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Indian Idylls. 
 
Indian Idylls 
 
 •I 
 
 BY 
 
 An Idle Exile. 
 
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 CALCUTTA: 
 THACKER SPINK & CO. 
 1890. 
 
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 CARPENTIER 
 
 PRINTED BY THACKER, SPINK AND CO., CALCUTTA. 
 
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CONTENTS, 
 
 The Maharajah's Guest 
 
 • • • ... 
 
 Page 
 I 
 
 The Major's Mess Clothes 
 
 ..• 
 
 ... 7 
 
 In a Haunted Grove 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 19 
 
 How WE GOT rid of Hunks 
 
 • • • ••• 
 
 ... 32 
 
 My Wedding Day 
 
 ... 
 
 - 45 
 
 Mrs. Caramel's Bow- Wow 
 
 . • • r « • 
 
 ... 68 
 
 The Tables Turned 
 
 ••• • .. 
 
 ... 79 
 
 A Polo Smash 
 
 ... ... 
 
 ... 87 
 
 After the Wily Boar 
 
 • • . ... 
 
 ... 96 
 
 In the Rajah's Palace 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 105 
 
 Two Strings 
 
 • • * ••• 
 
 ... 119 
 
 A Modern Lochinvar 
 
 ... •.• 
 
 ... 128 
 
 My First Snipe 
 
 • j« ••• 
 
 ... 142 
 
 Mrs. Dimple's Victim 
 
 •*t ••• 
 
 ... 151 
 
 Lizzie ; a Shipwreck 
 
 ... ••• 
 
 ... 160 
 
 How THE Convalescent Depot Killed a Tiger 
 
 ... 170 
 
 Faithful unto Death 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 178 
 
 The Haunted Bungalow 
 
 ... »•• 
 
 ... 206 
 
 Christmas with the Crimson Cuirassiers 
 
 ... 220 
 
 In Death they were Not Divided 
 
 ... 238 
 
 Ml83e94 
 
THE MAHARAJAH'S GUEST. 
 
 Probably as perfect a specimen of what a paternal 
 Indian Government can produce, in the way of an 
 anglicised native nobleman, was to be found in His 
 Highness the Maharajah of Pugreepoor. He had been 
 under the thumb of English tutors ever since his infant 
 steps toddled out of the precincts of the zenana, and 
 had been brought up on British ideas. As a result, at 
 the age of five -and -twenty, he was a dapper little 
 fellow, dark-eyed and Italian-looking, able to hold his 
 own at cricket and polo against an Englishman, and as 
 yet a stranger to the snares of the brandy bottle and 
 the nautch girl, which had ruined, first the figures and 
 then the brains, of so many of his ancestors, long 
 before they had reached his age. 
 
 Pugreepoor was the husband of one wife, a dusky 
 little nonentity, whose form, as yet " unfettered by 
 stays," and whose feet, as yet " unspoilt by a shoe," he 
 was having squeezed into the fashions of Paris, as 
 reproduced on the banks of the Hooghly. Moreover, 
 the impecunious widow of a general officer had been 
 specially retained to teach the Maharanee deportment 
 and manners, and to pioneer her through the intricacies 
 of Anglo-Indian social etiquette. 
 
 For the Maharajah was gradually becoming one of 
 the ornaments of society in Calcutta and Simla. He 
 owned large tracts of land somewhere or other in the 
 C.^ M. G. I 
 
2 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Peninsula, and his income rivalled that of the richest 
 of English dukes. He could command vast battues of 
 tiger and big game in wide stretches of jungle, and 
 equip with an army of coolies and elephants, globe- 
 trotters of high degree, who were anxious to see some- 
 thing of sport during their scamper through India. 
 But all the same Pugreepoor was not a reigning prince, 
 and was only entitled to a very meagre salute of big 
 guns at a durbar compared with many a bloated native 
 potentate who could not write his own name, or read it 
 either. 
 
 But Pugreepoor recked little of these things. He 
 aspired to be English among Englishmen, and was 
 already planning a visit to England during the Jubilee 
 festivities. As London society takes very kindly to 
 anything dusky, be it Red Indian or Hindoo, when 
 once out of its own habitat, Pugreepoor hoped to spread 
 his pinions and widen his horizons in the very highest 
 spheres. 
 
 In spite of the rather negative attractions of his 
 dusky bride, to whom he had been married at the tender 
 age of ten, there was one lesson, taught by the customs 
 of Anglo-Indian society, which Pugreepoor showed him- 
 self only too apt to learn — this was the noble art of 
 flirtation. As a rule, a lovely woman in India has a holy 
 horror of the native, however much her sisters in 
 Belgravia may adulate him ; for she knows but too well 
 the point of view from which he regards her and her 
 manners and customs. But gradually for Pugreepoor 
 an exception was made. He was really not a bad-look- 
 
THE MAHARAJAH'S GUEST. ' 3 
 
 ing little fellow. He waltzed charmingly, and his 
 wealth was so enormous that he was lavish with pre- 
 sents on the very least pretext where he was anxious 
 to please. Slowly, but surely, the giddy gunner, the 
 cavalier cavalry- man, the rising competition -wallah, 
 some day to be worth his weight in pension, indeed even 
 the fascinating A.-D.«C., with the sweet sisterly confi- 
 dential manner to women, found himself distanced by 
 the little Maharajah. 
 
 Little Mrs. Campbell, quite the prettiest woman up 
 at Simla that year, who, in bygone days of happy 
 memory, might even have had a poet-viceroy at her feet, 
 threw over her last new pet A.-D.-C. and the young 
 lordling in the Lancers, for Pugreepoor. Her taste may 
 not have been unimpeachable, but his diamonds were 
 irresistible. Nothing was now wanting to complete the 
 Maharajah's English education. He was taken up as 
 Mrs. Campbell's authorised " bow-wow," was taught to 
 fetch and carry, and to stand patiently against the wall 
 when not dancing with her, and worship from afar. 
 For her was the pick of his stable ; she sanctioned his 
 guests to tennis and dinner, allowed him to go nowhere 
 where she was not invited, and took him out calling, 
 and even to church. Really, the Church Missionary 
 Society owed her something for her praiseworthy efforts 
 to reclaim this brand from the burning. Mrs. Campbell 
 trained the Maharajah so well that she was even able 
 to *'lend" him occasionally to one or other of her 
 female chums, to dance or ride with. This, be it 
 observed, is the crucial test of a "bow-wow's" devotion. 
 
4 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Now, naturally enough, Mrs. Campbell, having taken 
 all these pains with Pugreepoor, during the gay six 
 months of a Simla season, was not going to let him 
 escape again into the giddy whirl of Calcutta, while 
 she returned to the dusty little station where Captain 
 Campbell had been left to grill alone. 
 
 " Maharajah," she began in her most winning manner, 
 as the pair cantered, after the races in the bosky vale of 
 Annan, up the winding paths among the rhododendrons " 
 to the Mall, while the tree-crickets whirred overhead 
 among the ilexes, and the coolies panted up under 
 their fair burdens. '' Maharajah, I've never been down 
 to Calcutta. It would be real nice of you to ask me 
 down for the race week. I shall just die at Dustypoor." 
 
 To speak was to be obeyed. The devoted Pugreepoor 
 instantly made all the needful plans, and Mrs, Campbell 
 selected his house-party for the races. 
 
 Even the happiest times must have an end. Govern- 
 ment offices closed, the soldier's leave season came to 
 an end, and there was a general exodus from the 
 mountain Capua, and a ceaseless stream of tongas 
 galloped down the road to the plains. The Simla 
 world dispersed over the length and breadth of the 
 Peninsula. But Pugreepoor went straight down to 
 Calcutta, with the supreme Government folk, and began 
 to install himself in his new bungalow in Park-street. 
 Mrs. Campbell, meantime, meandered about some large 
 stations, paying visits, riding at single anchor, as it 
 were, awaiting the Maharajah's telegram to bid her 
 fly south. 
 
