The Daughter of Brahma - I. A. R. Wylie (ereader iphone .TXT) 📗

the window she stumbled over something. She bent down. Her hands touched a man's face. Still she was silent. She knelt, and her fingers passed rapidly over the familiar tunic. Quite suddenly, they stopped in their search. For a moment she knelt there motionless. It was as though she were listening. Then she rose slowly and carefully from her knees.

"Nurse!" she called. "Nurse!"

In the next room, there was the sound of a sudden, startled movement. A chair was overturned. Nurse Campden, dazed with sleep, stood between the curtains. She held the lamp in her unsteady hand and the pale light struggled vainly with the increasing brightness. But the motionless something at Mrs. Hurst's feet was still in shadow. Nurse Campden took a stumbling step forward.

"Mrs. Hurst," she mumbled. "You shouldn't have got up. You--"

Mrs. Hurst raised her hand. She stood with her back to the dawn, upright, commanding, her figure magnified by the grey, uncertain background.

"I want you to arouse the servants," she said slowly. "My husband has been murdered. No you are not to scream or faint. You will do as I tell you. There is my son to be considered. Now go!"

In the following moment of suspense her willpower closed with the other's weakness and predominated. Wordless, hypnotised, Nurse Campden obeyed. The curtains fell in their place there was a sound of running, uncertain footsteps along the corridor and then a low, confused murmur. Mrs. Hurst bent her head.

"My beloved!" she said.

That was all. She went back quietly to her bed and lay there as she had lain there before, tearless, patient, awaiting her hour.

And in the first flush of the Indian morning her son, David Hurst, was given her.

BOOK I_CHAPTER II (IN WHICH THE JUDGE HEARS UNPLEASANT THINGS)

"No," said the judge indignantly. "I don't believe it. Go away! Do you take me for a fool? Go away, I tell you! What I told you? At three o'clock in the afternoon? Nonsense!"

He grunted and rolled over, and there was silence save for the soft, regular movement of the punkah. The native who had taken up his position at the foot of the judge's improvised couch remained unsmiling and immovable.

"Three o'clock, Sahib," he repeated solemnly. "Sahib's horse outside."

"Go away!" said the judge. "I didn't expect it in the drawing-room." He pulled his handkerchief further over his face and feigned sleep. Then, as though conscious that his impassive Nemesis was about to reiterate his information for the third time, he kicked away the chair which supported his nether limbs and sat up. "Now what the devil is the matter?" he demanded.

"Three o'clock, Sahib. Sahib's horse outside."

"Yes, yes, I've heard all about that. What I ask is, what do I want with a horse at three o'clock in the afternoon. You don't know? Well, I'm sure I don't, though you seem to think I ought. Let me see what clothes have I got on? That might give me a hint."

He got up and inspected himself thoughtfully. "My best breeches, eh? A silk tie and I perceive that my new and most comfortless toppers await me. Son of the Night, there is a lady in the case --cherchez la femme, as our French friends say, though with a different accent. There, give me my coat. I shall remember in a minute." He seated himself again and stretched out a stockinged foot for the boot which the native held in readiness. It was a somewhat tight squeeze, and the judge groaned softly. "It must be an altogether exceptional lady," he muttered.

"Who the devil--" He stopped, and a slow smile dawned over his face. "I have it! Of course! Son of the Night, you should have been more insistent. I'm going to be late for tea. Now just cast an eye over me and tell me what I look like."

The native glanced at the massive figure in spotless duck and bowed his head reverently.

The judge chuckled.

"Well, that's one way of getting out of it, anyhow," he said. "Now for it!"

He adjusted his sun-helmet carefully, took his riding-crop from the table, and limped out on to the verandah. A wave of dry, lifeless air greeted him, and he stood for a moment hi the shadow, evidently more than half inclined to turn back. But the syce with the big, raw-boned horse stood at the bottom of the steps, stoical and unrelenting, and the judge, apparently bowing to the dictates of Fate, crossed the Rubicon into the blazing sunshine and swung himself heavily into the saddle with a groan which the pig-skin echoed. The horse took an involuntary step forward, and the judge repeated his chuckle.

"I'm getting too much for you, Sarah Jane," he said regretfully. "However, I daresay you'll bear me as long as I want you. Now then, old lady, make an effort, will you?"

The "old lady " complied with his request and ambled sedately out through the compound gates and on to the high-road. Without any apparent indication from the judge, she took the turning to the right and broke into a trot which lasted until they had left the last human habitation behind them. No one had witnessed their progress. The European quarter was wrapped in profound slumber and such natives as were visible lay about in the shade of their dirty, tumble-down dwellings and deigned the passerby not so much as a glance.

