The Lamp in the Desert - Ethel May Dell (ebooks online reader .TXT) 📗

said, "what was the messenger like?"
Peter hesitated momentarily. Then, "He was old, _mem-sahib_," he said, "old and ragged, not worthy of your august consideration."
She turned in her chair. "Was he--was he anything like--that--that holy man--Peter, you know who I mean?" Her face was deathly as she uttered the question.
"Let my _mem-sahib_ be comforted!" said Peter soothingly. "It was not the holy man--the bearer of evil tidings."
"Ah!" The words sank down through her heart like a stone dropped into a well. "But I think the tidings were evil all the same. Did he say what it was? But--" as a sudden memory shot across her, "I ought not to ask. I wish--I wish the captain--_sahib_ would come back."
"Let my _mem-sahib_ have patience!" said Peter gently. "He will soon come now."
The blue jay laughed at the gate gleefully, uproariously, derisively. Stella shivered.
"He is coming!" said Peter.
She started up. Monck was returning. He came up the compound like a man who has been beaten in a race. His face was grey, his eyes terrible.
Stella went swiftly to the verandah-steps to meet him. "Everard! What is it? Oh, what is it?" she said.
He took her arm, turning her back. "Have you had tea?" he said.
His voice was low, but absolutely steady. Its deadly quietness made her tremble.
"I haven't finished," she said. "I have been waiting for you."
"You needn't have done that," he said. "I won't have any, Peter," he turned on the waiting servant, "get me some brandy!"
He sat down, setting her free. But she remained beside him, and after a moment laid her hand lightly upon his shoulder, without words.
He reached up instantly, caught and held it in a grip that almost made her wince. "Stella," he said, "it's been a very short honeymoon, but I'm afraid it's over. I've got to get back at once."
"I am coming with you," she said quickly.
He looked up at her with eyes that burned with a strange intensity but he did not speak in answer.
An awful dread clutched her. She knelt swiftly down beside him. "Everard, listen! I don't care what has happened or what is likely to happen. My place is by your side--and nowhere else. I am coming with you. Nothing on earth shall prevent me."
Her words were quick and vehement, her whole being pulsated. She challenged his look with eyes of shining resolution.
His arms were round her in a moment; he held her fast. "My Stella! My wife!" he said.
She clung closely to him. "By your side, I will face anything. You know it, darling. I am not afraid."
"I know, I know," he said. "I won't leave you behind. I couldn't now. But a time will come when we shall have to separate. We've got to face that."
"Wait till it comes!" she whispered. "It isn't--yet."
He kissed her on the lips. "No, not yet, thank heaven. You want to know what has happened. I will tell you. Ermsted--you know Ermsted--was shot in the jungle near Khanmulla this afternoon, about half an hour ago."
"Oh, Everard!" She started back in horror and was struck afresh by the awful intentness of his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "And if I had been here to receive that message, I could have prevented it."
"Oh, Everard!" she said again.
He went on doggedly. "I ought to have been here. My agent knew I was in the place. I ought to have stayed within reach. These warnings might arrive at any time. I was a damned lunatic, and Ermsted has paid the price." He stopped, and his look changed. "Poor girl! It's been a shock to you," he said, "a beastly awakening for us both."
Stella was very pale. "I feel," she said slowly, "as if I were pursued by a remorseless fate."
"You?" he questioned. "This had nothing to do with you."
She leaned against him. "Wherever I go, trouble follows. Haven't you noticed it? It seems as if--as if--whichever way I turn--a flaming sword is stretched out, barring the way." Her voice suddenly quivered. "I know why,--oh, yes, I know why. It is because once--like the man without a wedding-garment, I found my way into a forbidden paradise. They hurled me out, Everard. I was flung into a desert of ashes. And now--now that I have dared to approach by another way--the sentence has gone forth that wherever I pass, something shall die. That dreadful man--told me on the day that Ralph was taken away from me--that the Holy Ones were angry. And--my dear--he was right. I shall never be pardoned until I have--somehow--expiated my sin."
"Stella! Stella!" He broke in upon her sharply. "You are talking wildly. Your sin, as you call it, was at the most no more than a bad mistake. Can't you put it from you?--get above it? Have you no faith? I thought all women had that."
She looked at him strangely. "I wasn't brought up to believe in God," she said. "At least not personally, not intimately. Were you?"
"Yes," he said.
"Ah!" Her eyes widened a little. "And you still believe in Him--still believe He really cares--even when things go hopelessly wrong?"
"Yes," he said again. "I can't talk about Him. But I know He's there."
She still regarded him with wonder. "Oh, my dear," she said finally, "are you behind me, or a very, very long way in front?"
He smiled faintly, grimly. "Probably a thousand miles behind," he said. "But I have been given long sight, that's all."
She rose to her feet with a sigh. "And I," she said very sadly, "am blind."
Down by the gate the blue jay laughed again, laughed and flew away.


