
And yet as she went up the Palace steps with Nick into the blaze of light that awaited them, he was the first to greet her, and she saw his eyes kindle at the sight of her after a fashion that made her heart contract with a sudden pain for which at the moment she was wholly at a loss to account.
"I say, you look topping!" he said, smiling down at her with pleasing effrontery. "Do you know you are very nearly late? I've been watching out for you for the past ten minutes."
"What a waste of time!" said Olga; but she returned his smile, for she could not do otherwise.
"No! Why? I had nothing better to do," he assured her. "And my patience is well rewarded. Hope you're keen on music. I've brought my banjo for the Rajah's edification. It's better than a tomtom anyway. I wonder if the fates have put us next to each other. I'll lay you five rupees to a sixpence that they haven't."
Olga refused to take this generous offer, saying she had no sixpences to spare him, a remark which he declared to be both premature and uncalled for.
"You shouldn't kick a man before he's down," he said. "It's bad policy.
If you have to sit next to me after that, it will serve you right."
But when she found that he actually was to be her neighbour she was far from quarrelling with the destiny that made him so. He was so blithe and gay of heart, so blandly impudent, the very wine seemed to shine the redder for his presence. It was not in her nature to flirt with any man, but it was utterly impossibly not to enjoy his society. Less and less did she believe that his butterfly pursuit of her had in it the smallest element of serious intention. He was altogether too young and giddy for such things. She dismissed the matter without further misgiving.
CHAPTER IV
THE PHANTOM
Without Noel she would have found that State dinner as dreary as it was pompous. The Rajah was occupied with discussing the laws of British sport with Colonel Bradlaw who regarded himself as an authority on such matters, and expressed his opinions ponderously and at extreme length.
Nick was far away down the long table, seated beside Daisy Musgrave, obviously to their mutual satisfaction. A bubbling oasis of gaiety surrounded them. Evidently the general atmosphere of state and ceremony was less oppressive in that quarter.
"Where would you be without me to take care of you?" said Noel, boldly intercepting her glance in their direction.
"I am not at all bad at taking care of myself," she told him.
"I say—forgive me—I don't believe that," said Noel, with calm effrontery. "You would simply fall a prey to the first ogre who came along."
Olga elevated her chin slightly. "That shows how much you know about me."
"I know a great deal," said Noel, with an ardent glance. "And that's what makes me want to know much more. You know, you're horribly tantalizing, if you will allow me to say so."
"In what way?" She spoke coolly; there was a hint of challenge in the grey eyes she turned upon him.
He laughed without embarrassment. "I can't quite explain. There's something so elusively attractive—or do I mean attractively elusive?—about you. I call you 'the will-o'-the-wisp girl' to my own private soul."
"I hope your own private soul is too sensible to encourage such nonsense," said Olga severely.
He looked at her, sheer mischief dancing in his Irish eyes. "Come and see it some day and judge for yourself!" he said. "I can fix up a séance any time. It would always be at home to you. I'm sure you would get on together."
It was hard to restrain a smile; Olga permitted herself one of strictly limited proportions.
"I will show you a glimpse presently if you would care to see it," proceeded Noel.
"Oh, please don't trouble!" said Olga.
"Afraid of being bored?" he asked.
She laughed. "Perhaps."
He leaned towards her. Her laugh was reflected in his eyes, but she did not hear it in his voice as he said, "Do you mean that? Do I really bore you?"
She met his look for a moment, and her heart quickened a little. Quite suddenly she realized that this man, young though he was, possessed a wonderful power of attraction. She wondered if he himself were aware of it, and rapidly decided that he had made the discovery in his cradle. Of one thing she was certain. She did not want to fall in love with him. He drew her indeed, but it was against her will.
"Well?" he said. "Have you made up your mind yet?"
She smiled. "Oh, no, you don't bore me," she said.
"Thanks awfully! It's not generally considered a family failing of the
Wyndhams. Every other rascality under the sun, but not that."
"What a fascinating family you seem to be!" said Olga.
He made a wry face. "In a sense. Did you find Max fascinating?"
He put the question carelessly; yet she suspected he had a reason for asking it. She felt the tell-tale blood rising in her face.
"You don't like him?" said Noel.
She hesitated.
"I don't mind your saying so in the least," he assured her. "He's a queer chap—a bit of a genius in his own line; but geniuses are trying folk to live with. How did he get on with your father?"
"Oh, Dad likes him," she said.