THE MAHARAJAH'S GUEST. 5 
 
 The Calcutta trades-people had a fine time of it, and 
 rejoiced exceedingly that Pugreepoor was going to do 
 the thing in style this year. When everything was 
 ready he dispatched the brief wire to Huddelabad, 
 which was to gladden Mrs. Campbell's heart — 
 
 "All ready. Come at once." 
 
 But to his intense surprise he received an answer 
 which staggered him for a moment — 
 
 ''My terms are three hundred rupees a month and 
 all found." 
 
 But Pugreepoor was too much epris to hesitate. 
 Evidently the golden-haired one was in a playful mood. 
 So he telegraphed forthwith — 
 
 " Terms be hanged ! Come at once !" And knew no 
 peace till he received an answer to say that Mrs. Camp- 
 bell would arrive by the evening mail, which came in h\ 
 time for dinner. 
 
 So the Maharajah set to work and collected a little 
 party in time to dine with her on arrival. There was 
 first and foremost the people's Bill (that is to say, the 
 people's Bill in India — no connection with a personage 
 bearing that sobriquet in England). There was that ris- 
 ing young secretary Ben Blewett, and his charming 
 wife, one of the three lovely sisters known throughout 
 India as "Faith, Hope, and Charity" (Mrs. Blewett was 
 Charity, because her kindness to mankind was so uni- 
 versal that it covered a multitude of sins). With her 
 came, as a matter of course, the high ofificial to whom 
 Blewett was indebted for his rapid promotion. Then 
 there was the most popular Adjutant-General that ever 
 
6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 breathed, beaming and boyish ; young Lord Scamperly, 
 the A.-D.-C. ; and, last but not least, Mr. Justice Squirrel, 
 of the High Court, with several brand-new stories. 
 
 The train was late ; it often is, when it steams into 
 Howrah station after its three days' journey from 
 Peshawur. Everyone was assembled in the palatial 
 drawing-room awaiting Mrs. Campbell's arrival. Amid 
 the roar that followed one of Mr. Squirrel's stories 
 (given as a sherry-and-bitters just to stimulate people's 
 appetites for something better to follow) even the 
 Maharajah's expectant ears failed to hear the carriage 
 drive up. 
 
 The heavy portiere was flung back, and a rustling 
 white-robed attendant announced — 
 
 " Mrs Campbell!" 
 
 An unwieldy old woman, whose metier was but too 
 plainly indicated by her appearance, waddled into the 
 room, and panted out to the petrified Maharajah — 
 
 '' How is the lady, sir ? I 'opes I'm in time ! " 
 
 Poor Pugreepoor ! In his haste he had forgotten that 
 there might be more than one Mrs. Campbell in a large 
 place like Huddelabad. 
 
THE MAJOR'S MESS CLOTHES. 
 
 A True Story, 
 
 In Major Munnie, Paymaster of the Royal Scilly 
 Islanders, was to be seen one of those few remaining 
 specimens of Crimean officers still to be found floating 
 about the subordinate ranks of the British army. His 
 contemporaries, the men with whom he had scaled the 
 heights of the Alma or shivered in the trenches before 
 Sebastopol, had mostly gone up higher, in every sense 
 of the word. But lack of gold, in the days of purchase, 
 had kept poor Munnie from rising ; and now for years 
 he had been seated, metaphorically, in our pay office, 
 the lawful object whereupon the impecunious subaltern 
 might vent alternately his powers of importuning and 
 wheedling. He was a shrunk, dapper little man. His 
 little remaining hair had run to seed in floating grey 
 whiskers, such as Leech's warriors wear in old Punches, 
 at the period when only *' plungers " went in for what 
 they termed " moustachios." He was a good old boy, 
 and we of the Scilly Islanders all loved him ; and in 
 converse proportion, we all loathed Mrs. M., his better 
 half And his better half she was in more than one 
 sense, though not in all. To begin with, she would have 
 made about two and a half of the little major ; and se- 
 condly, even to the most casual observer, it was apparent 
 that she had indeed bettered her position in life when 
 she married him, though who she was and how it had 
 come to pass was a secret, for ever locked in Munnie's 
 
8 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 bosom. Mrs. Munnie exhibited a tendency to cultivate 
 upon her upper lip the hirsute appendage which his 
 ancient traditions forbade to the major. She was also, 
 in her domestic way, quite as great a financier as her 
 husband. 
 
 Report said that the poor little major, who all day 
 long dabbled his fingers in the coin of the realm, never 
 had an anna he could call his own, but that madame 
 doled him out such as she thought good for him, and 
 kept a stern eye on his mess bill. He had all our sym- 
 pathies, especially towards the end of the month, when 
 pay day was approaching and we wanted him to let us 
 overdraw. We would be profuse then in our invitations 
 to come and dine with one or other of us at mess, and 
 in other small ways try to give the poor old boy a little 
 fun on the sly. 
 
 At the time when this veracious history took place 
 the Scilly Islanders had just been moved to a capital 
 station, which I will call Guramghur. The Munnies 
 took up their abode in a corner bungalow, facing the 
 barracks, and Ruffleby and I chummed in the next 
 corner bungalow. Between us and the Munnies, back 
 to back, as it were,, with the latter, and so facing our 
 bungalow, resided a black-and-tan family of the name 
 of Hooper. Hooper pere, who wrote the magic and 
 elastic initials P. W. D. after his name, was thin as 
 a lath. Madame, on the contrary, after the manner 
 of Eurasian women of middle age, presented the ap- 
 pearance of a feather-bed tied round the middle with 
 a bit of string. Their two daughters, however, were 
 
THE MAJOR'S MESS CLOTHES. 9 
 
 only whitey-brown, and as pretty a pair of little girls 
 as you could wish to see. Ruffleby and I soon be- 
 came acquainted with our neighbours, for they lived 
 a good deal in the verandah, where madame was con- 
 stantly to be seen in an appalling state of deshabille, 
 rowing her servants from the depths of a huge arm- 
 chair. In the cool dusk of the evening Ruffleby and I, 
 riding down the Mall, would walk our ponies by the 
 side of the little " Hoo-poos," as we had christened 
 them, who tripped daintily down the watered roadway 
 in patent-leather shoes and white stockings. 
 
 On Sunday, the Hoopers, along with the rest of the 
 dubious-complexioned population of Guramghur, occu- 
 pied seats in the gallery of the station church. It was 
 an old-fashioned Georgian edifice, probably built in the 
 time of the first Afghan war, and with a melancholy 
 association to all who studied the graves in the white- 
 walled cemetery close by. All the European garrison 
 of Guramghur were at church parade that fateful Sun- 
 day in May 1857, when the mutiny broke out in the 
 native lines across the canal, and were minus their 
 arms. The rebels seized the latter, shooting down their 
 officers, and decamped for Delhi, leaving the European 
 troops defenceless and powerless. Since then, in Gur- 
 amghur as well as all over India, the British troops take 
 their rifles to church with them and lodge them in 
 sockets in the seat in front. 
 
 But to return to our Hoo-poos. We subs, who herded 
 together in a seat behind our superior officers, soon 
 established a system of signals and telegraphic messages 
 
10 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 with the fair ones in the gallery, which somewhat mili- 
 tated, I fear, against the benefit we should have derived 
 from the chaplain's discourses, especially when in addi- 
 tion MacQuinsie, our funny man, would make his own 
 interpolations. 
 
 Soon after our arrival at Guramghur, our sergeants 
 gave a dance in barracks, to which, of course, they 
 invited the mess, on a card of leviathan proportions. 
 Having ascertained that the little Hoo-poos were to be 
 among the guests, we laid ourselves out for a lark, and 
 invited some equally festive spirits among the gunners 
 to come and dine and go with us. 
 
