The Great Amulet

by Maud Diver

  CHAPTER XX.

  "Passion has but one cry, one only;--Oh to touch thee, my beloved!" --Olive Schreiner.

  Asiatic cholera is as capricious as a woman; capricious both as to herchoice of victims, and as to the grisly fashion of her wooing. In onemood she will kill at a stroke, like a poisoned arrow; in another shewill play with a tortured body as a cat plays with a mouse. And it wasthus that she dealt with Eldred Lenox.

  For two days and nights Desmond and the Pathan wrestled against theevil thing, and against that deadly apathy as to the result, whichkills more surely than the disease itself. And since the regimentclaimed many hours of the Englishman's day, the brunt of the nursingdevolved upon Zyarulla, who scorned suggestions of sleep, and appearedto live on pellets of opium, and a hookah, which inhabited the verandahoutside his master's room.

  There were moments when they were tempted to despair. But they foughton doggedly, and without comment; and as the second night wore towardsmorning, they knew that they had conquered. The gong at the policestation down the road had just clanged three times. Every door andwindow-slit stood open at their widest; and through them entered in thefamiliar, unforgettable smell of the Indian Empire under her yearlybaptism of fire; a smell of dust, and baked brick work, and stalenative tobacco. A hand-lamp on the mantelpiece diffused a yellowtwilight through the room; a twilight flavoured with kerosine: andacross the twilight the shadow of the punkah flitted, like a whisperingghost.

  Zyarulla, crouching at the bedside, slid a cautious knotted handbetween the buttons of the sleeping-coat, and laid it lightly on hismaster's heart. The flutter within was feeble, but regular; though theface, grey and shrunken almost past recognition, still bore the impressof death.

  "God is great," the Pathan muttered into his beard. "The strength ofthe Heaven-born is as that of mine own hills; and my Sahib will live.It is enough."

  On the farther side of the bed, Desmond, in gauze vest, and beltedtrousers, mopped his forehead, and drew a long breath. Then, measuringout a tablespoonful of raw-meat soup, he slipped a hand under the darkhead on the pillow.

  "Lenox, dear chap, drink this, will you?" he said, speaking aspersuasively as a mother to a child.

  Lenox obeyed automatically. For a mere instant his lids lifted, andrecognition gleamed in the eyes that seemed to have retreated half-wayinto his head. Then, with an incoherent murmur, he settled himselfinto a more natural attitude of rest; and the two men watching himintently, exchanged a nod of satisfaction.

  The Pathan, sitting back on his heels, fumbled at his belt for a pelletof opium.

  "He will sleep now, Huzoor, like a day-old babe; and the Presence willsleep also. Since yesterday at this time your Honour hath taken norest; and there be three hours yet to parade-time."

  "Good. We have fought a tough fight, thou and I, and be sure LenoxSahib will know of thy share in it. Wake me at half-past five."

  "Huzoor."

  Zyarulla salaamed profoundly; and Desmond, dropping with fatigue, flunghimself, even as he was, on to a chair-bed in the adjoiningdressing-room, and slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

  Before six he was over at Meredith's bungalow, sitting on the edge ofhis wife's bed, drinking tea with an egg in it,--her ownprescription,--and enjoying her delight at his news.

  "Good enough, isn't it?" he concluded heartily. "I'll take thetelegraph office on my way back."

  "And _I'll_ come over to breakfast, bag and baggage!"

  "Capital. If John agrees."

  "Of course he will. He's not such a fidget as you are!"

  "Glad to hear it; if it means getting you back; and both rooms shall bedisinfected to-day, Lord, but it's a weight off my mind!"

  And he cantered down to the Lines in such a mood of exaltation as theyknow who have been privileged to fight for a human life, and win.

  Honor got her own way, as she always did; and half-past nine found herback at her deserted post behind the teapot. Desmond fancied that shelooked paler than usual; that her cheerfulness was veiled by a shadowof constraint. But as Paul was present, enjoying his first normalbreakfast, he contented himself with scrutinising her, when herattention seemed to be taken up elsewhere. As a matter of fact, Honorknew precisely how often he looked at her; and, womanlike, hugged hissolicitude to her heart. For there had been moments, in the past twodays, when the traitorous thought would obtrude itself that perhaps thechild needed her most after all.