CHAPTER III
THE BEAST OF PREY

In a darkened room Netta Ermsted lay, trembling and unnerved. As usual in cases of adversity, Mrs. Ralston had taken charge of her; but there was very little that she could do. It was more a matter for her husband's skill than for hers, and he could only prescribe absolute quiet. For Netta was utterly broken. Since the fatal moment when she had returned from a call in her 'rickshaw to find Major Burton awaiting her with the news that Ermsted had been shot on the jungle-road while riding home from Khanmulla, she had been as one distraught. They had restrained her almost forcibly from rushing forth to fling herself upon his dead body, and now that it was all over, now that the man who had loved her and whom she had never loved was in his grave, she lay prostrate, refusing all comfort.
Tessa, wide-eyed and speculative, was in the care of Mrs. Burton, alternately quarrelling vigorously with little Cedric Burton whose intellectual leanings provoked her most ardent contempt, and teasing the luckless Scooter out of sheer boredom till all the animal's ideas in life centred in a desperate desire to escape.
It was Tessa to whom Stella's pitying attention was first drawn on the day after her return to The Green Bungalow. Tommy, finding her raging in the road like a little tiger-cat over some small _contretemps_ with Mrs. Burton, had lifted her on to his shoulders and brought her back with him.
"Be good to the poor imp!" he muttered to his sister. "Nobody wants her."
Certainly Mrs, Burton did not. She passed her on to Stella with her two-edged smile, and Tessa and Scooter forthwith cheerfully took up their abode at The Green Bungalow with whole-hearted satisfaction.
Stella experienced little difficulty in dealing with the child. She found herself the object of the most passionate admiration which went far towards simplifying the problem of managing her. Tessa adored her and followed her like her shadow whenever she was not similarly engrossed with her beloved Tommy. Of Monck she stood in considerable awe. He did not take much notice of her. It seemed to Stella that he had retired very deeply into his shell of reserve during those days. Even with herself he was reticent, monosyllabic, obviously absorbed in matters of which she had no knowledge.
But for her small worshipper she would have been both lonely and anxious. For he was often absent, sometimes for hours at a stretch wholly without warning, giving no explanation upon his return. She asked no questions. She schooled herself to patience. She tried to be content with the close holding of his arms when they were together and the certainty that all the desire of his heart was for her alone. But she could not wholly, drive away the conviction that at the very gates of her paradise the sword she dreaded had been turned against her. They were back in the desert again, and the way to the tree of life was barred.
Perhaps it was natural that she should turn to Tessa for consolation and distraction. The child was original in all her ways. Her ideas of death were wholly devoid of tragedy, and she was too accustomed to her father's absence to feel any actual sense of loss.
"Do you think Daddy likes Heaven?" she said to Stella one day. "I hope Mother will be quick and go there too. It would be better for her than staying behind with the Rajah. I always call him 'the slithy tove.' He is so narrow and wriggly. He wanted me to kiss him once, but I wouldn't. He looked so--so mischievous." Tessa tossed her golden-brown head. "Besides, I only kiss white men."
"Hear, hear!" said Tommy, who was cleaning his pipe on the verandah. "You stick to that, my child!"
"Mother said I was very silly," said Tessa. "She was quite cross. But the Rajah only laughed in that nasty, slippy way he has and took her cigarette away and smoked it himself. I hated him for that," ended Tessa with a little gleam of the tiger-cat in her blue eyes. "It--it was a liberty."
Tommy's guffaw sounded from the verandah. It went into a greeting of Monck who came up unexpectedly at the moment and sat down on a wicker-chair to examine a handful of papers. Stella, working within the room, looked up swiftly at his coming, but if he had so much as glanced in her direction he was fully engrossed with the matter in hand ere she had time to observe it. He had been out since early morning and she had not seen him for several hours.
Tessa, who possessed at times an almost uncanny shrewdness, left her and went to stand on one leg in the doorway. "Most people," she observed, "say 'Hullo!' to their wives when they come in."
"Very intelligent of 'em," said Tommy. "Do you think the Rajah does?"
"I don't know," said Tessa seriously. "I went to the palace at Bhulwana once to see them. But the Rajah wasn't there. They were very kind," she added dispassionately, "but rather silly. I don't wonder the Rajah likes white men's wives best."
"Oh, quite natural," agreed Tommy.
"He gave Mother a beautiful ring with a diamond in it," went on Tessa, delighted to have secured his attention and watching furtively for some sign of interest from Monck also. "It was worth hundreds and hundreds of pounds. That was the last thing Daddy was cross about. He was cross."
"Why?" asked Tommy.
'"Cos he was jealous, I expect," said Tessa wisely. "I thought he was going to give her a whipping. And I hid in his dressing-room to see. Mother was awful frightened. She went down on her knees to him. And he was just going to do it. I know he was. And then he came into the dressing-room and found me. And so he whipped me instead." Tessa ended on a note of resentment.
"Served you jolly well right," said Tommy.
"No, it didn't," said Tessa. "He only did it 'cos Mother had made him angry. It wasn't a