 As Ruffleby and I went out for our evening ride, we 
 passed on the Mall the Munnies' barouche and seedy 
 pair of grey countrybreds. Mrs. M. was taking the 
 major out for his drive. The poor old boy looked 
 dreadfully bored. 
 
 " Look here," I said to Ruffleby, " let's ask the Back- 
 sheesh Sahib to dine, and take him with us to-night. 
 He looks as if he was very down on his luck." 
 
 " Happy thought," rejoined my companion ; " I must 
 get a hundred rupees advance out of him next week, 
 or I shall be on my beam ends, so it'll be as well to 
 get him in a good temper." 
 
 " We'll tell -him he'll meet the little Hoo-poos. I'm 
 sure he's rather smitten in that quarter, for I've no- 
 ticed he always sits and smokes in his back verandah 
 now, so that he can look over into their compound and 
 watch the fair young things at play. But, by Jove, 
 Mrs. M.'U never let him come ! " 
 
THE major's mess CLOTHES. II 
 
 " Leave it to me, I'll square her," cried Ruffleby, and 
 he cantered after the carriage. 
 
 " Have you met the colonel, major ? " he cried. " He 
 wants to see you particularly ; was asking where you 
 were just now, when I left the mess." 
 
 Unsuspecting, Mrs. Munnie had the heads of the greys 
 turned messwards, and Ruffleby joined me hastily. 
 
 " Once in the mess, I'll keep him safe. You ride 
 back to his house, and tell his servant to send his mess 
 clothes over to the mess at once. He must dress there. 
 Quick ! Before the old girl gets home ! " 
 
 Our plan succeeded admirably, for the prisoner was 
 only too willing to be caught The bearer and the 
 clothes arrived, and with the assistance of a stiff peg 
 the major was emboldened to send a note back by 
 him, to the effect that he was going to dine at mess. 
 
 We had a very festive dinner. The paymaster's 
 hilarity almost equalled that of our guests, and he 
 became a different man. Ruffleby whispered to me he 
 should ask for two hundred at least. 
 
 Dinner over, we adjourned to the sergeants' mess in 
 little companies of twos and threes. Some drove, some 
 rode their own or other fellows' ponies, some tried to 
 walk, and at least three mounted on Derehurst's old grey 
 Arab, commonly called The Omnibus, because he was 
 in the habit of conveying two or three fellows to mess. 
 
 The sergeants' mess was a bower of beauty, taste- 
 fully decorated with evergreens and pink-paper roses. 
 The gallant non-coms were deep in the seemingly 
 endless mysteries of the Circassian Circle when we 
 
12 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 arrived. This was succeeded by the Triumph and 
 Payne's First. Out of consideration, perhaps, for every- 
 one's toes, round dances were in the minority. Be- 
 tween the dances there was no sitting out in dark corners, 
 such as was wont to obtain at some dances which we 
 Scilly Islanders have given. The warriors, in stiff 
 tunics buttoned up to their throats, promenaded round 
 and round the room with their partners, or conducted 
 them to the peg-table, and gave them hot sherry. 
 " And now, Mrs. Maacartney, an' what'll ye take ? " 
 " Thank ye, kindly, I won't take anything. I had 
 a thurst, but I've quinched it." 
 
 Into this paradise of decorum, inhabited by fair 
 creatures with divers - coloured necks and gorgeous 
 frocks of aniline hues, we, the new arrived, imported, 
 I am sorry to say, an element of rowdyism. We intro- 
 duced each other all round, to such fair ones as attract- 
 ed our individual attentions, under high sounding names, 
 and the promotion was most rapid in the Scilly Islanders 
 that night. 
 
 I had just finished, notwithstanding the scowls of a 
 leviathan bombardier, in presenting " Lord " Derehurst 
 to a pretty little woman in a red dress, the exact shade 
 of her red arms and neck, when I felt my elbow nudged. 
 The pay-master jerked his head towards the little 
 Hoo-poos. 
 " Introduce me to our fair neighbours, my boy." 
 I steered him across the room to the vicinity indi- 
 cated. Why will Eurasians always dress in white ? 
 They looked very pretty, all the same, preening and 
 
THE major's mess CLOTHES. 1 3 
 
 bridling, with orange bows in their dark hair, for all the 
 world like the cheeky little crested Hoo-poos who in- 
 fested the verandah. They were twittering in their 
 soft chee-chee tongue to a circle of admirers who made 
 way for us. 
 
 " Miss Hooper, allow me — introduce Major-General 
 Munnie, C.B. — Aide-de-Camp to the Queen (whisper) — 
 who — most anxious — ^make your acquaintance." 
 
 " Oh, my ! You don't say ! Noa ? I never did one 
 real general know, at all ! " And the dark eyes were 
 fixed reverentially on Munnie's bald head. 
 
 Here my colour-sergeant collared me and led me off 
 to drink more hot sherry, after which the regimental 
 sergeant-major and the pay sergeant repeated the pro- 
 cess. I have no very clear or exact recollection of the 
 events of the ball. The temperature of the room was 
 a hundred and something, and the betunicked sergeants 
 shone and trickled and mopped, and then shone and 
 trickled and mopped again. The floor was very heavy 
 for dancing, and very hard for falling. I was charged 
 in a wild polka by a Hussar sergeant about six feet two 
 and ignominiously floored. I have a vision of old 
 Munnie standing up in Sir Roger about 2 a.m. (the 
 dance had begun at qight sharp) with one of the Hoo- 
 poos, whom he tried to kiss as he turned her round. 
 Imagine Mrs. M.'s feelings had she seen ! I could not 
 exactly say what time we most of us got back, somehow, 
 to our own mess for some grilled bones. Ruffleby and 
 I escorted the pay-master thither. 
 
 " In for a penny, in for a pound, you know, major. 
 
14 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Must have some supper. None waiting for you at home, 
 you know ! '' 
 
 The vision of what was awaiting him at home, poor 
 old boy, was so appalling, that his spirits only revived 
 again after supper and champagne. Then, somehow or 
 other — one never knows how these things begin — there 
 was a good deal of promiscuous bear-fighting, and a 
 slaughter of the ante-room chairs and settees. I know 
 I had one lamp-shade, two tumblers, and a pane of glass 
 down in my next mess bill. The couches and chairs 
 we shared equally. I also had a bruise on my left shin, 
 which nobody paid me for. 
 
 While Ruffleby was dancing a fling down the mess 
 table (the marks are there on the mahogany to this day) 
 some of us trussed old Munnie and the doctor with 
 billiard cues, and set them to cock-fight. It was the 
 event of the evening. I backed the pay-master, and lost 
 my money. A wild chorus of the last new comic song 
 was going on round the piano, to which Derehurst was 
 giving a brandy-and-soda, because he declared it was 
 out of tune, and wanted picking up, when some of us 
 had to lend a hand to pack our guests the gunners into 
 one of the tikka gkaiys, or flies, which had been parked 
 out patiently in the compound all night. We laid 
 Ruffleby on the roof full length, as we could not make 
 him sit up anyhow, and he eventually got to his bed I 
 believe. Then I found old Munnie at my elbow again, 
 very dejected. 
 
 " Look here, my dear boy, what ever am I — do. 
 Daren't go home like shish — shink of the missus ? " 
 
THE major's mess CLOTHES. 1 5 
 
 He indeed presented a pitiable sight. There was a 
 huge knick in his trousers, besides rents where there had 
 once been brace buttons, one sleeve of his mess jacket 
 was torn out, the shoulder straps were wrenched off, and 
 it was split up the back, the result of his trussing. What 
 was to be done indeed ! 
 
 '^ You won't leave me, my dear boy ; see me through 
 it, there's good fellar." 
 
 I swore never to desert him, and we wended our way 
 somewhat disconsolately down the road in the light of 
 the glorious Indian full moon. 
 
 '' She mustn't shee 'em. Never let me dine at mess 
 again. What shall I do ? Sure to find them to-morrow. 
 Always looks into all my drawers," moaned poor Munnie, 
 as we approached his residence. 
 