  Directly the meal was over, she rose, murmuring that she had 'things tosee to,' and went out, leaving the men with their cigars. But insteadof going to the store cupboard, where the old Khansamah awaited her,armed with his daily _hissab_,[1] she slipped into the drawing-room,sat down at her bureau, and leaned her head on her hand; honestlyhoping that Theo might leave the house without coming to her. For allthat, the sound of his elastic step brought a light into her eyes. Shedid not rise, or look round; and he came and stood beside her.

  "Not quite yourself this morning, old lady?" he asked. "Anythingreally wrong? Fever? Headache?"

  She caught the note of anxiety, and with a quick turn of her headkissed the fingers resting on her shoulder.

  "No, darling, neither. Don't worry yourself. I'm perfectly well."

  "Sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  "Good." And he departed, whistling softly; clear sign that all waswell with his world.

  But twenty minutes later when Paul came in to look for a strayed pipe,he found Honor, quite oblivious of 'things,' crying quietly behind herhands. He retreated hastily; but she heard him and looked up.

  "Don't go, Paul. I want you."

  No three words in the language could have pierced him with so keen athrust of happiness.

  "Do you mean . . . can I help you?" he asked eagerly. "I felt suresomething was wrong."

  "Did you? I'm a bad actress! But . . it's about Baby,--the otherPaul," she added, smiling through wet lashes. "I have just had aletter from Mrs Rivers that makes me want to pack my boxes and gostraight back to Dalhousie."

  "And shall you? Is it serious enough for that?"

  "Oh, how _can_ one tell?" she cried desperately, her voice breaking onthe words. "It mightn't seem serious to you. He has fever, and atouch of dysentery, and terrible fits of crying with his double teeth.Mrs Rivers seems anxious; and of course one thinks . . . ofconvulsions. It all sounds rather a molehill, doesn't it, after thehorrors we have been living in here? And perhaps only a mother wouldmake a mountain out of it. But I think mothers must have God's leaveto be foolish . . . sometimes!"

  Fresh tears welled up, and she hid her face again. Paul could onlywait beside her tongue-tied, half-sitting on the edge of thewriting-table, wondering what dear, unfathomable impulse had led her toadmit him to the sanctuary of her sorrow; realising, so far as amasculine brain can realise, something of the struggle involved inwoman's twofold responsibility--to the man, and to the gift of the man.

  It is the eternally old, eternally new tragedy of Anglo-Indianmarriage; none the less poignant because it is repeated _ad infinitum_.Love him as she may, it costs more for a wife, and still more for amother, to stand loyally by her husband in India than the shelteredwomen of England can conceive. For to read of such contingencies inprint, is by no means the same thing as having one's heart of fleshpierced by the sword of division.

  "Has Theo heard all this?" Paul hazarded gently. "He went off in suchgood spirits."

  She dried her eyes, and looked up,

  "I couldn't spoil it all by telling him. But I thought it might seemless of a nightmare, if I could tell some one . . . and . . ."

  "And I happened to come handy?" he suggested with a rather patheticsmile.

  "Oh, Paul, how horrid! It wasn't that," she contradicted him hotly."It was because you are . . you, my boy's godfather, and my very dearfriend. Do you suppose I would have shown my mother-foolishness to anyother man of my acquaintance?"

  "No. I don't suppose it," he answered, looking steadily down into
theanxious beauty of her face. "Forgive my much less pardonablefoolishness, and let me help you, if that's possible. Are you reallythinking of going?"

  "N . . no. I don't believe I am. Only . . for one mad moment, I feltas if _nothing_ could hold me back. But children are such elasticcreatures; and if I arrived to find him quite frisky and well, thinkhow ashamed I should feel at having deserted Theo, and put him to somuch expense for nothing. But I do want to wire at once; though Ihardly like sending Theo's orderly . . ."

  "Let me write it for you, and send my man," he volunteered, catchinggratefully at something definite to be done; and taking up a form heprepared to write at her dictation.

  "Reply prepaid, please; and addressed to Frank. I shall go straightover there, and stay till I get the answer, I could never keep it upwith Theo all day. You saw how badly I did it at breakfast!--What'sthat? Some one come?"