"He's not much of a ladies' man," remarked Noel. "I suppose he has chucked that job by this time, and gone back to Sir Kersley Whitton. Lucky beggar! He seems to be able to do anything he likes."
"I didn't know he was going to leave," said Olga quickly.
"No? I believe he said something about it in his letter to me. He is always rather sudden," said Noel. "Too much beastly electricity in his composition for my taste."
"Do you often hear from him?" Olga asked abruptly.
"Once in a blue moon. Why?" His dark eyes interrogated her, but she would not meet them.
"I just wondered," she said.
"No. I scarcely ever hear," said Noel. "He wrote, I suppose, to tell me of your good uncle's advent. He had probably heard from my sister that some of us were stationed here. Anyhow I lost no time in getting myself transferred for the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I was inclined to regret the move just at first. It's rather a hole, isn't it? But the moment I saw you—" Olga stiffened slightly, and he at once passed on with the agility of a practised skater on thin ice: "I say, what a ripping little sportsman your uncle is! He is actually talking of taking up polo again. Did you know?"
"Polo!" Olga stared at him. "Nick! How could he?"
"Heaven knows! I suppose he would hang on with his knees, and swipe when he got the chance. He'd need some deuced intelligent ponies though."
"He couldn't possibly do it!" Olga declared. "He mustn't try."
"Think you can prevent him?" asked Noel curiously.
"He won't if I beg him not to," she said.
"Oh, that's how you manage him, is it? Does he always come to heel that way?"
Olga's eyes flashed a loving glance down the table towards her hero.
"There is no one in the world like Nick," she said softly.
"It's good to be Nick," remarked Noel, with his impudent smile. "It's quite evident that he can do no wrong."
She laughed and turned the subject. Nick was too near and dear to discuss with an outsider.
They began to talk of polo. A match had been arranged for Boxing Day.
Noel was a keen player, and had plenty to say about it.
The Rajah was also a keen player, and after a little he disengaged himself from Colonel Bradlaw's endless reminiscences and joined in the conversation, which speedily became general.
A display of fireworks had been provided for the entertainment of the guests, and when the long State dinner was over they repaired to a marble balcony that overlooked some of the Palace gardens.
Will Musgrave came and joined Olga as she stepped out between the carved pillars. She greeted him with a smile of welcome. They were old friends. As a child she had known him before his marriage, though she had seen nothing of him since. There was something in the quiet strength of the man that appealed to her. He gave her confidence.
"Well, Olga," he said, "how do you like India?"
They stood together by the fretted marble balustrade, looking down upon the illuminated gardens that stretched away dim and mysterious into the night.
Olga did not directly answer the question. "I am not really acquainted with her yet," she said.
He uttered a short sigh. "She is a hard mistress. I don't advise you to get too intimate. She has a way of turning and rending her slaves, which is ungrateful, to say the least of it."
"But you are not sworn to her service for ever," said Olga.
He laughed with a touch of sadness. "Until she kicks me out. Like Kipling's Galley Slave, I'm chained to the oar. It's all very well so long as one remains in single blessedness, but it's mighty hard on the married ones. Take my advice, Olga; never marry an Indian man!"
"I'm never going to marry anyone," said Olga, with quiet decision.
"Really!" said Will Musgrave.
She turned her head towards him. "You sound surprised."
He smiled a little. "I beg your pardon. I was only surprised at the way in which you said it—as if you had been married for years, and knew the best and the worst."
There was a slight frown on Olga's face. She looked as if she were trying to remember something. "Oh, no, it wasn't like that," she said. "But somehow I don't feel as if I could ever like a man well enough to marry him. I don't want to fall in love."
"Too much trouble?" suggested Will.
She nodded, the frown still between her eyes. "It doesn't seem worth while," she said rather vaguely. "It's such a waste."
Will looked at her with very kindly eyes. "I see," he said gently.
She met the look and read his thought. Almost involuntarily she answered it. "I've never been in love myself," she told him simply. "But somehow I know just what it feels like. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it? Like being caught up to the Gates of Paradise." She paused, and the puzzled frown deepened. "But one comes back again—nearly always," she said. "That's why I don't think it seems worth while."
"I see," Will said again. He was silent for a moment while a great green rocket rushed upwards with a hiss and burst in a shower of many-coloured stars. Then as they watched them fall he spoke very kindly and earnestly. "But it is worth while all the same—even though one may be turned back from Paradise. Remember—always remember—that it's something to have been there! Not everyone gets so far, and those who do are everlastingly the richer for it." He paused a moment, then added slowly, "Moreover, those who have been there once may find their way there again some day."
