The Path to Honour by Sydney C. Grier
CHAPTER XIX.
AS OTHERS SEE US.
"I can't think why there was no letter for me!" lamented Marian Cowper.
"Perhaps it will come by a special runner to-morrow," suggested Honour."Papa would send it on, I am sure."
"But it ought to have come to-day. Charley has never missed his properday before."
"Perhaps he was too busy to write."
"Too busy! As if he would let anything keep him from writing to me!"
"I didn't mean that he would not wish to write, but that he might notbe able," explained Honour with care.
"Of course. You needn't apologize for Charley to me, thank you. If hedoesn't write it's because he can't, and any one else would understandhow I feel about it--especially when it is getting so near the time forhim to come back." Marian's nerves were evidently on edge, as shemoved restlessly about the room, and shot out her sentences at hersister like darts. "I wish you wouldn't sit there so quietly. Youdon't sympathize a bit. If Charley doesn't come up here next month ashe promised, I don't know what I shall do. At any rate, if anythinghappens it will be his fault."
"Oh, Marian, how can you be so unfair?" cried Honour, with her usualearnestness. "You know poor Charles will come if he possibly can. Andhow dreadful to say it would be his fault if anything went wrong!"
"I didn't say 'if anything went wrong'; I said 'if anything happened,'"corrected Marian pettishly. "And I don't know why you should say 'poorCharles.' He would be perfectly happy if he was here with me, and soshould I. He understands things--oh, I do want him so!"
"Oh, don't cry," entreated Honour in alarm. "Dear Marian, you willonly do yourself harm, you know, and you were so anxious he should findyou well and cheerful. Just finish your letter to him, and then let ussit out on the verandah a little before going to bed. The Antonys'guests will be leaving, and you know how pretty the torches look amongthe hills."
"How can I finish my letter when I don't know whether there is anythingin his to answer?" complained Marian. "Well, I will leave it unsealed,and put in an extra sheet if necessary. I'll come out in a minute.I'm sorry I am so cross, Honour. After all it isn't your fault thatyou are not Charley."
"Of course not," said Honour indignantly, and there was more than asuggestion of what was known, in those days of distended skirts, as"flouncing" in the quick rustle with which she left the room. SomehowMarian and she seemed perpetually to rub one another the wrong way, andevery one thought it was her fault, because Marian was always so brightand pleasant in public. Marian received plenty of sympathy and wantedmore, but Honour felt that a little would be very pleasant to herself.Yet why should her thoughts in this connection be suddenly discoveredto have flown to Gerrard? "He understands," she said to herself, andblushed hotly in the darkness to remember that these were the verywords Marian had used of her husband. Giving herself a little shake,as though to get rid of the momentary foolishness, she bent herthoughts sternly to the subject of Sir Edmund and Lady Antony'sdinner-party. Ladies in the hills whose husbands were on service didnot accept invitations in those benighted days, and Honour hadnaturally remained with her sister. Their bungalow stood a littlehigher than the Resident's Lodge, and the effect of the torches bywhich all the guests were lighted along the hill-paths was very prettyfrom their verandah.
"Marian," she called out, "the people are beginning to leave. Some oneis coming up our path."
"Oh, it is only the new people--a judge or something and his wife--whohave taken Hilltop Hall. But I shall have finished before they passthe gate. I should like to see what they are like."
But long before the usual procession--a gentleman on a pony, a lady ina _jampan_, and torchbearers and servants _ad libitum_--which Honourwas expecting could have reached the gate, it was opened and two peoplecame up the steep path to the bungalow. By the light of the torchcarried before them by a servant, Honour recognised Lady Antony, with aburnouse thrown over her evening dress, and her husband. Her heartstood still, for such a visit could only mean bad news. Sir Edmund andhis wife were fond of dropping in informally on their young neighbours,but to leave their guests, at an important entertainment in their ownhouse--this was unheard of. Honour ran to the top of the steps to meetthem.
"Oh, what is it?" she cried, lowering her voice so that it should notreach Marian. "Is it papa?"