  Sounds of arrival were followed by an unmistakable Irish voice in thehall; and Honor hurriedly dabbed her eyes.

  "Dear Frank, how clever of her! She can drive me over."

  A minute later she was in the room; an angular workmanlike figure, insun helmet, and the unvarying coat and skirt. It was her one idea of adress,--drill in summer, tweed in winter. "An' be all that's sensible,what more should an ugly woman want?" had been her challenge to amisguided friend, who had suggested higher aspirations. "'Tis nomanner o' use to dress up a collection of limbs and features withoutsymmetry; an' it saves no end of mental wear and tear, to say nothingof rupees, that's badly wanted for polo ponies."

  She entered talking; and shook hands talking still.

  "The top o' the morning to you both! 'Tis an unholy hour for a visit.But I'm after the loan of a feeding-cup, knowing you've two. Thatmurdering villain of a _messalchi_[2] broke me only one this morning;an' I'm afraid I used 'language' when I saw the corpse, besidesthreatening to cut the price of a new one out of his pay! '_Memsahibke kushi_,'[3] he answers, salaaming like a sainted martyr, and takingthe wind clean out o' me sails. But I'll wash yours meself; so youneedn't fear to lend it." Then, becoming aware of Honor's red eyelids,she broke off short. "Why, Honor, me dear, it's the born fool I am tobe chattering like a parrot when you're in trouble, by the looks ofit." A glance from one to the other revealed the telegram in Paul'shand. "Great goodness, it's never the child, is it?" she asked with aswift change of tone.

  "Yes. Honor has had disturbing news," he answered for her. "She'lltell you about it while I send off this wire."

  Honor, who had risen, sank into her chair again as he left the room.

  "Read that, dear," she said simply: and while Frank Olliver read, astrange softness stole over her face, blanched and lined by manyFrontier hot weathers. Outsiders, who wondered how any man had evercome to fall in love with her, might have wondered less had theychanced to see her then. On reaching the signature, she awkwardlypatted Honor's shoulder.

  "'Tis just one o' the bad minutes there's no evading, me darlint. Theprice you've to pay for the high privilege of carrying on the race."

  "It seems a big price sometimes . . in India," Honor answered, notquite steadily. "And it's your one bit of compensation, Frank, thatyou're spared the wrench of having to live with your heart in twoplaces at once."

  At that Frank bit her lip, and stinging tears--an unusualphenomenon--blinded her eyes. But she was overstrung by a week of hardnursing; and some childless women never loss the tragic sense ofincompleteness, the unacknowledged ache of empty arms.

  "Spared? Ah, me dear, you ought to know me better by now," sheprotested reproachfully. "I've no use at all for cheap comforts o'that kind. What's the sharpest pangs, after all, balancedagainst . . . the other thing? Lighter than vanity itself; an' youknow it. None better. But there . . . I'm clean daft to be talking soat this stage o' the proceedings. It's the happy woman I am, sureenough. Geoff and I are rare good friends. Always have been. Butdon't you talk to me again about being spared. It's one more than Ican stand; an' that's the truth."

  Honor took possession of the hand that patted her shoulder,--a squarehand; rough with much riding and exposure,--and laid it against hercheek.

  "Bless you, Frank," she said softly. "You make me feel quite ashamedof myself. Come and get the feeding-cup; and take me home with you.I've wired to Mrs Rivers; and the answer will come to you. I couldn'ttell Theo, till . . I must."

  Frank's smile had the effect of sunshine striking through a shower.

  "Saints alive, how you spoil the dear man! But indeed an' I wonder whocould help it? Not meself, I'll swear."

  Desmond came in very late for tiffin. At Paul's announcement thatHonor had gone to Mrs Olliver's till tea-time, he raised his eyebrowswithout question or comment: then, going over to the mantelpiece, stoodcontemplating a recent photo of her and the child.

  "Did you happen to notice her at breakfast?" he asked abruptly, hiseyes on the picture. "She didn't seem to me quite up to the mark. Andof course . . bringing her into this . . . one feels responsible . . ."

  There was more in the tone than in the broken sentence; and Wyndham,coming up behind him, grasped his shoulders.