 " She shan't find them, major," I said ; " we'll hide 
 them, and you can telegraph to Calcutta for some more. 
 She must not find them at any price." 
 
 '*Nogo, my dear fellar ; always looks everywhere. 
 Keeps my keys, you know." 
 
 We were standing actually in the gateway. In another 
 minute we should rouse the slumbering chokedar, and see 
 the dreaded vision of Mrs. Munnie prepared to welcome 
 us in the verandah. Suddenly an inspiration seized me. 
 I dragged the pay-master into the shadow of a tree and 
 tore off the remains of his mess jacket. 
 
 " Quick, major ! " I exclaimed in a whisper hoarse 
 with the awful gravity of the situation. " Quick ! Slip 
 off your trousers. Cold be hanged ! We must get rid 
 of them. We'll bury them here in this flower-bed." 
 
l6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Two Eugene Arams engaged in concealing some hid- 
 eous deed of darkness could not have worked with greater 
 alacrity and trepidation than we two did there in the 
 shadow of the mango tree. Happily the ground was 
 soft, having been just dug and irrigated by the inallee, 
 and in a very short space of time the last vestige of 
 scarlet and gold lay concealed beneath the surface, and 
 we breathed freely. 
 
 The shivering major skipped, in his airy attire, out 
 into the moonlight and up the steps. He was nearly 
 knocked down in the verandah by a rug hurled at him 
 from behind a half-opened door, and a voice thunder- 
 ed— 
 
 " Take that on to the drawing-room sofa. For it's 
 all you'll get this morning." 
 
 When I ran against Munnie coming out of his office 
 next day, his face lit up with a smile and a wink as he 
 flourished a telegram at me. 
 
 " All serene. The new ones '11 be sent up in a week. 
 I'm saved ! " 
 
 Ruffleby got his advance without a word of demur, 
 and the sky seemed clear. 
 
 Not quite, though. We had a misunderstanding with 
 our little Hoo-poos, which led to their transferring 
 their fickle affections to two fellows in the artillery. It 
 came about on this wise. 
 
 My stable-companion and I had arranged, the one 
 an early morning walk, and the other an early morn- 
 ing ride with our fair neighbours. At 6 a.m. Hoo-poo 
 number one, tired of waiting, for her tryst with me was 
 
THE major's mess CLOTHES. I7 
 
 for S-30 a.m., sent over to my bearer to awake me by 
 force. 
 
 Knowing, by experience, how utterly futile is any 
 attempt to din a European name into a native's head, 
 she merely told him to rouse the little sahib. There is 
 a matter of a few inches between Ruffleby's height and 
 mine. But the valet was more than usually crass. 
 
 He awoke the wrong man, and, after a lapse of tvv^enty 
 minutes, returned to Miss Hooper with hands clasped, 
 and a desole expression. 
 
 " Missy sahib, your honour, protector of the poor. I 
 have done my best. Four times have I got the sahib 
 out of bed — once, even, have I got one leg into his 
 trousers — but he always turns into bed again, and says 
 he is not the man ! " 
 
 My Hoo-poo declined to accept this explanation. 
 A coolness ensued with the above-mentioned result. 
 A few days later as I left barracks, the adjutant asked 
 me to follow the pay-master over to his bungalow and 
 mention to him some official matter which had escaped 
 him. 
 
 I found Munnie and his lady seated in the verandah, 
 the former refreshing himself after his arduous duties 
 with an ante-tiffin peg. Madame received me grimly, 
 I thought, so I hastened to broach the subject of 
 my visit. 
 
 I was interrupted by the bearer's appearance with 
 the daily post, and a brown paper parcel came by par- 
 cels post. Munnie looked at me and seemed embar- 
 rassed. Mrs. M, regarded him sternly, 
 
 C, M. G. 2 
 
1 8 INDIAN IDYLLS. 4 
 
 " What have you got there, Munnie ? Open it at 
 once, and let me see what extravagance youVe been up 
 to now?" 
 
 •The pay-master obediently but nervously cut the 
 string, I wished myself anywhere else. 
 
 " It's only a new suit of mess clothes, my dear," he 
 faltered ; '^ mine were getting rather shabby," and the 
 neatly folded garments fell on the matting before him. 
 
 Mrs. Munnie rose to her full height and advanced 
 glaring at him, repeating in tones of thunder, " Rather 
 shabby, are they ? " and she disappeared into the house. 
 
 I looked at Munnie, Munnie looked at me. 
 
 " Don't go, my dear boy — you're not going ! " ini- 
 plored my accomplice, seeing me glance round as if to 
 escape. 
 
 At that moment the mem^sahib reappeared suddenly. 
 Her expression was enough to quail the stoutest heart, 
 and she brandished aloft before our conscience-stricken 
 faces the exhumed mess clothes, muddy and tattered. 
 
 " Rather shabby, are they ? " she repeated. " I should 
 rather think they are ! " 
 
 I was a base cowardj for — I turned and bolted. Ever 
 afterwards the poor old Backsheesh Sahib was never 
 allowed to dine at mess, except on Christmas and other 
 rare occasions, when we had a ladies' dinner party, and 
 J^e could be accompanied by Mrs. M. 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 
 
 The following is a little episode out of the days 
 when my husband, an officer in the Engineers, was in 
 civil employ in India, and held the appointment of 
 superintendent of what I will call the Guramghur and 
 Ganges Canal. Now the life of a canal engineer is 
 slightly monotonous. It may be a degree higher in 
 social status to that of an engineer in charge of one 
 of the State Railways, and it may embrace a wider 
 sphere of action than that of engineer in charge o£ 
 barracks or fortifications in a garrison station, but it 
 lacks variety. During the cold weather, for six months 
 on end, we marched up and down that wretched stream, 
 which ran through as uninteresting a tract of country 
 as is to be found in Northern India. At each halting- 
 place — and I got to know them by heart, as they were 
 placed at regular intervals of ten miles or so along the 
 bank — the same pitching up the same camp, with 
 everything in each tent exactly the same as it had been 
 the day before. Outside, the same muddy, sluggish 
 stream, with its painfully regular banks, planted with 
 the same tamarisk, acacia, and such like light trees. 
 We marched in the early morning, arriving at our new 
 abode by breakfast-time, and found the mess-tent 
 pitched, and the patient cook preparing our repast in the 
 open air over a grate scooped out in the sun-baked earth. 
 After breakfast my husband held a kind of little court. 
 The headmen of the neighbouring villages appeared. 
 
20 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Always the same mutual grumbles between them and 
 the sahib — too much water le tout over their rice-fields, 
 or not water enough ; arrears of dues to bepaid ; and an 
 everlasting finding fault with the native subordinates in 
 charge of this portion of the canal, corrupt and untrust- 
 worthy as all native officials are, and who, as usual, had 
 pocketed the money and neglected to keep up the banks. 
 A slip and a flood were quite an excitement in our life. 
 
 Such an event had occurred at the time of which I 
 am writing. The heavy showers that generally fall in 
 Northern India about Christmas-time had come earlier 
 than usual, and we found our habitual camping-place 
 under water, and our tents pitched for us in a square 
 grove of mangrove trees, about half a mile from the 
 canal, and within a few hundred yards of a native 
 village of mud huts. It was not at all a bad place — 
 shady, which was a consideration at noon, even at that 
 season of the year — and a change from our usual 
 surroundings. So we decided that it would do very 
 well for us to halt in for Christmas Day. 
 
