A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

by Janet Milne Rae

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  Two years after the eventful morning of her departure from Madras,Hester was seated one afternoon in her favourite nook in the Rectorygarden. The painful past had not failed to leave its traces on thedeep-hearted girl. The gaiety, the "laughing light" of youth was changedto soberer hues. But the unnatural reserve which at first seemed toparalyze her had been replaced by a quiet shining peace of heart, a rarepower of sympathy for others, and an inventiveness in ministering tothose in sorrow. This spiritual beauty seemed reflected in face andform. There was a perfection of unconscious grace about every movement,and though the English roses on her cheeks, of which her husband hadbeen so proud, had faded, the tender bloom of health was not lacking inher soft colouring and clear, earnest eyes. The black clinging dresswhich she still wore suited well her fair wavy hair she sat bending overher book.

  After the first year of mourning, to her parents' satisfaction, Hesterwas not unwilling to take part in the social life round her. Visitorshad come and gone who had been dearly welcome to her in a way that nonecan understand who have not been part of "an alien land on a foreignstrand," knit together by many common memories. The coming of Coloneland Mrs. Fellowes had been a great joy to her; while, to her mother, ithad proved an opportunity of hearing some pages from that short year ofwedded life which had hitherto been folded away even from the eyes ofthose nearest to the young widow.

  Hester had taken up all her daughterly duties with quiet faithfulness,proving a cheerful companion to her younger brothers in their holidays,though Charlie was conscious of a change. More than once, for instance,when he had tried to elicit some news of his friend, Mark Cheveril,Hester seemed to grow dreamy and preoccupied, changing the topic as soonas possible. He decided that there must have been a coldness betweenthese two friends.

  "I don't wonder," he remarked to his mother. "If Rayner was half whatold Colonel Fellowes told me of him, Cheveril couldn't have stood him;so naturally there was a rift between Hester and him."

  Mrs. Bellairs, whatever her thoughts were, proved almost as reticent asher daughter. More than one suitor had sought the hand of the youngwidow, but Hester's quick, firm decision had always been adverse totheir hopes. "She will never marry again," acquaintances agreed. Onlyher mother, though she gave no opinion, thought she knew some one whomight one day be able to persuade her daughter to allow him to replacethe house of sand which had crumbled away, by a fair house founded on arock of true love. But she kept her own counsel.

  As the days went on nothing transpired which gave any clue to what thefuture might bring. No letter from Mark Cheveril ever reached theRectory now; but Hester had still one link with her short wedded lifewhich she clung to. Many a thin blue page crossed the sea, dated from anaddress unknown to the fashionable residents in Madras. And theseletters were responded to by gracious, loving words which gladdened theheart of the lonely man, and not only his, they were often shared withone whom long since Mr. Morpeth had come to regard as a son.

  "Mr. Cheveril is the most be-fathered man I know," declared little Mrs.Samptor. "He is the well-beloved boy of our surly Collector and theprecious son of David Morpeth, and Samptor has a softer side to himthan he has ever showed to any other young man."

  Mr. Morpeth had often paid visits to Mark in his bungalow, and there wasno more honoured guest at the Collector's table than the old Eurasian,and no more popular man in the little station of Puranapore. Throughhim, Mark was kept much more in touch with Hester than from Charlie'sbrief epistles from his London chambers. Often indeed all mention of hissister's name was purposely omitted. So when on Mark's first furloughhome he desired to reach her, it was not to Charlie he turned, butdecided on more direct methods.

  When Hester heard footsteps approaching the walnut tree under which shesat, reading the brown volume of poems which had reached her oneafternoon at Clive's Road, when she sorely needed its ministry, she tookthem to be her brother's.

  "Come here, young man," she called, "sit at my feet and learn wisdomfrom Browning!"

  "Nothing will please me better, Hester," answered a familiar voice thatwas not Charlie's.

  "Mark--you! I never even knew you had left Madras," exclaimed Hester."Why ever did Mr. Morpeth not give me that bit of news? Have you justarrived?"

  "I went to Shropshire first to see my old uncle who has been ailing. Helives--or rather vegetates--in an ancient black-timbered mansion all hislone; but he is a very independent old fellow. I was kept there longerthan I reckoned on, owing to something unexpected turning up. Then I hadto go to London about some business. I looked up Charlie at hischambers, but he wasn't to be found----"

  "Oh, Charlie will be overjoyed to see you! He and Cecil are out shootingrabbits just now. I do hope he'll be back soon."

  Mark did not re-echo that hope. In fact he prayed it might be some timebefore the walnut grove was invaded by any. His eyes were restingeagerly on Hester. He perceived with joy that the healing process hadbeen at work, binding up the old wounds and restoring serenity to theonce sorely troubled life.