"Sir Arthur is well. I have a letter from him," said Sir Edmund."Your mother is also in good health."
"Then who is it?" demanded Honour fearfully. "Is it either of mybrothers? Oh, not--not Charles?"
"Hush! let me break it to her," said Lady Antony, as Marian's prettysparkling face, the eyes wide with astonishment, appeared at thewindow. "Dear Marian," she took the girl's arm and led her back intothe room, "I have something to say to you."
"What was it--cholera?" Honour was asking with dry lips of Sir Edmundas they stood on the verandah.
"No, unfortunately." Honour's eyes met his in perplexity. "It wasmurder. This morning I received news that Captain Cowper and Mr Nisbethad been wounded in a street-tumult at Agpur, but that Cowper'sinjuries were so slight he did not wish his wife alarmed about them.To-night your father sends a runner to say that the poor fellows werepursued and murdered outside the city."
"How dreadful!" was all Honour could say.
"Dreadful indeed," said Sir Edmund gloomily. "I have no doubt thatSher Singh will be able to clear himself of any complicity in thecrime, but I fear he must have shown culpable weakness. And weaknessis difficult to distinguish from wickedness at a time when men'spassions are excited, as they are bound to be by this news."
"But what does it signify about Sher Singh? It is poor Charles we haveto think of, and poor, poor Marian!" cried Honour indignantly. SirEdmund's eyes looked beyond her.
"Pardon me; we have the whole question of the treatment of nativestates, the whole principle of justice to the native, to think of.Eyes blinded by the natural, though unholy, desire for revenge arelittle fitted to see clearly. There is grave reason to fear that evennow hasty steps have been taken, which may compromise our futureaction. I understand that young Charteris crossed the frontier, or wasabout to cross it, on the news of the outbreak. My brother reportsthat he has ordered him to return immediately, but it is almostimpossible that the harm has not been done."
"What harm?" demanded Honour. "Mr Charteris hoped to save poorCharles, of course. Then, when he knew he was too late for that, hewould try to rescue his body."
Sir Edmund looked at her with a kind of despair for her feminineobtuseness. "That is quite out of the question," he said, "andCharteris knows it. If he went on, it would be----"
"You don't mean that Marian will never know where her husband isburied--never be able to visit his grave?"
"It is highly probable. My dear young lady, what can it signify whereour vile bodies lie? They are in God's keeping, whether cast out onthe face of the ground or laid in a churchyard at home."
"Oh, don't!" Honour could have shaken Sir Edmund. "Can't you see?Oh, please don't say anything of that kind to Marian, as if she had notenough to bear already."
"I do not think I introduced the subject----"
"I must see how poor Marian is," interrupted Honour, and left himhastily. She had a momentary vision of her sister sobbing in LadyAntony's arms, but a warning hand upraised forbade her to enter theroom, and she returned unwillingly to Sir Edmund, who had forgotten allabout the difference of opinion in the hurry of his thoughts.
"I shall go down to-morrow night," he said, as though speaking tohimself. "I cannot be sure of James when it is a question of keepingthese young fellows in order. Charteris must return at once, ofcourse, and one can only hope that he may not have done irreparableharm."
"What harm could he do, with only a few men, against Sher Singh's wholearmy?" demanded Honour.
"The harm of making it appear that the case has been prejudged. SherSingh may have been innocent of all but cowardice, but to send an armyagainst him without in
"You think only of Sher Singh!" cried Honour hotly. "I think of poorCharley murdered, without a finger raised to save him. I want SherSingh punished--do you hear?" with a stamp of her foot--"and I hope MrCharteris will do it, and not care what orders you send him!"
Sir Edmund had been looking at her as though she were a pigmy viewedfrom a mountain-top, so she told herself indignantly, but now his eyesflashed, and a tinge of colour crept into his sallow, haggard face."If, as I understand, you have some influence with Mr Charteris, Iwould advise you, for his sake, not to make him acquainted with yourviews, Miss Cinnamond," he said coldly. "The natural warmth of a youngman's constitution is sufficiently powerful to lead him astray, withoutbeing raised to fever-heat by the uninstructed interference ofsentimental females."