  "My dear Theo," he said soothingly, "I can't let you be hag-ridden byyour favourite nightmare! Honor is woman enough to be responsible forher own actions. Besides, she is perfectly well. I had a talk withher before she went. As to her coming down into this, you couldn'thave held her back. She has every right to stand by you, if shechooses; and you must know, even better than I do, that in the goodfuture ahead of you, wherever you may be, unless it's active service,Honor will be there too, . . as sure as my name's Wyndham."

  This was quite a long speech for Paul; one that it cost him an effortto make; and Desmond, fully realising the fact, turned upon his friendwith impulsive warmth.

  "True for you, Paul, old man! She's a Meredith. That about coverseverything. What an amazing talent you have for casting outdevils!--Now, let's be common-sensible, and have some food. Kohi hai!Tiffin lao." [4]

  And as if the walls had ears, the meal made its appearance with thatsilent celerity which the retired Anglo-Indian--who has sworn at nativeservants for thirty years--misses so keenly, when he is relegated tothe cumbersome ministrations of the British house-parlourmaid of Baling.

  "By the way," Desmond remarked, as he dissected a fowl, cooked--by themercy of the gods--in that elusive interval between toughness andputrescence, the pursuit of which gives to hot-weather housekeeping anexcitement peculiarly its own, "there's bad news from the Infantry campthis morning. Poor old Buckley. A cramp seizure at midnight. Wentout in three hours; and was buried at dawn, Mackay showed me a notefrom Dr Lowndes saying he believed it was one of those odd freaks ofdisease, a spurious case. Sheer funk; and nothing else. Camp was in aflourishing condition. No deaths for nearly a week. Then, yesterday,the Colonel's bearer must needs appropriate an unattached germ; and itseems that this got on the poor chap's nerves. He dined chiefly offwhisky; and afterwards yarned away to Lowndes about his wife andchildren. Hadn't seen 'em for eight years. Never mentioned 'em toLowndes in his life before: and from what one has heard, the wire thatgoes home this morning will barely spoil her appetite for dinner; whichonly seems to add a finishing touch to the pity of it all. Mysteriousthing . . . marriage . . ."

  He broke off short on the word. The thought of his own first venture,and the misery that might have come of it, but for an accident sostrange as to seem unreal, sealed his lips on the subject of theeternal riddle of the universe: and Paul, being blest withunderstanding, unobtrusively shifted the talk to another channel.

  There could be no thought of polo for Desmond that afternoon; thoughMajor Olliver came and reasoned with him forcibly in the verandah. Hedevoted himself, instead, to the exhaustive disinfection of thesick-room and dressing room. It was hot work; unpleasant work. But itwas good to be through with it; to have rid the house of the lastvestige of an uninvited and unwelcome guest. With which reflectionDesmond sat down finally in the sanctuary
of his study; lit a cheroot;and opened a battered original of Omar Khayyam, whose stately quatrainsand exquisite imagery were less hackneyed then, than they have sincebecome among modern devotees of culture.

  A great silence pervaded the house. He had left Lenox in the blessedborderland between sleeping and waking, with Zyarulla on guard; andlooking in on Paul, had found him dozing also, after the morning'sunwonted exertion. No doubt Frank would drive Honor back for tea: andeven while he read Desmond's ear was strained to catch the sound ofwheels. This capacity for sustained ardour is a very rare quality inlove that has attained its object, and the woman who does notsucceed--unwittingly enough--in extinguishing it within the first fewyears of marriage is rarer still.

  The sound he waited for came at length; and he sprang out of his chair.But in hurrying through the drawing-room, towards the hall, anothersound arrested him; the unmistakable clink of the tonga bar.

  "A tonga? Why, who the deuce . . ." he ejaculated mentally. "It can'tbe . . . ."

  But at this point he fairly ran into the arms of a woman, in alpacadust-cloak and shikarri helmet; a woman who clutched his left arm withboth hands: and before he could collect his scattered senses, Quita'svoice was in his ears.

  "Oh, Captain Desmond . . tell me . . is he . . . ?"

  "He is out of all danger now, . . if he can be kept quiet," Desmondanswered, stifling his own amazement in view of her white face andshaking lips.

  "Thank God. Oh, thank God!" The words were a mere flutter of breath;and with the sudden relief from long tension all her courage went topieces. A dry sob broke in her throat. Her lids dropped; and she felllimply against him.

