CHAPTER XXI.
The Eastern sky was still dim silvery grey when Mark Cheveril dismountedfrom his fine chestnut cob in front of the Rayner's verandah. Handinghis horse to the syce, he turned to the other, a beautiful black Arabwhich he had secured for Hester, and whose girths and bridles he begancarefully to inspect for the second time.
Presently Hester appeared on the verandah steps with a smiling face,wearing her riding habit for the first time since she leftWorcestershire. Greeting Mark with a joyous mien, she renewed her thanksfor the pleasure in prospect, sprang lightly to her saddle, and thecavalcade started; their respective syces following on foot, brandishingtheir long brush-like switches used to protect the horses from flieswhen a halt was made.
The riders trotted slowly along the wide Mount Road where at this earlyhour there was little traffic, only a few natives stepping about.Crossing the Adyar by the noble Marmalong Bridge, residences and theirspreading compounds were soon left behind. Their route skirted thebroad, winding reaches of the river, its banks fringed by peepul andcasuarina trees, and here and there topes of cocoanut palms raised theirgraceful heads. The air was still cool and the early morning scentsfragrant. Even the fumes of burnt charcoal curling upwards from theThousand Lights Bazaar were pleasing to the riders, recalling the odourof furze fires on home moorlands.
Happy as were these two old friends to be together in such pleasantcircumstances, their talk was as yet limited to spasmodic comments onthe sights and sounds new to both. Mark was delighted to note the brighthealthful glow on Hester's cheek, and resolved that each of theremaining mornings of his visit to Madras should be devoted to a morningride together. He felt confident that her husband would approve when hesaw how well-trained and reliable the Arab proved, and heard how greatlyHester was captivated by its paces.
They had now reached the ancient historical spot which was to be thegoal of their morning's expedition. To eyes used to hills of home, St.Thomas's Mount seemed a very low eminence, though from the flat plainstretching all round it appeared to stand out like a unique personality.Possibly it was this feature which had caused it, centuries ago, to besingled out by devout pilgrims as a shrine. Fact and fiction had wovenmany legends round its steep grassy slopes, the most outstanding beingthe alleged visit of the Apostle whose name it bore. The Portuguese, theearliest European adventurers in the East, had established a missionthere. Their ancient chapel which crowns the summit dates four centuriesback. Instead of the zig-zag path which one expects in hill-climbing,the summit of the Mount is reached by a long, gradual ascent of granitesteps which sparkled in the sun as if bestrewn by gems, and called forththe admiration of the riders as they halted at the base of the hill.
There, by Mark's arrangement, fresh syces had been posted from thestables for the return ride. They squatted on the sunny steps, theirlips red with chewing betel-nut. They jumped up with salaams to takeover charge of the hot steeds and to rub them down, while Mark, withliberal _backsheesh_, dispatched the returning pair of runners for,doubtless, a very leisurely progress townwards.
Hester had already scaled some of the steps of the shining stair whenMark joined her.
"Here we are, Hester, another pair of pilgrims treading the steps thathave been climbed for centuries by feet often weary enough, no doubt,not to speak of hearts that ached!"
"Yes, it feels good to picture it--gives one a feeling of brotherhood,doesn't it? I wonder if the pilgrims ever crawled on their knees upthose many steps as they do on the _Santa Scala_ in Rome," said Hester,recalling the sight she had seen last Easter when she went for her firstvisit to Italy with her father.
As she lightly trod on, her thoughts lingered over Mark's suggestion,till she felt as if she too were one of the long procession ofcare-encumbered men and women who had come--some with true faith andzeal--to seek the true helper in the little chapel with its sacredsymbols, which was once no doubt like an oasis in the desert ofsurrounding heathenism. Its dedication to the _Expectation of theBlessed Virgin_ could still be traced in rude, half-effaced letters overthe doorway. The little building was very primitive both within andwithout. Underneath its rough stone pavement lay many dead.
Presently the visitors came to the most interesting relic within thebuilding--a grey stone slab finely carved, a scroll running round it onwhich there was a curious inscription, and in the centre a beautifulPersian cross with a dove brooding over it.