"I shall certainly not attempt to influence Mr Charteris, but I hope tohear that he has acted as I would wish him without that," Honourmanaged to say before the lump in her throat prevented her speaking.With her head held very high, she walked away to the end of theverandah, and finding a seat in the shadow of the creepers, hid herselfthere and wept silently--for Charley Cowper lying unburied outside thewalls of Agpur, for Marian, bereaved of love and hope at nineteen, forthe child that its father would never see, and a little for HonourCinnamond, who had intended to do such great things, and was such afailure all round. Sir Edmund forgot her existence, as she knew hewould, and walked up and down the verandah with bent head and handsclasped behind his back. Sometimes he trod firmly and even whistled ina meditative way, and then he would pull himself up suddenly and creepbackwards and forwards in silence, remembering the task in which hiswife was engaged. It was long before Lady Antony came out, withswollen eyes, and called softly to Honour before taking her husband'soffered arm.
"I have persuaded your sister to go to bed, and it would be kinder notto disturb her again to-night. Her good old ayah is with her, and Ihope she may get some rest."
"But I must go to her!" protested Honour. "She would think it sounkind."
"Better not, dear, I think. In fact, I may say she begged not to bedisturbed. I did not tell her, lest something should happen to preventit, but you will be glad to hear that the runner had orders to lay adouble _dak_ for the Lady Memsahib at all the stations as he came, so Ihope we shall see your dear mother here some time to-morrow."
The news was inexpressibly welcome, but Honour bade good-night to LadyAntony with distinct resentment. As though Marian would not choose tohave her own sister beside her at this time of desolation instead of aservant! For a moment she thought of taking things into her own hands,and bidding the ayah go to bed while she would watch, but peeping intoMarian's room she saw her lying exhausted on the bed, a tired sobbreaking from her at intervals, while the old Goanese woman rubbed hermistress's feet gently, crooning a soft unintelligible song. She couldnot be banished, certainly, but at least Honour might share the watch,and presently she made her appearance armed with pillows and acoverlet, intending to lie down on the sofa in her sister's room. OldAnna looked at her warningly as she entered, but Marian heard therustling of the bedclothes and glanced up sharply.
"Please go to bed properly in your own room, Honour. I want nobody butNanna."
"I will only lie down here, in case you call. I won't say a word,"said Honour, unmoved by the glitter in her sister's eyes, from whichthe film of weariness had vanished. Marian raised herself on her elbow.
"I will send Nanna if I want you. Please go." As Honour stillhesitated, her voice rose higher. "Go, go! I don't want you here.You never appreciated my dear Charley."
"Go, missy, go!" entreated the old woman. "Missus not know what shedone say." But Honour was too deeply hurt.
"Oh, Marian, how can you say such a thing? Why, if I had not liked himfor himself, I should have loved him because he was so fond of you,dear fellow!"
"You said to mamma that he was so very ordinary. I heard you throughthe _chiks_," persisted Marian, holding her with accusing eyes.
"I didn't mean you to hear. How could I tell you were there? And Ilearned to know him better afterwards--how good and kind he was."Honour defended herself desperately.
"It was not my hearing you, but your saying it, that mattered. I couldlaugh at it at the time, knowing what he really was, but now--I can'tbear to have you in the room with me, to-night, at any rate, when youmisjudged him so."
"Oh, Marian, how can you be so unkind? If I was in trouble, I wouldnot keep you away."
"You would not be in this kind of trouble. You couldn't be. It isn'tin you." Marian hurled her shafts deliberately. "You don't understandwhat it is to care for any one as I care for Charley, and I believe younever will. You can let two men go on making love to you at once formore than a year, because you can't make up your mind which of them youlike best."
"Is that my fault? I don't like either of them in that way."