 Christmas Day is kept by the English in India, how- 
 ever remote and lonely they may be, and in spite of 
 utterly uncongenial weather and surroundings, in a way 
 that has much of pathos in it. There is a melancholy 
 striving to keep Christmas as " at home" — a going to 
 church where possible, gathering together of friends and 
 acquaintances, a decorating of church and gateways with 
 •flowers, and much feasting — all which hollow mockery 
 does not still the longings for home, and the thoughts 
 which will fly back to days that are no more. 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 21 
 
 Our Christmas on the canal was generally lonely 
 enough ; but, on this occasion, we were looking for- 
 ward with delight to the advent of two visitors. One 
 was our old friend, Colonel Rydale, an ally of many 
 years' standing, now retiring and going home for good, 
 and who had promised to come and spend Christmas 
 with us on his way down country. 
 
 The other was Jack Denver, a subaltern of artillery, 
 quite new to India, and new to us also, though we were 
 very, anxious to make his acquaintance ; for Jack had 
 just come out from England, engaged to my youngest 
 sister Lily, who was to follow and marry him a year later. 
 
 Our younger guest arrived in camp first, riding across 
 country on a new purchase, ahead of his coolies and 
 luggage. The colonel came later in our dog-cart, which 
 we had sent to meet him at a point where the canal 
 was crossed by the high road, and which brought him 
 thence along the canal bank, a road strewn with ugly 
 holes and pitfalls for the unwary. 
 
 " Now, Bob," I said to my husband before dinner, 
 " listen to me. You'll have plenty of Colonel Rydale 
 who is not pressed for time ; but Jack must go on to 
 his battery the day after Christmas Day, and I want to 
 find out what he's like ; so, after dinner, you go and 
 have a quiet smoke with him alone, and I'll entertain 
 the colonel. Men always wax confidential over a pipe. 
 I like the look of him well enough, but I don't believe 
 he's half good enough for dear Lily." 
 
 Bob did as he was bid (he always does), and, after 
 dinner, I found myself sitting in the dining-tent alone 
 
i2 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 with my elder guest, while Bob carried off Jack to 
 smoke in the office tent. 
 
 It was a lovely moonlight night, such a night as 
 you only get in the tropics, but chilly withal, for the 
 wind was rising, as if rain were coming. We had a 
 little charcoal fire in our portable stove in the tent. 
 
 Colonel Rydale talked of many things and people 
 over his coffee, but at last I got him on to the subject 
 nearest my heart. 
 
 " Colonel Rydale," I asked, *' do give me your opinion 
 about our young friend yonder; I am so interested 
 in him for my sister's sake." 
 
 " Seems a nice fellow," the colonel replied, " what 
 IVe seen of him. Well-set-up and smart, and no non- 
 sense about him. Odd thing, you know, but he reminds 
 me so in appearance of a great chum of mine I lost 
 when I was a young fellow and quartered at Punkah- 
 pore in this district, not far from here." 
 
 " Indeed," said I ; " and was he nice, your friend ? " 
 . *' A better fellow never breathed ; and good-looking 
 too — ^just the image of that boy." 
 
 ** Poor fellow ! And what did he die of? " 
 
 " Die ? He didn't die ; that's the funny part of it. 
 Queer story altogether. I never could make it out — 
 he was lost — missing— not heard of." 
 
 My feminine curiosity was roused. 
 
 " What a strange thing ! Do tell me, Colonel 
 Rydale." 
 
 I poured him out another cup of coffee ; I bade the 
 bearer bring him a live piece of charcoal wherewith to 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. . . 23 
 
 light a fresh cigar, and, thus encouraged, the colonel 
 told his tale, what there was of it. 
 
 " It's many years ago ; I was a youngster, so was 
 Jack — his name was Jack, too. We did everything 
 together ; shared the same bungalow, rode together, 
 shot together. One of our favourite haunts for snipe 
 was a jheel (morass) near this very place. We often 
 came out here, and I recollect it because Jack admired 
 very much a really very handsome native girl, whom 
 we saw drawing water at the well near the village over 
 there. We laughed at Jack in the mess about her, and 
 the headman of the village, one of whose wives she 
 was, got jealous, I think, and shut her up. and would not 
 let her show herself when any of the sahibs came this 
 way shooting. She really was a very pretty girl — so 
 tall and slim and graceful ; an oval face — and such eyes ; 
 not a bit like the average native woman." 
 
 "Well, colonel," I laughed, "she seems to have 
 made an impression on you too, after all these years, 
 for your memory to be so fresh! But I am more in- 
 terested in Jack." 
 
 "Well, it was one Christmas. I was ordered away 
 suddenly on detachment duty. Jack took ten days' 
 leave, and went shooting. It was a splendid snipe 
 season, and there were lots of black buck in this part 
 then. Well, Jack went away on leave two or three 
 days before Christmas. The day after Christmas his 
 bearer, the only servant he had with him, turned up 
 sick with fever, saying his master, who was at an old 
 rest-bungalow not far from here, had sent him back 
 
24 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 because he was so ill. Well, do you know, Jack was 
 never seen or heard of again. The district was scoured, 
 the natives all interrogated, and there came a rumour 
 that he had taken a dak-gharry (a post-chaise) and 
 gone down the Grand Trunk Road towards Calcutta. 
 But it was never confirmed, and no trace of him was 
 ever found. The civil officials did their best, but Jack 
 had utterly disappeared. His name appeared in orders, 
 after a bit, as absent without leave. After a month or 
 two it was struck out of the service in the official Gazette." 
 
 " But was there no reason for his disappearance ? '*' 
 I asked. 
 
 ''None that I could ever find, except that the poor 
 fellow was very hard up, and owed a lot of money. 
 But that was the case with several of us in the * Dash- 
 ing Drabs * in those days. A court of inquiry sat on 
 his affairs, and we raised a subscription among us, and 
 paid up, that the name of the old corps mightn't suffer, 
 and also because we all missed poor Jack so. No, it 
 was a rum affair altogether. I didn't understand it at 
 all, and I never shall." 
 
 At this moment the entry of my husband and Jack 
 cut short our conversation, and soon afterwards I 
 retired to my tent, leaving the gentlemen to sit up a 
 little longer over their pegs. 
 
 My tent had been pitched a little way from the 
 others, in a corner of the square, regularly-planted 
 grove, under a particularly fine mango. I got into my 
 dressing-gown, dismissed my ayah, and, anxious to lose 
 no time^ sat down to begin at once a letter to Lily for 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 2$ 
 
 the next mail, with an account of my first impressions 
 of Jack Denver. I was busy writing when Bob came 
 in and went to bed, and to sleep promptly, for he had 
 had a worrying day in office. 
 
 Presently I finished, and putting away my letter — 
 so eulogistic and so sanguine — raised the curtain of the 
 tent door, to have a whiff of air before getting into bed. 
 
 The brilliant full moon, sailing at intervals from 
 under scudding clouds, flooded the wide-stretching level 
 plain with a haze of silver, and cast inky black shadows 
 in the grove under the mangoes. But for the rising 
 wind the night was very still. Now and then a bark 
 of a pariah dog echoed from the neighbouring village, 
 or the distant yell of a jackal. But there was a silence 
 in the night, a silence which might be felt. I stepped 
 outside to enjoy the peace and beauty of the scene, 
 and, as I did so, the weird hoot of a startled owl among 
 the branches made me turn my head towards the grove. 
 
 Then I perceived two figures advancing towards me 
 out of the deep shadow — two — a man and a woman. 
 
 They came nearer out into a patch of moonlight, 
 and I gave a gasp of surprise as I recognised them ; 
 for the man was Jack, my Lily's Jack, and he was 
 walking with a native woman. 
 
 I stepped back against the tent and watched eagerly, 
 much shocked ; for she was a very beautiful woman 
 I could see now the moonlight was so strong — graceful 
 and lissom in her scanty drapery, and — oh, horror!— 
 Jack had his arm round her waist, and her head was 
 leaning on his shoulder. 
 