Another rocket soared high into the night and broke in a golden rain.
From a few yards away came Nick's cracked laugh and careless speech.
"Here comes the chota-bursat, Daisy! It's high time you went to the
Hills."
Daisy Musgrave's answer was instant and very heartfelt. "Oh, not yet, thank Heaven! We have three months more together, Will and I."
"You must make him leave his beastly old reservoir to the sub when the hot weather comes," said Nick, "and go for a honeymoon with you."
"If he only could!" said Daisy.
A sombre smile crossed Will's face as he turned it towards his wife.
"I'm listening, Daisy," he said.
She came quickly to his side, and in the semi-darkness Olga saw her hand slip within his arm. "I'm feeling sentimental to-night," she said, in a voice that tried hard to be gay. "It's Nick's fault. Will, I want another honeymoon."
"My dear," he made answer in his deep, quiet voice, "you shall have one."
The rattle of squibs drowned all further speech, and under cover of it
Olga made her way to Nick.
"They're awfully fond of each other, those two," she confided to him.
"Bless their hearts! Why shouldn't they?" said Nick tolerantly. "Are you getting tired, my chicken? Do you want to go home to roost?"
She was a little tired, but he was not to hurry on her account. "It's quite restful out here," she said.
He put his arm about her. "What did the infant Don Juan talk about all dinner-time?"
She laughed with a touch of diffidence. "He is quite a nice boy, Nick."
"What ho!" said Nick. "I thought he was making the most of his time."
She pinched his fingers admonishingly. "Don't be a pig, Nick! We—we talked of Max—part of the time."
"Oh, did we?" said Nick.
"Yes. Did you know he was thinking of leaving Dad?"
"I did," said Nick.
There was a moment's silence; then: "Dear, why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice very low.
"Dear, why should I?" said Nick.
She did not answer, though his flippant tone set her more or less at her ease.
"Any more questions to ask?" enquired Nick, after a pause.
With an effort she overcame her reticence. "He has actually gone then?"
"Bag and baggage," said Nick.
"Nick, why?"
"I understand he never was a fixture," said Nick.
"No. I know. But—but—I didn't think of his going so soon," she murmured.
"You don't seem pleased," said Nick.
"You see, I had got so used to him," she explained. "He was like a bit of home."
"I'm sure he would be vastly flattered to hear you say so," said Nick.
She laughed rather dubiously. "Has Dad got another assistant then?"
"I don't know. Very likely. You had better ask him when you write."
"And he has gone back to Sir Kersley Whitton?" she ventured.
"My information does not extend so far as that," said Nick.
She turned her attention to the blaze of coloured fire below them, and was silent for a space.
Suddenly and quite involuntarily she sighed. "Nick!"
"Yours to command!" said Nick.
She turned towards him resolutely. "Be serious just a moment! I want to know something. He didn't leave Dad for any special reason, did he?"
"I've no doubt he did," said Nick. "He has a reason for most of his actions. But he didn't confide it to me."
She gave another sharp sigh, and said no more.
Colonel Bradlaw came up and joined them, and after a little the Rajah also. He stationed himself beside Olga, and began to talk in his smooth way of all the wonders in the district she had yet to see.
She wished he would not take the trouble to be gracious to her, but he was always gracious to European ladies and there was no escape. The British polish over the Oriental suavity seemed to her a decidedly incongruous mixture. She infinitely preferred the purely Oriental.
"My shikari has told me of a man-eater at Khantali," he said presently. "You have not seen a tiger-hunt yet? I must arrange an expedition, and you and Captain Ratcliffe will join?"
Olga explained that she had never done any shooting.
"But you will like to look on," he said.
She hesitated. "I am afraid," she said, after a moment, "I don't like seeing things killed."
"No?" said the Rajah politely.
She wondered if the dusky eyes veiled contempt, and felt a little uncomfortable in consequence of the wonder.
"You have never killed—anything?" he asked, in a tone of courteous interest.
"Nothing bigger than a beetle," said Olga.
"Really!" said the Rajah.
This time she was sure he was feeling bored, and she began to wish that
Noel would reappear and lighten the atmosphere.
As if in answer to the wish, there came the sudden tinkle of a stringed instrument in one of the marble recesses behind them, and almost immediately a man's voice, very soft and musical, began to sing:
"O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'."
The voice ceased; the banjo thrummed on. Olga's hands were fast gripped upon the marble lattice-work. She stood tense, with white face upraised.