"That slab must have proved a bigger effort for some old-time Christianthan one of our finest monuments to the modern sculptor," said Mark,after a close inspection of the carving. "The man who carved it musthave been a genius. Think of the rough tools he had, and the absenceprobably of all suggestion from without!"
"Yes, isn't it rather symbolic too," answered Hester with a sigh. "Don'teach of us have to carve our own crosses with rough tools till sometimesour fingers bleed, and our hearts too?"
"Wouldn't it be a more comforting metaphor to say that the MasterSculptor does that for us--chip by chip--till the work stands out athing of beauty like that old cross?"
"But the process hurts, Mark! Shall we never be finished? Will ourchipping go on to the very end?" said Hester, with a sudden ring of painin her voice.
"Yes, I think it must go on till our new beginning," returned Markquietly. "Then we shall find--and what's better, the Great Maker willfind--that no touch of His hand has been in vain, that every blow withthe mallet was needed, every scrape with the sharp tool," he added, in apitying voice, for he had detected that Hester's questioning cry hadbeen wrung from an aching heart.
"Thank you, Mark," she murmured, after a moment's silence. "I shan'tforget your parable next time the mallet or the piercing tool tries toimprove me, and shall recall this grey stone--so finished, so perfect.Surely loving hands fashioned it, as you say, or it would not havewithstood the ravages of centuries to tell its tale to us on this brightmorning."
As the two friends wandered on among the grey relics, "praising thechapel sweet with its little porch and its rustic door," Mark wasreminded of a description in a well-read page of his favourite poet. Insome of its aspects, it so truly described this morning which he wasspending with Hester, that he resolved to bring the brown volume in hispocket the next time they rode together and read to her the lovelydescription of the old chapel and all that followed.
Yes, that "screen" though slight was "sure"! He would try to prove loyalin all things to this girl, who was evidently finding life verydifferent from the flower-strewn path she had looked forward to whenthat bright letter reached him in the German Gasthaus, telling him ofher engagement. He was glad to think it was still given him to cherishher as a friend. "Friends--lovers that might have been," he murmured.Then, in spite of himself, as they walked silently down the stepstogether, more of the poet's words vibrated in his heart----
"Oh the little more and how much it is, And the little less, and what worlds away And life be the proof of this."
Though Hester did not clothe her thoughts in Browning's pathetic words,they followed much the same trend of feeling. How magnetic was theinfluence of this high-souled companion, who seemed to bring out of thetreasure-house of his mind deep things, new and old. How was it thatthis friend of Charlie's never seemed so magnetic in the days when theyhad ridden together in green byways at home? Why was it reserved for heronly to find his many-sided value and charm when she was the wife ofAlfred Rayner? Ah, how different was the daily companionship which washer portion now, strewn as it was with pin-pricks that hurt, even thornsthat bled! Some of these she could only cease to feel, she thought withburning cheek, if she could descend from high ideals, ignore moralstandards, and sink to the level of base and sordid thoughts andactions. But Alfred must be helped to better things, she resolved withfresh hope and courage, drawn from this happy morning. She must be morepatient, more inventive in throwing him in the way of every goodinfluence, and in this, who could help her better than the comrade whonow rode by her side?
She reined her horse to a walk and t
urned to him, saying in a pleadingvoice:
"Mark, I have a favour to ask of you! Will you see as much of my husbandas you can? Will you try to win his confidence and be his friend as Iknow you are mine? We have old links, of course, which makes friendshipeasy, but I do feel that Alfred needs a friend like you. He has somehowcontracted such shallow aims; his ambitions often seem to me so poor,though I do try to be sympathetic. He is naturally secretive, you know,but I'm sure he isn't happy just now, though he does not open his mindto me. I fear his restlessness makes him extravagant. From some chancewords he dropped lately it is evident that we have been spending toomuch money. As a new-comer, I haven't been able to give him the help heneeded. It might have been different if we had come together to face thedifficulties and temptations of the new country," wound up Hester with asigh, some of her fears and perplexities coming sharply into relief.