^6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I dropped the curtain of the tent, and stood within 
 thunderstruck at what I had seen. Of course, I had 
 heard rumours in India of Europeans taking unto them- 
 selves the daughters of the heathen ; but that Lily's 
 Jack, so young, so new to the country, should pursue 
 such a course so openly, and under my very nose, 
 shocked me almost as much as if it had been Bob him- 
 self What faithlessness ! what profligacy ! My poor 
 Lily! 
 
 There lay the letter in which I had been praising 
 up to the skies this precious young scamp. What a 
 mercy it was that I had not sent it — that there was yet 
 time to warn her as to the real character of the man 
 whom she contemplated marrying ! I tore up the letter 
 I had written, and, with a strange whirl of anger, sur- 
 prise, and distress in my mind, flung myself into bed, 
 and soon fell into a troubled sleep. 
 
 How long I had slept I do not know, but I was 
 awoke suddenly by the whining of the little terrier Nip, 
 who always slept at my feet. Nip was standing bolt 
 upright in bed, with his ears back, his tail between 
 his legs, and his attitude cowering. He was gazing 
 intently at the door of the tent, and whining in a 
 queer frightened manner. My first thought was of 
 thieves, and I sat up promptly and looked in the 
 same direction. 
 
 A second or two later, though the curtains did not 
 part, I distinctly saw two figures pass through them — 
 one like Jack in English clothes, the other a draped 
 native female, whom he clasped to him. 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 27 
 
 They advanced slowly across the tent, and I sat and 
 glared at them. Suddenly, as they came nearer, my 
 heart froze within me, for I saw that they were headless- 
 
 With one shriek of terror I fell back senseless on to 
 my pillow. 
 
 When I came to myself it was broad daylight, and 
 I was lying on a long bamboo chair in the dining tent. 
 As I opened my eyes, Bob bent over me, and a wonder- 
 ful expression of relief crossed his face. I grasped his 
 hand convulsively. 
 
 " Bob ! " I cried, '' for God's sake, don't leave me." 
 
 *' I'm not going to, darling ; but you must be quiet," 
 and he laid a wet rag on my burning brow. 
 
 " But where am I ? Why am I not in bed — in my 
 tent ? " 
 
 *•' There was a heavy storm in the night after — 
 after you were taken ill. The gye ropes gave way and 
 the gusts nearly blew the tent down, so I carried you in 
 here. Are you feeling better ? " 
 
 As he spoke, the memory of the awful vision I had 
 witnessed rose up again in all its appalling ghastliness, 
 and I suppose I must have looked pretty bad again, for 
 Bob forbade me to say another word. He put on fresh 
 cold applications, and the ayah came and fanned me. 
 Under these soothing influences my bewildered brain 
 grew gradually soothed, and I slept. 
 
 It was a wretched Christmas Day after all, for all 
 of us — we who had expected to be so jolly together. 
 I dozed all day, afraid to think, not allowed to talk, 
 dreading the night with a nameless horror. How 
 
28 INDIAN IDYLLS 
 
 thankful I was, then, towards evening to find myself 
 being lifted into an extemporised doolie, and being 
 borne away from that awful spot. 
 
 *' Where are you taking me, Bob ? " I asked feebly, 
 for my head was getting bad again. 
 
 '' On to the next camp, my darling. We think it will 
 be better for you. You've got fever here." 
 
 I noticed, in a vague kind of way, there was a queer 
 look in his face, very unlike his usual expression. He 
 looked rather scared. 
 
 '' My head's bad," I replied ; " but I'm not very 
 ill— don't be alarmed about me, Bob." 
 
 I meant to tell him what I had seen, but the horror 
 of it again overpowered me, and I closed my eyes to 
 shut out the ghastly sight. 
 
 Then the coolies came in and carried me off. I don't 
 remember anything about the march or the new camp, 
 for the morning brought on a sharp attack of fever, and 
 for many days I lay unconscious and delirious. Colonel 
 Rydale stayed on to companionise Bob, who was really 
 anxious about me, and sent in forty miles for the 
 nearest doctor. 
 
 I got better. My brain recovered its equilibrium, 
 and I was able to think with less horror of what, but 
 for Nip's extraordinary behaviour, I should have thought 
 a bad dream. 
 
 One day I lay languidly in a long chair. We were to 
 march on the next morning and resume our regular rou- 
 tine, and our guests were leaving us. They were sitting 
 by me now, and I feebly watched the colonel light a cigar. 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 29 
 
 ''What an odd ring that is on your little finger, 
 colonel ? " 
 
 He dropped the match as if he had been shot, 
 burning a hole in his trousers, and muttering to him- 
 self for doing so. 
 
 " It's not native work, is it ? " 
 
 •'' No, French," he answered shortly. 
 
 " Do let me see it." 
 
 Rather unwillingly he let me draw his hand down 
 and examine it. 
 
 '' I see, it's one of those French porte-bonheur rings, 
 a twist of gold and silver. A keepsake, eh, colonel ? " 
 and I laughed nervously, for as I touched the ring a 
 cold creepy feeling came over me, and those two awful 
 figures seemed to float before my eyes again. 
 
 " A keepsake ? Yes," he replied shortly, " it be- 
 longed to my friend Jack." 
 
 Here was an opportunity to disburden my mind of 
 its awful secret. Mastering my horror with a violent 
 effort, I sat up and spoke. 
 
 ^' Colonel Rydale," I said, "I have seen your friendjack." 
 
 The colonel jumped up amazed. 
 
 *' Good God ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," I went on, with increasing difficulty, for 
 every word I spoke seemed to conjure up the vision 
 afresh, " I have seen him twice — on Christmas Eve — 
 in the mango grove — with a beautiful native woman. 
 The first time I thought it was Jack Denver — the 
 second time — in the tent — Nip woke me, howling— 
 and I saw " 
 
30 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I could not go on. I covered my face with my 
 hand as if I could blot out the sight, and the colonel, 
 very alarmed, mixed me some stiff brandy-and -water. 
 Then he looked at me fixedly. 
 
 " Do you feel stronger ? Can you bear to hear 
 something ? " 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 "We have found him — Jack — the next morning, 
 Christmas Day. They were righting your tent, which 
 had been blown down, and in digging a trench round 
 to carry off the water they came upon " 
 
 " Go on," I muttered. 
 
 "Two skeletons together — headless— the skulls de- 
 tached — chopped off. On the wrist and ankle-bones of 
 one were a native woman's bangles ; on the little finger 
 of the other this queer ring poor Jack used to wear. 
 That's why we moved you off in such a hurry. Hullo ! 
 Here, Bob — -come, quick — your wife has fainted ! " 
 
 When I came to, I asked to see the ring again. It 
 seemed to have a fascination for me, this link between 
 the poor murdered lad of years ago and the present. 
 
 " I remember the ring well," said Colonel Rydale. 
 "We used to chaff Jack about wearing it, and he always 
 persisted in saying it had been given him by a sister, 
 who was dead." 
 
 " There's something engraved on the inside, " I 
 remarked, twisting the ring round and reading aloud, 
 **J — a — c — k, f — r — o— m L — i— 1 — y — B — a — r — 
 n^e— s." 
 
IN A HAUNTED GROVE. 3 1 
 
 Jack Denver, who had not spoken hitherto, now 
 jumped up with a start. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " he exclaimed, " show it to me ! 
 That was my mother's name before she married. Yes, 
 I knew she had a brother who died in India, but after 
 her death I never saw much of her family, and I have 
 never heard any particulars. What a round world it 
 is, to be sure ! That poor fellow niust have been my 
 uncle !" 
 
 Instantly the resemblance between Jack and that 
 figure I had seen, flashed into my mind, and as quickly 
 explained itself satisfactorily. 
 
 Lily and her Jack were married within the year, and 
 are as happy as the day is long, but I have never had 
 the courage to breathe to her my suspicions of her 
 lover on that awful night. 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 
 
 The moral of the following tale is most reprehen- 
 sible, and the only excuse I can offer for relating it is 
 the lame one, that it happened a long while ago. 
 