  "You poor, dear, plucky woman," he murmured, putting an arm round her,and gently removing the heavy helmet; while she lay motionless; herhead on his shoulder; no vestige of colour in lips or cheeks.

  Desmond began to think she must have fainted outright: and while heheld her thus, meditating a cautious removal of his burden to the sofa,steps in the hall were followed by the appearance of Honor in thedoorway: a radiant Honor, aglow with the good news that had brought herstraight back to him, like a homing bird. Her small gasp of surprisemelted into a smile of amused understanding, as Theo telegraphedwireless messages to her over the golden brown head that wastrespassing, flagrantly and confidingly, on her own exclusive property.The whole thing was so exactly like Quita: so daring; so preposterous;so entirely forgivable! And Honor's hospitable brain at once beganscouring the bungalow for some corner where she might stow thisunexpected addition to her elastic household.

  "She must have left Dalhousie directly she got my first wire," Desmondsaid under his breath. "Get some brandy, while I put her down."

  But his first movement roused Quita from semi-unconsciousness. Shelifted her head with a startled sound; and at sight of Honor the bloodrushed back into her face.

  "This is pretty behaviour!" she said with a little broken laugh. "I'mso sorry. It must have been the reaction, the relief, after thatexcruciating journey."

  "No need to apologise!" Desmond answered, a twinkle of amusement in hiseyes. "No use either to try and push my arm away. Let me get you tothe sofa first."

  Honor piled two cushions behind her; and as she sank back into theirsilken softness, leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  "You very wonderful person," she said. "How on earth did you pullthrough it, all alone?"

  Quita shrugged her shoulders.

  "It was not amusing," she answered with her whimsical smile. "But itwas an experience: and that is always something,--when it is over! Ithink I never realised before how big and how terrible a country Indiais; or how kind people are out here," she added, looking from one tothe other with misty eyes.

  "Kind? Nonsense!" It was Honor who spoke. "Now . . will you have apeg, or some tea?"

  "Tea, please. And after that, I may see . . Eldred, mayn't I?"

  Instinctively she appealed to Desmond, who knitted his brows indistress. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, . . yet awhile," hesaid.

  "Well then . . when?"

  "Can't say for certain. Probably not for two or three days. Iwouldn't so much as risk telling him that you are here till then."

  The mist on her lashes overflowed; and she dashed an impatient handacross them with small result.

  "But I have waited three days already. And since this morning I havebeen counting the hours . . the minutes . ."

  It was no use. She could not go on without further loss of dignity;and Honor hastened into the breach.

  "Drink your tea first, dear. You can talk afterwards."

  And as she obeyed, Desmond came round and sat beside her.

  "See here, Miss Maurice," he began. But she raised an imploring hand.

  "Oh, don't call me that . . now. It hurts. It makes me feel I have nomanner of right to be here. And I have a little right, haven't I?"

  "More than a little, I should say, . . Mrs Lenox. Is that better?"

  She flushed to the eyes, and glanced down at her bare left hand. Itwas the first time she had heard her married name; and the sound of itwas music in her ears. But she shook her head.

  "No. It's almost worse, till I know for certain what's going to comeof my mad leap in the dark."

  "Well then . . . ?"

  "Why not . . 'Quita'?" She looked up beseechingly. "I should lovethat: and it would make me feel less of an intruder."

  "You are forbidden, on pain of instantaneous eviction, to feel anythingof the sort! And I heartily vote for 'Quita,'" Desmond answered,smiling into her troubled face with so irresistible a friendliness thatshe must needs smile back at him, however mistily.

  "Oh, but it's good to talk nonsense with you again!" she cried. "Only,I want to know, . . please, about Eldred. He is too weak. Is that it?"

  "Far too weak. You see, we only pulled him round the corner at threeo'clock this morning; and the great thing now is to avoid any risk ofreactionary fever. Well, you know yourself . . I may speak frankly?"She inclined her head. "Your coming, besides being emotionallydisturbing, will make something of a complication under thecircumstances . ."

  "Oh, I know . . I know! It seems like forcing his hand. Every minuteI see more plainly that I ought never to come at all."

  "Waiting would have been wiser," Desmond reproved her gently. "But Iadmire the pluck of the whole thing far too much to scold you for it."

