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

half-uttered groan and the dull thud of a falling body there was no sound, and the judge did not loosen his grip of the slender brown throat until a convulsive movement, followed by a relaxation of the straining muscles, told him that he had no more to fear. After that he crawled on his hands and knees. His progress was slow, and once, overcome by faintness, he fell forward with his face in the mud. The sheer horror of the thing revived him, and, with an irrepressible grunt of disgust, he pushed on.

Five minutes' persistent effort brought him within bearing of the water, and the last few yards were done at a record speed. Groaning, half unconscious, but still upheld by his purpose the judge stumbled against the rough dam which cut off the canal from the river, and, with a heave lifted himself on the other side. There he collapsed. The water at the edge was not more than a few inches deep, and the cool moisture flowing against his wrists brought him to his senses. Mechanically, beating back weakness by pure strength of will, he filled his two bottles, corked them, and placed them back in his pockets. Then he tried to rise. But there is a limit even to the human will, and the judge dropped back with a groan of agony.

"Done done at the winning-post too, by God!" he muttered and lay still.

Presently he lifted his face to the sky. The stars were out in their full brilliancy, and he watched, half fascinated, a sardonic little smile about his open mouth.

"A condemned man gets a last wish granted," he whispered thickly. "Lord God get me back with these infernal bottles give me a last sight of her for--"

His head rolled over on one shoulder. For what might have been an eternity blackness encompassed him, thinning at last into a mist through which he heard the lapping of the water against the mud-banks. He listened to it with the intentness of a man striving to concentrate his wandering thoughts, and then, suddenly, with a jerk, he pulled himself up. Something had broken the monotony of sound a steady swish growing rapidly nearer, a low, quick breathing. Guided by the instinct of self-preservation the judge crouched down against the dam and a moment after two shadows rose out of the water and came walking towards the bank. The judge watched them, petrified, less by fear as by a wild, reasonless expectation of some coming wonder. A low English oath fell on his sharpened ears, and he bent forward.

"Who's there?" he whispered.

"Hurst who's there?"

"Hamilton Judge Hamilton merciful God David!"

He tried to rise, but lost his footing, and stumbled into Hurst's arms. For a moment no one spoke. Heilig was leaning panting against the dam, his eyes turned to the hills, his hands instinctively endeavouring to press the water out of his sodden clothes.

"David what the devil are you doing here?" the judge muttered. "You fool you perfect young fool to come into this mare's nest."

"Never mind about that. You'll know later why I've come. Our train was stopped at Asra the place is surrounded, and the Professor and Iran the gauntlet per boat. We had to swim the last mile for safety's sake. Are we too late? what are you doing here?"

The judge understood the fear which underlay the question. He gave a low, broken chuckle.

"They're all right all right," he whispered. "I'm not a survivor, David. I'm t'other thing. You cut along the canal, my son. You'll find a nigger half way, but he won't bother you. I squeezed the life out of him half an hour ago. And, look here give these these confounded bottles to Mrs. Hurst, will you? Tell her no no don't tell her anything just cut

I'm done David my son--"

"Don't be a fool, Judge! You don't think we're going to leave you? Put your arm over my shoulder. We'll get along somehow, and if we don't--" He stopped. The chanting had broken off, and a loud, piercing cry rang through the stillness. The three men looked at each other.

"Sarasvati Sarasvati daughter of Brahma!"

Victorious, palpitating with a frenzied joy, the call was taken up and repeated till it lost itself like an echo in the far distance. Heilig pointed to the hills. A red star had burnt close to the summits.

"We haf no moment to lose," he said in a rough whisper. "The fires in the temple are alight Sarasvati has returned. In another hour it will be too late. Come!"

The judge made no further resistance. He did not understand a kind of blur had settled on his mind but he had become endowed with an unnatural strength. He allowed himself to be half dragged, half lifted over the dam, and in silence the three men started on the road back to Kolruna.

BOOK IV_CHAPTER VI (HARVEST)

 

"WALTER Walter! "Mrs. Hurst started, and looked about the dark quiet room, then sank back among her pillows. "I thought I heard some one calling," she said wearily. "Did you not hear it, Diana?"

"You were speaking in your sleep," Diana answered. "You must have heard your own voice."

"Probably. I have been dreaming a good deal of my husband. The circumstances recall his memory. He was killed on just such a night. In India the accidents of life and death repeat themselves like the turning of a wheel. But the morning after my husband's death David was born, and I shall not see David again."

Diana turned from the verandah, where she had been watching the shadows deepen over the valley. She thought she had heard a note of regret in the quiet voice, but the years had hardened, not softened the proud heart. Mrs. Hurst's face was composed and gravely satisfied.