 We youngsters of the Royal Scilly Islanders were a 
 wild lot rather in those days. But our wildness chiefly 
 arose out of the intense happiness we all felt in serving 
 together in that distinguished corps, which we fondly 
 believed was equalled by none in the service. Not a 
 very humble opinion, to say the least, but one w^hich I 
 still hold as strongly as ever. 
 
 I have called ourselves the Scilly Islanders, because I 
 have no wish that the reader should penetrate the dis- 
 guise of this veracious history, or set about speculating 
 forthwith as to whether we wore bonnets or bearskins, 
 rifle green, or British scarlet. Suffice it that we bore the 
 names of a score of glorious victories on our colours. 
 But we were by no means a wealthy lot of fellows, or 
 with special fame in racing, cricket, &c. (Polo in those 
 days was played only by the natives on the Assam fron- 
 tier, and had not penetrated to England, or even reached 
 India.) No, our great distinction was that we were the 
 Islanders, and that was enough. Promotion was slow, 
 for gold (it was in the days of purchase) would not 
 tempt fellows to leave, and as for the ranks, when short 
 service was^ as yet, an unknown thing, the men were 
 born and died in the regiment. 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 33 
 
 The epoch to which I am alluding being, of course, 
 before the blissful dawn of the Cardwellian competitive 
 examination era, you could only get into the Scilly 
 Islanders by way of a nomination from an Exalted 
 Personage, who was honoured by being our Colonel. 
 How it was, therefore, that Hunks managed to get 
 gazetted to us we marvelled greatly. We came to the 
 conclusion that the paternal Hunks, whose name to 
 this day you see on reels of cotton, but fail perhaps 
 to recognize as Lord de Hunsby (the de Hunsbys came 
 in with the Conqueror, he has found out), had lent the 
 Exalted Personage money. 
 
 In any case Hunks's appearance followed that of his 
 name in the gazette, and he burst upon our astonished 
 eyes when we were quartered at Punkahpore. He 
 arrived, attended by many native servants, who were 
 plundering him freely, and brought kit enough for a 
 married man with a family, including an 'English dog- 
 cart, and three Arabs he had bought at Bombay for 
 four figures (in rupees) each, and who all presently 
 turned out unsound. He arrived, and, before dinner 
 was half over the first night at mess, he had put our 
 dear old Commanding Officer's back up by enlightening 
 him as to how things were done in his, Hunks's, elder 
 brother's corps, the Green Dragoons. 
 
 "As if the Scilly Islanders wasn't a pattern to a 
 
 dozen of your d d swaggering heavies," the old man 
 
 muttered fiercely over his night-cap " peg " later on. 
 
 Then he dilated, and with a calm assurance which 
 was exasperating ia the extreme to. our Major, the 
 C, M. G. 3 
 
34 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 younger son of one of the most historic commoner 
 families in England, on the glories of the famille 
 Hunks. He related how they had bought up a fine 
 old estate in Wessex, and built a palace on the site of 
 the old hall; and how they rented half a Scotch county 
 from several heads of clans too poor to live on their 
 properties. The Major looked him down from head to 
 foot, but writhed visibly in his chair. By the time the 
 wine was on the table he had informed another of us 
 that his mamma, whose pet and darling he appeared to 
 be, intended him, after he had seen a little soldiering, to 
 marry a well-known beauty, the dowerless daughter of 
 a pauper peer of high degree. 
 
 ^'And I don't think she'll do badly, by George!" 
 quoth Hunks, complacently, filling up his glass with 
 our best champagne (with which he found fault), in 
 blissful ignorance of the fact that the Lady Grace to 
 whom he alluded was first cousin of the man sitting 
 opposite him. But the mess president w^as down upon 
 him like a shot, and informed him that ladies were 
 never mentioned by name at the mess of the Scilly 
 Islanders. 
 
 But trying to set down Hunks was like trying to 
 squash an india-rubber ball ; his rebounding power was 
 wonderful. (We had christened him Buggins, by-the- 
 bye, as soon as we heard him announce that his 
 name was Marmaduke Algernon de Tracy Hunks.) 
 Nevertheless, we all made very fair attempts to succeed 
 in our laudable endeavour. The hot weather was just 
 coming on, and life was a trifle flat at Punkahpore, 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 35 
 
 SO Hunks-baiting became the fashionable diversion 
 amongst us youngsters. Poor fellow ! what a life we 
 led him ! Any thinner skinned person must have 
 suffered tortures, but his armour of conceit was im- 
 penetrable. Nothing could pierce that. But we suffered 
 too. The mere contact with Hunks made us feel such 
 miserable paupers, even such of us as were not " deep 
 in the banks." Little Ruffleby and Dick Derehurst 
 who lived opposite the lordly bungalow where Hunks 
 had taken up his abode in solitary grandeur, said they 
 could smell his money across the road. Fancy a brass 
 bedstead and English furniture upholstered in chintz, 
 for a newly-joined subaltern, when a camp bedstead in 
 the middle of a white-washed room, surrounded by 
 bullock-trunks, was enough furniture for any of us ! 
 
 Before many days were over the fiat went forth 
 amongst us that Buggins was to be suppressed, or we 
 of the Scilly Islanders would know the reason why. 
 The seniors winked at our little games, loathing the 
 newly-joined one as much as we did. We had nim- 
 ble wits amongst us, and were of an inventive turn 
 of mind. It was Derehurst and Ruffleby who packed 
 up Hunks's entire kit one day when he was at re- 
 cruits' drill, and littered his room with his own cards 
 with "P.P.C." written on them in the corner. I strongly 
 suspect that the Captain, who was Lady Grace's cousin^ 
 had a hand in covering Hunks's magnificent gilt mirror 
 with big cards, bearing fictitious invitations to Marma- 
 duke Algernon de Tracy Buggins, from the Grand 
 Lama of Thibet and the Governor-General downwards. 
 
36 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Someone else labelled the contents of his splendid 
 morocco photograph-album with every big name in 
 the peerage, and each night nearly we drank champagne 
 at Hunks's expense, by fining him a magnum for 
 breaches of regimental etiquette, into which we laid 
 traps to lead him. 
 
 One evening a few of us detained him late in the 
 billiard-room where he was being initiated into pool, 
 while a band of others stole round to Buggins' Castle, 
 as we had painted the name on his gate. When our 
 hero at length sought his couch, what was his horror to 
 find his washerman's donkey securely tied down in the 
 English brass bedstead, making the apartment unin- 
 habitable for the night, much to the delight of the 
 spectators concealed in the verandah, awaiting the 
 denouement. We took him out shooting, and afforded 
 him the pleasure of shooting a village pig and a 
 turkey-buzzard, and of bringing them home in triumph 
 as a wild boar and a wild turkey. After a diligent 
 morning's walking in the sun after snipe, over a 
 dried-upy^^^/, where there would be no long bills again 
 for some months, he succeeded, when nearly exhausted, 
 in killing a hoo-poo. This he ate for lunch, to the 
 delight of the entire mess, including the mess-sergeant 
 and the waiters, as his first snipe. We sent him solemn- 
 ly in state, in his dog-cart, to call on the wife of the 
 most influential native of the place, who caught Hunks 
 on the threshold of the zenana^ and would have thrash- 
 ed him if he dared. We put a stuffed cobra into his 
 bed, and slipped a dead whipsnake down the back of 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 37 
 
 his collar after mess. But all was of no avail. Hunks 
 appeared to find himself very comfortable with the 
 Scilly Islanders. The fellow was not only a cad but 
 a fool, and did not seem to know when he was being 
 bullied. 
 
 The rest of the garrison, smart gunners, dashing 
 hussars, began to chaff us about " Our Buggins," and 
 to hint what an ornament he was to our corps. His 
 latest mots, his most recent exploit, were retailed with 
 a guffaw even over the mess table of the native in- 
 fantry officers, whom we looked upon as not fit to black 
 our shoes. We felt we were becoming the laughing- 
 stock of the station, that some of our glory was depart- 
 ing from us, and all on account of Hunks ! 
 