"I believe you are right," returned Mark, glad to ignore her pitifulrequest, responding only to the last remark, "though you know thegeneral theory is that the man should come first and prospect."
"Well, in your case I believe it will work all right. Your garneredexperience will prove a mine of wisdom to your bride when you bring herto these shores. I'm longing to behold that 'not impossible she,' Mark!When will she arrive?" she asked smilingly, glancing at her companion.
Mark Cheveril did not return her glance, but reflectively stroked hishorse's neck. After a moment's silence, he looked at her, and saidslowly:
"There is not 'a possible she' for me, Hester."
"Oh, but she's waiting for you now in some English home, though youdon't know it! I feel sure you will not choose foolishly, Mark, and Ishall be able to give my heart's love to your wife when she comes.You'll tell her you have a friend who will insist on being admitted toher friendship."
To this Mark made no reply except to shake his head. They were now wellon their homeward way, and had been riding slowly side by side as theytalked.
Several vehicles and many native pedestrians had passed them, thehighway between St. Thomas's Mount and Madras being also the road toPalaveram and a busy thoroughfare. A dust-begrimed bandy sweeping by didnot attract the attention of the riders, for it was the facsimile ofmany which had already passed and repassed. But it was otherwise withthe solitary occupant of the shabby vehicle. The riders had caught hiseye while they were still in advance of his carriage. He glanced withkeen interest at the handsome pair and their fine horses.
"One of the artillery officers and his wife from the Mount, no doubt,"he muttered.
Great, therefore, was Alfred Rayner's surprise in coming to closerquarters, to recognise in the elegant horsewoman, his own wife, and inthe supposed officer, Mark Cheveril. Hot indignation soon mastered hissurprise. His first impulse was to alight there and then, and confrontthe couple. But how could he, with becoming dignity, he reflectedbitterly, step out of a shabby country-bandy, travel-stained and haggardafter a late night at the Palaveram mess?
The sad offices for poor young Hyde would not have detained Mr. Raynerbeyond the afternoon of Christmas Day, but he had been prevailed upon toremain and share the festivities of the mess, after which there had beenan adjournment to the card-table. It was in the same dawn on which theriders had started for St. Thomas's Mount that he had risen from hisnight's play, a considerably poorer man than when he sat down. On theprevious day, he had driven out in the carriage of one of the officerswho had made an appointment to meet him at the Club, but for his returnjourney he had arranged nothing, and could only commandeer a countryvehicle.
The fact of his humble equipage, and even more the consciousness of hishaggard, ill-slept appearance, decided him to abstain from showinghimself in the tell-tale morning light. Lying well back in the carriage,he covered his face with his sun-topee. He perceived with chagrin,however, that he might have spared his precautions, so engrossed werethe riders in their own talk that they did not even turn their eyestowards the humble bandy.
"So this is the game of my most virtuous wife! Why, she's no betterthan Leila Baltus would have been under similar circumstances! No soonerdo I leave her to her own devices for a single afternoon than shegallops off with a cavalier! Where do I come in, I wonder," Mr. Raynermuttered with a bitter snarl. "No doubt she'll say he's an old friendand all that, but I'll not listen to any of her excuses--nor yourseither, Mister Mark. You can find a lady for yourself. You'll not stealmy property! By Jove, it would be a good joke to offer him the darkbeauty, Leila Baltus, since they are of the same caste! But one thing Ican do--and I'll manage it if they don't quicken their pace. I'll hurryon and give them a nasty surprise at the other end--that's to say ifthey condescend to return to my house. Good, I know a short cut!"
He was now a little in advance of the riders and considered it safe toshout from the window, directing the driver to the shortest route.
"Look here, bandy-wallah, I'll give you double fare if you race me toClive's Road in double quick time!"
The horse was a rough powerful animal, and by dint of frequentapplications of the whip, "the fare" was landed at his destination someminutes before the arrival of the riders.
"I do believe Alfred's back from Palaveram already!" exclaimed Hester,as they turned into the compound in Clive's Road. "That must be hishired carriage. What a pity he didn't send for his own comfortableoffice-bandy instead of that wretched thing!" she added, glancing at thehumble vehicle which the bandy-wallah was recklessly guiding on to theturf skirting the avenue to avoid coming into contact with the riders,though there was ample room for both.