"I am glad I did not pander to David's sentimentality," she went on, as though divining Diana's thought. "I have made him a man and now I am proud of him. Tell him so."

"I shall not see him again."

Mrs. Hurst turned her white, sunken face to her companion. "You are so sure that this is our last night? Well, you are right to be prepared. Still, there is always hope--"

"In any case, I shall not see David again."

The keen eyes narrowed.

"I understand. I am sorry. It was my great wish. But characters that develop too late are usually unfortunate. Ah, did you hear that cry?"

Diana nodded. Involuntarily her hands clenched themselves, and she turned to the window, obeying the instinct which compels us to face danger.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

"A signal no doubt. Give me my revolver out of the drawer there. I am against giving these people the satisfaction of killing a European. You see it is double loaded. I will leave the second 'bullet for you if you like."

"Thank you."

Some minutes passed in silence. Then the curtains were pushed quietly on one side and Mr. Eliot entered. He looked questioningly at Diana, and, answering to her nod, he drew near the extemporary couch. The last few days had changed him more than all the years of his life. Self-satisfied, self-sufficient, and dogmatic as he had been, he was but a shadow of his former self. His proud, pompous bearing and insufferable righteousness had been broken, and his small, redrimmed eyes were those of a man who has seen the most terrible of all things the vision of his own soul.

"Colonel Chichester sent me to you," he said in an undertone. "The Bazaar has broken out, and no one knows whether they will attack us direct, or join the rebels outside. In the latter case Colonel Chichester means to let them through, but you must be ready to move over to the barracks at any time. The other civilians are there already. You are not safe here."

Mrs. Hurst assented with a slightly impatient movement.

"If we are not safe here we are not safe anywhere," she said. "How are the patients?"

"Ten more cases." He hesitated, then added slowly: "Father Romney is stricken."

Diana uttered an exclamation of genuine grief, and the missionary nodded.

"We have little hope," he said. "He has used all his strength in the service of others. He dies as a martyr. He has given me his crucifix. He asks me to give you all his blessing." He spoke in quick, disjointed sentences, as though he were out of breath, and the heavy red hands trembled. Mrs. Hurst bowed her head.

"I thank you," she said. "If I believed in nothing else, I should believe in the blessing of a brave man. Is there any news?"

"Judge Hamilton is missing."

"Ah! "The exclamation expressed neither surprise nor distress. Mrs. Hurst pulled herself up higher, and the still beautiful white hand caressed the butt of her revolver. "I hear talking in the colonel's room," she said suddenly, with a complete change of tone. "Who is it?"

"Some message from the outposts," Diana suggested. "I know the voice --" Then she stopped, and the two women looked at each other.

"Go and see!" Mrs. Hurst commanded.

But Diana, obeying her own instinct rather than the imperious order, had not half crossed the room before the curtains were pulled sharply on one side, admitting a man dressed in the rough garments of a Sudra, who stared at her through the part darkness. "Diana!" he said in an undertone.

She made a mechanical gesture towards the couch.

"Mrs. Hurst is there," she jerked out.

"Thank you."

He came forward and the light fell on his face. The black, disordered hair and dark features harmonised so perfectly with his dress that the missionary, with a smothered cry of alarm, sprang in front of Mrs. Hurst as though to shield her. Mrs. Hurst motioned him on one side. Her eyes were bright, she looked at the new-comer unsmilingly, but for that brief moment she had regained her youth.

"Well, David * " she said. She held out her hand and he caught it and held it for a moment and then kissed it. "We thought you were in England, improving English politics," she added lightly.

"Heilig and I have just arrived from Asra," he answered. "We had to swim the last part. I just came in to see you before I went on."

"Where?"

"To the temple." He spoke as she had spoken as though his appearance had been the most ordinary thing in the world, and his future movements of the slightest possible import.

Mr. Eliot struck the first note of alarm.

"It is impossible!" he blurted out. "We are surrounded, and in any case the temple will be a deathtrap."

Hurst pointed out into the darkness.

"Do you hear what they are chanting over there?" he said. " ' The daughter of Brahma is in her Temple.' Sarasvati, my wife " and here he laid a stern stress on the word " was decoyed from me in London by a convert of yours, one Rama Pal. Our child had died, and he used the cruel scandal connected with our marriage to win her. We followed him to Calcutta, but there lost trace of them. Unless unless a miracle happens, she will be used as a kind of religious inspiration for a fresh outbreak. Not only Kolruna and Asra are in danger. If Kolruna falls all India will be alight. Thanks to Heilig, the authorities are