"No, but you like knowing that they think of you, and care for you, andwatch for the least crumb of kindness you are willing to throw them.When you thought poor Charteris was dead, you luxuriated in misery withthat very foolish young Gerrard, who ought to have given you the choiceof taking him or leaving him there and then, and when Charteris cameback, you snubbed him. And if Gerrard should be killed now, in tryingto save my dear Charley, I suppose you and Charteris would mingle yourtears over him. No, Charteris has more sense. He won't let himself betreated----"
Honour's eyes were bright. "Oh, do you mean that Mr Gerrard is helpingMr Charteris? Sir Edmund did not mention him."
"They are co-operating, Lady Antony told me--making forced marches inthe hot weather, to avenge Charley if they can't save him. But youdon't care--or if you do, it's only because you like to think you canbe an inspiration to them without giving anything in return. You don'twant to marry either of them, but you won't break with them so long asthey are willing to dangle about you."
"I don't want to marry either of them, it is true, but if they arewilling to be my friends still, why should I break with them, as youcall it?"
"Because each of them thinks that you will be willing to marry him oneday, and you know it. You are rather proud of their constancy, andyour own firmness in not yielding to either of them. But it is not athing to be proud of; it is a thing to be ashamed of and sorry for.You could make far more of either of those men by coming down from yourpedestal and marrying him in an ordinary everyday way than by standingup above him and giving him good advice. I know you have some delusionthat it is better and higher to be as you are, but I tell you that Ihad rather have married my Charley and known him as he really wasand--yes, and even lost him--than stood on high and given good adviceto a whole army. Oh, Charley, my dear kind Charley--and I behaved sobadly to you when you went away! I never kissed you!"
A fresh paroxysm of tears succeeded the angry words, and Honour yieldedto the ayah's whispered entreaties, and left the room. Grief andresentment combined to give her a very disturbed night, and when LadyCinnamond arrived, tired and travel-stained, about mid-day, after anunbroken journey from Ranjitgarh, she was shocked at her daughter'sappearance. But there was no time to think of Honour, for Marian,hearing her mother's voice, had tottered to her door.
"Oh, dear mamma, I have wanted you so much! You understand, you knowall about it."
Not until the evening did Honour see her mother again, and then LadyCinnamond crept out on tiptoe into the verandah.
"Honour, love, I have been so longing to speak to you, but I could notleave poor Marian until she fell asleep. I am very anxious about papa.He has never been alone in the hot weather before, and he is soterribly imprudent."
"You would like me to go down and take care of him? I shall bedelighted, mamma. I find I must be thankful if any one will let meeven s
"Dear little one, you must not think----"
"I do not think, mamma; I know. I know that Marian has begged you tosend me away, and said she shall go mad if she sees me about. She saidalmost as much as that to me last night. I suppose I deserve itsomehow, but I really don't see how."
"Onora, dear child, you must not misjudge poor Marian. She has had afearful blow, and is hardly responsible for what she says. You knowthat I would never send you away from me. But I see that I must stayhere with her for the present, and it makes me so unhappy to leave dearpapa----"
"And you do know how I long to be of use to any one, don't you, mamma?I wanted to comfort Marian, but she would not let me. Oh, mamma, shesaid such cruel, unjust things. And is it my fault if I can't--if Ican't----?"
"No, my love, certainly not. And if you have been--well, not verywise, in what you have done and said, no one who knew you couldpossibly credit you with any but the best motives. And you will takecare of papa, and see that he does not go out in the sun unnecessarily?I feel that it is very cruel to send you down to Ranjitgarh again inthe heat, my precious one."
"What does it signify, mamma? I am sure Marian would be rather pleasedif I died. No, I ought not to have said that. I am really glad tohave some idea what the hot weather is--even though I shall be in acool house, with every comfort. They have nothing of that sort, havethey--marching in the heat to punish Charley's murderers?"
"Who--those two young men? Oh, my dear child, is it always to be they,and not he?"
"I don't know; how can I tell? Oh, mamma, they are both so good, andthey do everything together, and I think it is so splendid of them bothto have risked everything like this. If only they were both mybrothers!"