"He must have come at a great pace," observed Mark, glancing at thefoam-flecked horse. "That horse looks thoroughly pumped out!"
"Oh, poor Alfred, he's always in such a hurry to get back to hiswriting-table! You'll come and have breakfast with us, Mark? Of course,you must! You will help me to recount everything we've seen. You reallyowe Alfred a visit since you wouldn't come to our party. He'll bedelighted," Hester was adding, while Mark helped her to dismount.
"Speak for yourself, madam," said the master of the house, suddenlyemerging from behind one of the green blinds of the verandah, with anangry scowl on his face. "I decline to invite your cavalier to myhouse!"
Hester flushed, while her companion looked pale and startled. Was thisto be the sequel to his harmless effort for Hester's enjoyment?
"Alfred, what do you mean," stammered Hester in dismay, gazing at herhusband. His angry frown was intensified by his unkempt appearance, forhe had not had time to visit his room.
"Mean!" he repeated. "Well, this time I mean exactly what I say! Thishouse happens to be mine, and I shan't invite a man to breakfast who hasstolen such a dirty march on me. Be off with you!"
"I fail to understand your words or your attitude, Mr. Rayner," returnedMark, looking sternly at the haggard face.
"You do? Then I'll enlighten you! What right had you in my absence todrag my wife out on horseback, when you and she know well that Ientirely disapprove of such an exercise for a lady? You have insultedme! You have tampered with my reputation, I tell you." His voice rosealmost to a scream as he continued: "I'll be the laughing stock ofMadras--all those Artillery officers at the Mount--I expect it's thereyou've been! I caught sight of you on the road. Ha, you didn't think theinjured husband was dogging your steps, did you? I'm only thankful youdidn't come on to Palaveram and disgrace me there, Hester, but it's badenough as it is."
"Alfred, you are not yourself," said Hester, distressfully, going up toher husband and putting her hands on his shoulders. "You don't lookwell! I don't think he knows what he's saying, Mark. You must excusehim," she added, turning beseeching eyes on her friend.
"If I'm not well it's you that have bowled me over. Oh, my goodness,what a pass things have come to," laughed Mr. Rayner hysterically,throwing himself down on a chair, and covering his ghastly face with hishands, he began to whimper.
"I'd better go," whispered Mark, taking Hester's trembling hand in his."Forgive me for the trouble I have caused you."
"There's nothing to forgive--all the other way. Alfred will see thatwhen he is well again," said Hester, glancing at her husband's coweringfigure.
Mark looked at him and then at his wife with a look of ineffable sorrowand pain, then he strode quickly down the broad flight of the verandahsteps, mounted his horse and rode away, the syce leading the beautifulArab which had carried its rider to such pleasant pastures that morning.
Hardly had the sound of the horse's hoofs died away when Mr. Raynerremoved his long thin fingers from his face and stole a timid glance athis wife, who stood motionless, her back turned towards him as she gazedout after the retreating rider.
"Now look here, Hester," he said, clearing his throat. "You've played mea shabby trick and no mistake, but I'm not vindictive. My maxim is, youknow, to forgive and forget! I'm not sorry I got my teeth into Cheveril,but I quite see now how the whole thing happened. He asked you to ridewith him and you did--that's all! Come, let's kiss and be friends!"
He seized one of Hester's hands as she was moving away and raised it tohis lips, but for once his swift repentance was wholly repellent to her.She quickly perceived that he was anxious to act a part, that hiscalmness was only feigned, that he still nursed a bitter grudge againstMark. She could see it in his eyes, in the sinister air with which helistened to her brief restrained narration of the simple circumstanceswhich had led to this morning's expedition.
"All is right between us, Hester! I accept your apologies," he saidpatronisingly, as he rose briskly from his chair and hurried to hismorning bath.
When they met at breakfast it was Hester who was silent, and lookedjaded and stricken, while her husband seemed eager in his efforts to bespecially polite and agreeable.
A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life Page 21