  "I must tell you, Hester," he said with a frank smile, "that I don'tfeel a stranger to any of your doings. Dear old Morpeth preserves yourletters in lavender and gives me a share of them."

  For a moment Hester was startled, remembering that she had shared manyof her most intimate thoughts with the wise saint with whom she felt aclose bond; then she answered with a smile as frank as his own.

  "No, I don't mind. You know so much of those past days, Mark. You couldunderstand much that was only meant for the dear old man."

  There was something natural and spontaneous in Hester's tone which hadthe effect of banishing Mark's fears concerning this first meeting withone who, every day since they parted, had become more enshrined in histhoughts.

  "But how can I have been so many minutes without asking for your belovedCollector?" she said; and though the topic was congenial, Mark grudgedthe digression from more personal matters. "Mr. Worsley is quite afamily friend here now, you know. He spent a week of his furlough withus and took everybody by storm. Father and mother were so happy withhim, and he with them. He seemed like a delightful balm; and yet Iremember when I wouldn't listen to your praise of him and felt sure hemust be the surly bear people said he was! But, Mark, I must tell you,he made some rather sceptical remarks about your being a Eurasian. Ithink father was rather shocked at his levity. He said it was only ahallucination of yours--though an excellent one--seeing the Eurasiansneeded friends so much."

  "Then I suspect the Collector will have a crow over me now!" said Mark,with a laugh. "What do you think, Hester? I discovered a box of papersin a lumber room at Cheveril. It had never been opened seemingly sinceit was sent home from the East after my father's death. He was UncleMark's younger brother, you know, a lieutenant in the Indian Army; and Ifind that my mother who was always believed to be an Indian--and aprincess to boot--was after all an English girl, lost at the time of theMutiny, though she had a happier fate than some, for she was adopted bya good Ranee. She was only seventeen when my father married her, and shedied at my birth. My father died soon after, and I was sent home to mygrandparents at Cheveril; very likely the old cedar-wood box was part ofmy baggage! I've always understood from Uncle Mark that owing to myfather's hasty marriage there was a coldness between my grandparents andhim, and that letters ceased between them, though his early death wassaid to be a great blow. Probably they heard misleading rumours of thechoice of a girl from the Ranee's palace. It was a romantic affair, ofcourse, and would be sure to set tongues wagging. Anyhow, the truth hasbeen disclosed at last by this old chest which looks so Indian that Iexpect it was part of my mother's providing by the Ranee. My mother, bythe way, was a daughter of a General Worsley. I can't help thinking andhoping that she must have been of the same family as the Collector; butthat will all be cleared up by and by."

  "And are you glad or sorry, Mark?" asked Hester, with a wistful look inher eyes.

  "Well, to know the truth is always best, don't you think?" sai
d Marksimply. "But I'll tell you who is jolly glad--my uncle! He says herejoices there has been no 'blot on the scutcheon' after all! He is ingreat excitement, and has had his lawyer down to examine the old paperswhich he might have discovered long ago."

  "But then you mightn't have been the cordial succourer of so manyEurasians. Indeed, I feel sure you will prove no less their friend indays to come, though there is no blood-tie; but I must say, Mark, formany reasons, I'm grateful to the old cedar-wood box for holding itssecret so long! Even Alfred, in his heart of hearts, admired yourcourage, and it was all on the side of good for him," said Hester,wondering why it was so much more easy to speak that name to this friendthan to any of her home people.

  Mark went on to tell her that his return to India would no longer be tothe familiar Puranapore. Since the Collector was about to retire, heacknowledged, he was nothing loth to have a change, especially since anattractive post had been offered to him in the North, though it wouldnecessitate a speedy return to the East.

  He now bent forward suddenly, saying:

  "Hester, would you risk the black water again and go with me? You haveall my love and my worship--will you be my wife? I once banished my loveas a forbidden thing and tried to be your loyal friend----"

  "You did, Mark," murmured Hester, with bowed head. "Right loyally youdid----"

  "But now--the present is ours, Hester, the present and the future. Youwill make it golden for me if you will grant me this. Hester, didn't youinvite me to come and learn wisdom at your feet as I came under thistree?" asked Mark, with a glowing mien, flinging himself on the groundand looking up into her drooping face.

  "No, it was Charlie I invited."

  "My answer, Hester! I have waited long," he pleaded, looking at her withall his soul in his eyes. "I know now too well that I loved youbefore--before that other ever saw you."

  Hester felt as if she knew it too. And she also knew that as the firstman who had wooed and won her was false, this one was wholly true.Stretching out both her hands to him, she said:

  "Yes, Mark, I will venture the black water again with you! Where you goI will go. My love and trust are wholly yours--and have beensince--since that morning we stood together on the deck of the _ElDorado_."

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  _Jarrold & Sons, Ltd., Printers, The Empire Press, Norwich._