Nevertheless, as though fearing unseen witnesses, both horse and rider kept up a certain appearance until the last hut was out of sight, when the "old lady" immediately relapsed into her amble, and the judge collapsed in his saddle like a man suddenly deprived of his backbone. He was tall, heavily built, with a figure and a square-cut, ruddy face which seemed to combine to represent strength and a robust goodnature. Irritable, parchment-skinned Anglo-Indians were wont to look upon his apparently blooming health and unimpaired nervous system very much in the light of a personal insult. The fewest were clever enough to see beneath the surface, and those who did were discreet enough to hold their peace. A man who successfully " keeps up appearances" year after year in a tropical temperature deserves to have his secrets respected, and the judge had never been heard to complain. He carried himself bravely in the eyes of the world, and if at the present moment he hung in the saddle with bowed shoulders and a white, puffy face which was not good to look on, there was at least no one to note the passing weakness not even the " old lady," though, in any case, she would not have counted. That worthy animal had her own burdens to carry in every sense of the word and plodded on through the blinding heat with a mechanical stoicism which suggested that a brick wall would not have stopped her. Evidently she was well acquainted with the road and her present destiny.

At a sudden bend which revealed a low, white bungalow lying well back amongst a pleasant clump of trees, she jerked her head and resumed her canter with a spirit wholly inconsistent with her previous performance. The judge sat up, like a man aroused from sleep by a well-known signal. He straightened his shoulders, and, as though obeying some command of the will, colour ebbed slowly back into his cheeks. The moment's rest "behind the scenes" was over, and it was as a dashing cavalier that he swung into the compound and drew rein at the verandah steps. A native servant lay curled up in the shade, apparently undisturbed in his slumbers by the sound of horse's hoofs, and the judge bent over in his saddle and tickled him playfully hi the ribs with his whip.

"Now, then, Josephus, bestir yourself, will you? No, it's all right, I'm not the tenth Avatar. Just help my mortal remains out of the saddle so, that's better. Ah, then I am expected!" He ran up the steps with the agility of a boy, one big hand outstretched, his square face transformed. "Do you know, I was afraid I had dreamt it!"

His hostess, who had advanced out of the shade of the porch to meet him, smiled faintly.

"I hope it was not a nightmare, Judge!"

"It was a day-dream," he answered, "and, alas, day-dreams have a trick of proving delusive. It took all the eloquence of my boy and my boots to persuade me that your note of this morning was not a pleasant trick of my hopeful imagination."

"Your boots?" she queried.

He looked down at the articles in question and then at her. His expression was ludicrously reproachful.

"My dear friend, can't you see ?"

"They are certainly very beautiful--"

"And an intolerable tight fit. Do you think I should sacrifice so much for my appearance to please any one?"

She laughed quietly.

"I accept the compliment, but come in. I have ordered tea in the drawing-room. You will be thirsty."

He followed her, endeavouring to control a grimace of pain, for the patent leather boots, following the laws of their species, had contracted. Once in the shady drawing-room, he chose the first strong chair and sat down with a sigh of relief.

"It will be some time before you get me to move again," he said conclusively. "I have suffered much, and I claim my just reward."

She seated herself opposite him, but close to the open window, so that her gaze could wander over the sun-scorched plain which undulated towards the hills. The smile hovering about her straight-cut mouth was contradicted by her eyes, which were grave and preoccupied.

"You need not be afraid," she said. "I am not so inconsiderate as to ask a busy man like yourself to call on me in the hottest time of the afternoon for the pure pleasure of saying 'How do you do'-- I have something serious to talk to you about, and I wanted to be alone."

The judge opened his small, blue eyes wide, but made no immediate answer, allowing the entrance of a native with a silver tea-tray to fill up the silence. During the noiseless arranging of the cups he took the opportunity to study his hostess with a frank and uncritical admiration. A critical observer would have admitted that she made a striking but not beautiful picture, though he might have been hard put to it to explain the latter limitation. Perhaps the exceptional about her was too emphasised; for the human taste has erected conventional standards in human beauty, to trespass against which may bring even perfection very near to the repugnant.

The woman seated by the window was, indeed, not perfect, but so nearly did she touch that high ideal that it was difficult to understand why, for many eyes, she was physically almost displeasing. True, it depended on the eyes. The ladies of Kolruna declared among themselves that there was something about Mrs. Hurst's beauty which made them " go cold all over," as they expressed it, but the newly arrived subalterns raved about her and wanted to marry her. Which was an innocent enough form of insanity, for Mrs. Hurst's attitude towards them was scarcely even maternal. As a consequence, they ended by calling her a "hard woman," and their admiration became tinged with a nervous respect. Her very height and bearing seemed to claim that