The Rajah was wholly forgotten by her, and he stepped silently away to join another of his guests. The new English girl presented an enigma to him, but it was one in which he did not take much interest. All her fairness notwithstanding, she was not even pretty, according to his standard, and he had seen a good many pretty women.
Again through the dimness the clear voice came. It held a hint—a very carefully restrained hint—of passion.
"Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."
The song was ended; the banjo throbbed itself into silence. Olga's hands went up to her face. She wanted to keep the silence, to hold it fast, while she chased down that elusive phantom that dodged her memory.
Ah! A voice beside her, Nick's arm through hers! She raised her face.
The phantom had fled.
"After that serenade, I move that we take our departure," said Nick. "The youngster has a decent voice, so far as my poor judgment goes. Are you ready?"
Yes, she was ready. She longed to be gone, to get away from the careless, chattering crowd, to work out her problem in solitude and silence.
With scarcely a word she went with him, and they made their farewells together.
At the last moment Noel, his eyes very bright and coaxingly friendly, caught her hand and boldly held it.
"Did you catch it?" he asked.
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Catch what?"
He laughed. The pressure of his fingers was intimately close. "That glimpse I promised you," he said.
"Ah!" Understanding dawned in Olga's eyes, and in the same instant she removed her hand. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. I was thinking of something else. Good-bye!"
"Oh, I say!" protested Noel, actually crest-fallen for once.
Nick swallowed a chuckle, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-night, minstrel boy! Mind you bring the harp along to my Christmas picnic! We are not all so unappreciative as Olga."
Noel looked for a second as if he were on the verge of losing his temper, but the next he changed his mind and laughed.
"You bet I will, old chap!" he said, and wrung Nick's hand with cordiality.
Nick's chuckle became audible as they drove away. "He can't accuse you of encouraging him anyhow, Olga mia," he remarked. "If you keep it up at this pace, you'll soon choke him off."
Olga's answer was to draw very close to him, and to utter a great sigh.
"Wherefore?" whispered Nick.
She was silent for a moment, then: "I sometimes wish you were the only man in the world, Nick," she said, with quivering emphasis.
"Gracious heaven!" said Nick. "Don't make me giddy!"
She laughed a little, but there was a sound of tears behind. "Men are so silly," she said.
"Abject fools!" said Nick. "There's never more than one worth crying about."
"What do you mean, Nick?"
"Nothing—nothing!" said Nick. "I was just demonstrating my foolishness, that's all."
Whereat she laughed again in a somewhat doubtful key, and asked no more.
CHAPTER V
THE EVERLASTING CHAIN
It was a very thoughtful face that met Nick at the breakfast table on the following morning. But Nick's greeting was as airy as usual. He made no comments and asked no questions.
The day was Sunday, a perfect day of Indian winter, cloudless and serene. The tamarisks in the compound waved their pink spikes to the sun, and in the palm-trees behind them bright-eyed squirrels dodged and flirted. A line of cypresses bounded the garden, and the sky against which they stood was an ardent blue.
"What is the programme for to-day?" said Nick, when the meal was nearly over.
Olga leaned her chin on her hand, and looked across at him. "Shall you go to church, Nick?"
The cantonments boasted a small church and a visiting chaplain who held one service in it every Sunday.
Nick considered the matter in all its bearings while he stirred his coffee.
"No," he said finally; "I think I shall stay at home with you this morning."
"How do you know I am not going?" said Olga.
Nick grinned. "I'm awfully good at guessing, Olga mia."
She smiled rather wanly. "Well, I'm not going, as a matter of fact. I had a stupid sort of night."
Nick nodded. "I shan't take you out to dinner again for a long time."
"It wasn't that," she said. "At least, I don't think so. It was that song. Why did Noel sing it?"
"For reasons best known to himself," said Nick, taking out his cigarette-case.
She rose and went round to his side to strike a match for him, but reaching him she suddenly knelt and clasped her arms about his neck.
"Nick," she whispered, "I'm frightened."
His arm went round her instantly. "What is it, my chicken?"
She held him closely for a while in silence; then, her face hidden, she told him of the trouble at her heart.
"That song has been haunting me all night long. I feel as if—as if—someone—were calling me, and I can't quite hear or understand. Nick, where—where is Violet?"
It had come at last. Once before she had confronted him with that question, and he had turned it aside. But to-day, he knew that he must face and answer it.
He laid his cheek against her hair. "Olga darling, I think you know, but
I'll tell you all the same. She has—gone on."