  Her smile had a touch of wistfulness.

  "That's so like you! But I don't know about pluck. Perhaps, if I hadrealised all the details, I might have hesitated; though I doubt it. Ihalf lost my senses for the time being; and I believe poor Michelthought I'd lost them permanently! He was furious with me for going."

  "Rather rough on him, when you come to think of it! But why on earthdidn't you wire to us before starting?"

  "At first it simply didn't occur to me; and when it did, I had justsense enough to know that you would probably wire back 'Don't come.'And even _I_ could hardly have persisted in the face of that! So Idetermined to take the small risk with the big one. Dak bungalows seemto grow wild in India; and I thought there would surely be one herewhere I could get some sort of a bed."

  "Dak bungalow, indeed! If there is one, _I_ won't help you to findit!" This from Honor, in a burst of righteous wrath. "So you may aswell resign yourself to staying with us, whether you like it or not!"

  "With you? Is it possible? I thought . . . But have you really acorner available? I could sleep divinely on the hearth-rug, I'm sodesperately tired, and so relieved."

  "Very well. That settles it. But I'll let you off the hearth-rug,even though you did fling Dak bungalows at my head! Captain Lenox isin Baby's nursery; and we can shut off the dressing-room for you, ifyou can manage with a chair-bed. It's quite safe. Everything has beendisinfected. I believe Theo knew you were coming! Will that do?"

  "Do? _Ma foi_, . . but how does one say thank you for such goodness?"

  "One refrains!" Desmond remarked, handing her
empty cup across to hiswife.

  Quita laughed.

  "You are incorrigible!" said she. "But there is still this to thinkof. With your friends coming and going, how am I to be . . accountedfor till I have seen . . Eldred? If I am Miss Maurice, _par exemple_,what am I doing in Dera Ishmael? And if not . . ? _Mon Dieu_, butit's an ignominious tangle. I'm as bad as Alice in Wonderland in thewood. I seem suddenly to have lost my identity: and in my mad anxietyand impatience to get here I never thought anything about it till I wassweltering in that horrible barge this morning. Shall I livealtogether in my room? It would be no more than I deserve."

  "My dear, you'll do nothing of the sort." It was Honor this time,"Luckily for you, the Battery's in camp; and since Captain Lenox'sillness there's been an end of my tea-parties. Our own people may belooking in now he's better. But for the next two days or so I shallsimply be '_dawazar bund_.'[5] It needs no effort to develop aheadache, or a touch of fever this weather. There's only Paul, andFrank, whom I couldn't shut out. May we just explain to them, more orless, how things stand?"

  "But yes. Of course you must. And . . after all . . ."

  She hesitated, flushing painfully.

  "After all," Desmond came to her rescue, "it won't be so very longbefore the vexed question of your identity is settled for good. NowI'd better go and speak to Paul. He may be turning up for tea, anyminute; and that would be awkward for you."

  As he reached the door at the far end of the room, Honor fled after him.

  "Read those, dear," she said breathlessly, thrusting a letter andtelegram into his hand. "They will account for this morning. I hadbad news. But thank God it's all right now. I wired."

  "And never told _me_?"

  "You were so happy. How could I?"

  "Then that was why you bolted?"

  "Yes. I couldn't have kept it up for long."

  "Well . . I've no time to scold you now," he said, looking unspeakablethings at her. "Wait till I get you to myself, . . that's all!"

  This short colloquy, carried on in an undertone, did not reach Quita'sears.

  "What sort of a man is this Paul?" she asked as Honor returned to herchair. "I don't know his other name! Is he the sort that would belikely to understand . . our very incomprehensible position?"

  Honor took a leather frame from the table beside her, and put it intoQuita's hands.

  "If you are any judge of faces, that's the best answer I can give you."

  Quita scanned the picture abstractedly for several seconds.

  "Yes. He'll do," was her verdict. Then she flung the thing from her;and burying her face in the cushions sobbed with the heart-brokenabandonment of a child.

  "Oh, what a blind fool I was to come!" she lamented through her tears."I don't believe he'll understand my madness. And if he doesn't . . .he'll never forgive me!"

  [1] Account.

  [2] Scullery man.

  [3] As Memsahib pleases.

  [4] Any one there! Bring tiffin.

  [5] Not at home.