"I suppose I should have been too proud with two such sons added tothose I have. One of them as a son-in-law would quite satisfy me, ifit satisfied you, dearest. But that seems too much to hope for," saidLady Cinnamond despairingly.
But when Honour reached Ranjitgarh, under the escort of Sir EdmundAntony--who fell ill again the day after his arrival, and was promptlyordered back to the hills by his doctors--she found that the generalopinion of Charteris's and Gerrard's conduct reflected his verdictrather than hers. Charteris was the head and front of the offending,for Gerrard's self-suppression in placing himself under his orders hadhad the unlooked-for effect of concentrating attention, and blame, onthe man nominally responsible. Charteris had precipitated matters byhis hasty action, he was driving Sher Singh to revolt, he would set allGranthistan in a blaze, and incidentally be wiped out himself--in whichcase he would richly deserve his fate. The confused rumours which camethrough of the skirmishes preceding the battle near Kardi created anatmosphere highly unfavourable to a cool consideration of his reportswhen they arrived. The rumours spoke of defeat, retreat, heavyloss--the reports of positions maintained and a steady pressure on thefoe, and as such a measure of success, attained by unauthorised andunprecedented means, was in itself most improbable, the rumoursreceived far greater credit. The action of Lieutenant Charteris becamea public scandal, focussing Anglo-Indian attention on Granthistan to ahighly undesirable extent. The newly arrived Governor-General, LordBlairgowrie, who possessed two supreme qualifications for his highoffice in a total ignorance of things Indian and a splendidself-confidence, wrote several of his well-known incisive letters tothe Antony brothers, reflecting upon the discipline of theirsubordinates. Unkindest cut of all, old Sir Henry Lennox graspedjoyfully at the chance of avenging a few of the wrongs he and hisKhemistan administration had suffered at the hands of Granthistan,and--with the readiness to submit official matters to publicarbitrament which so curiously distinguished the men of hisday--addressed to the press a series of communications reflecting withequal severity on Charteris's moral character and his military capacity.
A copy of the Bombay paper in which these letters appeared was sent toSir Arthur Cinnamond by a friend who thought he ought to know what wasbeing said, and it fell into Honour's hands. Sir Arthur, dozing over acheroot in the hottest part of the day, was rudely awakened by theapparition of the tragic figure of his daughter, holding out theoffending journal.
"Papa, have you read this? Do you see what they say?"
"Eh, what, my dear?" Sir Arthur groped for his glasses, and settledthem on his nose. "Oh, that nonsense of Lennox's, I see--most improperinterference; like his--er--er--usual impudence to meddle in ouraffairs."
"But the things he says about Mr Charteris, papa--that he ought to becourt-martialled!"
"Well, my dear, you need not be frightened. Old Harry Lennox ain'tcommanding in Granthistan."
"But it's just as bad if he only deserved to be court-martialled, andwe know he doesn't. As if Mr Gerrard would ever have joined him if hehad been merely trying to bring himself into notoriety at the expenseof disobeying orders!"
"There's no doubt that he moved without orders, my dear girl. And ifyou ask me, I have a shrewd idea that he was in no hurry to open hisorders when they reached him, lest they should direct him to retire.Ought to be broke, the young scamp! But hang me if I wouldn't havedone the same in his place!"
"Oh, papa, I am so glad you feel like that! You are writing to him?Do you know, I was going to ask you to let me put in a note, that hemight see there was one person on his side."
"Oho, you sly little puss!" cried Sir Arthur, highly amused. Honourlooked offended, and her father shifted his ground rapidly. "No, no,Honour, I couldn't think of it--without consulting your mother, at anyrate. But I tell you what I will do--add a postscript that my familysend their kind regards to him and Gerrard. Mustn't leave poor Gerrardquite out in the cold, but I think they'll understand that--eh?"
"There is nothing to understand," said Honour, departing with dignity.
"So it's Charteris!" said Sir Arthur to himself. "Somehow I had anidea it was the other. I'm almost sorry. He will take it hard, poorchap!"