Very gently he spoke the words, and after them there fell a silence broken only by the scolding of a couple of parroquets in a mimosa-tree near the verandah.
Nick did not stir. His lips twitched a little above the fair head, and his yellow face showed many lines; but there was no tension in his attitude. His pose was alert rather than anxious.
Olga lifted her face at last. She was very white, but fully as composed as he.
"That," she said slowly, "was the thing I couldn't remember."
He nodded. "It was."
Her hands clasped the front of his coat with nervous force. She looked him straight in the face.
As of old, the flickering eyes evaded her. They met and passed her over a dozen times, but imparted nothing.
"Nick," she said, "will you please tell me how it happened? I am strong enough to bear it now, and indeed—indeed, I must know."
"I have been waiting to tell you," Nick said. "Put on a hat, and we will go in the garden."
She rose at once. Somehow his brief words reassured her. She felt no agitation, was scarcely aware of shock. In his presence even the shadow of Death became devoid of all superstitious fears. In some fashion he made fear seem absurd.
Nick waited for her on the verandah with his face turned up to the sky. He scarcely looked like a man bracing himself for a stiff ordeal, but it was not his way to stoop under his burdens. He had learned to tread jauntily while he carried a heart like lead.
When Olga joined him, he put his hand through her arm and led her forth. The path wound along between the tangle of shrubs and lower growth till it reached the cypresses, and here was a shady stretch where they could pace to and fro in complete privacy.
Arrived here, Nick spoke. "It wasn't altogether news to you, was it?"
She passed her hand across her eyes in the old, puzzled way. "I didn't remember," she said, "and yet I wasn't altogether surprised. I think somehow at the back of my mind—I suspected."
"You remember now," said Nick.
She looked at him with troubled eyes. "No, I don't, dear. That's just it. I—I can't remember. It—frightens me." She clasped his hand with fingers that trembled.
"No need to be frightened," said Nick. "You were ill, you know; first the heat and then the shock. After brainfever, people very often do forget."
"Ah, yes," she said, with a piteous kind of eagerness. "But it is coming back now. I only want you to help a little." She stood suddenly still. "Nick, you are not afraid of Death, I know. Wasn't it you who called it the opening of a Door?"
"It is—just that," said Nick.
"But the body," she said, "the body dies."
"The body," he said, "is like a suit of clothes that you lay aside till the time comes for it to be renovated and made wearable again."
"Ah! She couldn't die, could she, Nick?" Olga's eyes implored him. "Not she herself!" she urged. "She was so full of life. I can't realize it. I can't—I can't! Tell me how it happened! Surely I never saw her dead! Whatever came after, I never could have forgotten that!"
"Tell me how much you do remember, kiddie," Nick said gently. "And I will fill in the gaps."
Her forehead contracted in a painful frown. "It's so difficult," she said, "so disjointed—like a dreadful dream. I know she was horribly afraid of Max. And then there was Major Hunt-Goring. I can't believe she ever liked him. It was only because he—flattered her, and gave her those dreadful cigarettes."
"Probably," said Nick.
"That morning when he invited us to go on his yacht is the last thing I can remember clearly," she said. "I didn't want to go, but—she—insisted. After that, my mind is just a jumble of impressions that don't fit into each other. I seem to remember being on the yacht, and Major Hunt-Goring and Violet laughing together. And then he came and told me an awful thing about her mother. He wanted me to say I would marry him, and I wouldn't because I hated him so. And after that he was so furious, he went and told her too."
Olga stopped with horror in her eyes. The effort to remember was plainly torturing her, yet Nick made no effort to help her.
"And after that?" he said.
"Oh, after that, there seems to come a blank. I remember her face, and how I held her in my arms and tried to comfort her. And then—oh, it's just like a dreadful dream!—I was running in the sun, running, running, running, never seeming to get anywhere. The next thing I really remember is being at the Priory and having lunch in that awful storm, and Max coming—do you remember?—do you remember? And how I kept him away from her? Poor child, he terrified her so." Olga was shuddering now from head to foot. Her eyes were wide and staring, as though fixed upon some fearful vision.
Nick did not attempt to interrupt her. He waited, alert and silent, for the vision to come to an end.
The end was not far off. She went on speaking rapidly, as if more to herself than to him. She seemed indeed to have forgotten him for the moment.
"What a frightful storm it was! That flash of lightning—how it shone through the east window—and the floor was all red as if—as if—" She broke off; her hand clenched unconsciously upon Nick's. "Did you see her?" she whispered. "Or was it only a nightmare? She—was trying—to—to—kill Max—in the dark!"
"She was not herself," said Nick. His voice was low and soothing; he spoke as if he feared to awake her.
"No—no! She was mad—like her mother. Oh, Nick, how beautiful she was!"
Suddenly the tension passed. Olga covered her face and began to cry.
His arm tightened about her; he drew her on up the shady walk. "And that is all you remember, kiddie?" he said.
She slipped her arm round his neck as they walked. "No, I remember two things more." She forced back her tears to tell him. "I remember Max's arm all soaked with blood. It stained my dress too. And I remember his saying that—that it was a hopeless case, and that she—Violet—was as good as dead. After that—after that——"
Nick waited. "After that?" he said.
She turned to him, her face anguished, piteous, appealing. "I can't get any further than that, Nick. It's just a dreadful darkness that makes me afraid. I think I begged him not to go to her. But I know he went, because—when he came down again"—her voice faltered; bewilderment showed through her distress—"when he came down again—" she repeated the words like a child conning a lesson, then stopped, staring widely. "Ah, I don't remember," she cried hopelessly. "I don't remember—except that I think—when he came down again—it was all over. And he seemed to be angry with me. Why was he angry with me, Nick? Why? Why?"
She began to tremble violently; but Nick's arm, strong and steadfast, drew her on.
"He wasn't angry," said Nick. "Up to that point you are all right, but there your imagination runs away with you. It's not surprising. He looks grim enough when he's on the job. But that's his way. We know too much of him, you and I, to take him over seriously."
"Then he really wasn't angry?" Olga said, relief struggling with doubt in her voice.
Nick began to smile. "He really wasn't," he said.
She gave a sharp sigh. "I've been so afraid sometimes. But why—why did he look so strange?"
"Doctors don't like being beaten," said Nick.
"But then, he knew it was hopeless—he said so. Was he angry because of his arm? Was he angry with her, do you think? Oh, Nick, my brain—my brain! It does whirl so! It won't let me think quietly."
"There is no need to make it think any more," said Nick, with quick decision. "Give it a rest! You've got hold of the main points, and that's enough for anyone. You mustn't fret either, dear. Remember, we are all going the same way. God knows why we take these things so hard. I suppose it's our silly little minds that won't let us look ahead."
"If we only could look ahead!" murmured Olga. "If we could only know!"
Nick's eyes sent a single flashing glance over the cypresses. His arm clasped her closely and very tenderly. "That's just where the trick of believing comes in," he said. "I don't see how those who honestly believe in the love of God can help believing that all is well with those who have gone on. To my mind it follows as the inevitable sequence. Those who doubt it are putting a limit to the Illimitable and placing a lower estimate on the love of God than they place upon their own. But we are all such wretched little pigmies—even the biggest of us. We are apt to forget that, don't you think? Horribly apt to try and measure the Infinite with a foot-rule. And see what comes of it! Only a deeper darkness and a narrowing of our own miserable limitations. We never get any further that way, Olga mia. Speculating and dogmatizing don't help us. We are up against the Unknown like a wall. But the love of God shines on both sides of it; and till the Door opens to us also, that's as much as we shall know."
He paused. Olga was listening with rapt attention. Her tears were gone, but the clasp of her hand was feverishly tense. Her breath came quickly.
"Go on, Nick!" she whispered. "Tell me more of the things you believe!"
He smiled whimsically. "My dear, I'm afraid I'm not over-orthodox. You see, I've knocked about a bit and seen something of other men's beliefs. The love of God is the backbone of my religion, and all that doesn't go with that, I discarded long ago. If Christianity doesn't mean that, it doesn't mean anything. I've no use for the people who think that none but their own select little circle will go to heaven. Such Gargantuan smugness takes one's breath away. It is almost too colossal to be funny. One wonders where on earth they get it from. I suppose it's a survival of the Dark Ages, but even then surely people had brains of some description."
"But death, Nick!" she said. "Death is such a baffling kind of thing."
"Yes, I know. You can't grasp it or fathom it. You can only project your love into it and be quite sure that it finds a hold on the other side. Why, my dear girl, that's what love is for. It's the connecting link that God Himself is bound to recognize because it is of His own forging. Don't you see—don't you know it is Divine? That is why our love can hold so strongly—even through Death. Just because it is part of His plan—a link in the everlasting Chain that draws the whole world up to Paradise at last. It's so divinely simple. One wonders how anyone can miss the meaning of it."