 Things had reached this pass when Captain Smylie, 
 one of the smartest men of the regiment, returned to 
 duty after a long spell as aide-de-camp at Calcutta to 
 a Governor-General who was now going home. We 
 were always very proud of Smylie. In every way he 
 had been quite the neatest thing produced in the way 
 of aides-de-camp for some years, and we youngsters 
 especially thought a great deal of Smylie's opinion 
 about anything. 
 
 It was a great shock for poor Smylie when he return- 
 ed to the old corps to find Hunks rooted in it as if he 
 had joined years ago. I can see Smylie now, the first 
 night at dinner, his eyeglass fixed in his eye, and his 
 quietest, most urbane manner on, carefully dissecting 
 Hunks, and the latter absolutely giving himself away. 
 Little Ruffleby tumbled off his chair with laughing. 
 
38 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " We can't — a — keep that — a — boy," remarked Smyli 
 to a select few, late in the evening. *' He must be 
 
 returned : not up to — a — sample." 
 
 We all assured our mentor we had done our utmost 
 to rid us of him. 
 
 '' He's a wart on the face of the regiment," Smylie 
 
 went on. 
 
 "My dear fellow," put in Derehurst, " youVe not 
 the remotest notion what we've suffered from him. 
 Only the other day I overheard one of the black regi- 
 ment fellows speaking of us as * Buggins' Own.' " 
 
 Smylie knocked the ashes off the end of his cigar 
 with the air of a man who has made up his mind. 
 
 " This must be put an end to. He must go. /'// 
 see to it." 
 
 Now we all felt that a man who has spent some 
 years at an Indian viceregal court, grappling with the 
 precedence code and the invitation list, and who knows 
 to a T who ought to take down whom to dinner, and 
 such-like weighty and momentous questions, was not 
 likely to be at a loss how to deal with a Hunks ; so we 
 went to bed elated. 
 
 Smylie had brought back with him to the regiment 
 the handsome Arab chargers whereon he had been 
 wont to figure in gubernatorial processions, as well as 
 two or three smart ponies which he had used as a 
 means of locomotion on the mountain paths of Simla. 
 One of these, Shaitan by name (an appellation which 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 39 
 
 will not bear translation), was a perfect little fiend. In 
 appearance reddish-brown, with white face, and rolling 
 eye ; he was fast and handy, and altogether delightful 
 when you were once on him. But in his stable no one 
 but his groom dare go withia reach of his wicked hoofs 
 or teeth, and as often as not he had to be blind-folded 
 before Smylie could mount him. For the Shaitan was 
 what is called a man-eater. If handsome is as handsome 
 does, never did a pony's character so belie his looks. 
 
 It was one evening after mess ; the night was dark 
 but sultry, for the hot weather was coming on apace, 
 and we lay in long chairs in the verandah smoking. 
 Hunks, who was on duty that night, was holding forth 
 about the price of something or other he possessed, I 
 forget what, and Smylie was drawing him out. 
 
 Suddenly the striking of the hour by the sentry at 
 the guard-room in barracks, on a piece of iron hung 
 up for the purpose, and which did duty as clock, rang 
 out into the still night air, and reminded our hero that 
 it was time to go and take the guard. 
 
 "What a bore!" he exclaimed. "I forgot to tell 
 my pony to come for me." 
 
 '' Perhaps he forgot to tell your groom," remarked 
 Smylie, dryly ; adding, " I've a pony here, take that." 
 
 No one in India ever sets foot to ground if they can 
 help it, and the guards were some quarter of a mile 
 away, so Buggins accepted the offer. 
 
 Smylie shouted for the groom ; there was a vicious 
 squeal in the darkness, and we all knew he had proffered 
 Hunks the Shaitan. 
 
40 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The darkness favoured Buggins in getting on the 
 pony quietly, and, in blissful ignorance of the animal 
 he was bestriding, he disappeared out of the compound. 
 Smylie called back the groom who was for running 
 behind him as is the custom. 
 
 " Don't you go with that ' Sahib/ Let him manage 
 the pony himself." 
 
 We fell to talking again. There was a consumption 
 of whisky and soda, and we awaited Hunks's return- 
 Time passed. He might have taken half a dozen guards 
 and have been back by now. What could have happen- 
 ed ? Had he forgotten the password and been fired at, 
 for in India the sentries were then loaded ? 
 
 The trotting of a pony up the drive interrupted our 
 conjectures. We all rose up and hailed Hunks. 
 
 No answer. The Shaitan trotted up to the steps of 
 the verandah alone. 
 
 We cautiously retired, for there was an evil look in his 
 eye. Smylie directed the groom to catch hold of his 
 bridle. The pony seemed hot, as if he had been ridden 
 hard. But where was his rider ? 
 
 The groom bent over the little beast, and extracted 
 with difficulty something he held between his teeth and 
 was shaking savagely. 
 
 Smylie took it into the mess-room, and examined it 
 in the light. It was a piece of a scarlet mess-jacket. 
 
 In mortal alarm lest the Shaitan should have made 
 mincemeat of the unfortunate Buggins, we provided our- 
 selves with a lantern, and set off" in search of him. We 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 4I 
 
 had not proceeded far when we fell in with him trudging 
 dejectedly along in the dust, holding his arm. 
 
 "My cap was brushed off by a branch of a tree. 
 I got off to pick it up, and the brute came for me, 
 neighing, squealing, biting, kicking. I ran for it and 
 got behind a tree, and he's dodged me round it for 
 the last half hour, and I think he's nabbed a bit out of 
 my arm." 
 
 His crestfallen appearance, and the vision he con- 
 jured up of hide-and-seek with the Shaitan, was too 
 much for most of us. But we found, on inspecting him, 
 that the pony had left his mark on Hunks, and that the 
 victory remained with the quadruped. 
 
 Next morning, when our hero opened his eyes, he 
 was surprised to see the regimental doctor and Smylie 
 standing by his bed. 
 
 " How do you feel this morning ? " asked the former. 
 
 " O, very fit ! " replied .Hunks, " except my arm's a 
 little stiff where that beast of a pony's teeth scratched 
 me." 
 
 The solemnity deepened on the countenance of the 
 other two, and they looked at each other. 
 
 ** Do you feel at all thirsty ? " asked the surgeon again. 
 
 " Not more than usual in the morning," said Hunks. 
 " Last night was a dry night at mess." 
 
 " Any queer feeling in your throat ? " 
 
 " What on earth are you driving at ? No, my throat's 
 all right. Yes — no — well, perhaps, a little " (swal- 
 lowing). 
 
42 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Another meaning look between Smylie and the sur- 
 geon. Hunks grew alarmed. 
 
 "What's up, doctor ? Do tell me. Is there cholera 
 about ? " 
 
 He got quite white, for we had frightened him well 
 about cholera. 
 
 " O, if it was only cholera ," began Smylie. 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted the surgeon, warningly ; " not a 
 word. Nervousness might bring it on.'' 
 
 " For God's sake, doctor, have done with this and tell 
 me what's the matter," cried poor Hunks, sitting up in 
 bed in an agony. 
 
 '' Tut ! tut ! " said the doctor, soothingly. " Calm 
 yourself Drink a little water." 
 
 Hunks pushed the proffered glass away in a rage. 
 
 " D the beastly water ! I insist on an answer. 
 
 What's the matter with me ? Will you tell me ? " 
 
 Smylie looked at the doctor. The doctor looked at 
 Smylie, and then both looked from the glass of water to 
 Hunks, and shook their heads solemnly. 
 
 " I implore you ! " beseeched the victim. " I can 
 bear the worst." 
 
 " Shall I ? " asked Smylie of the doctor. 
 
 *^ Well, perhaps there is no use concealing it noWy' 
 replied the latter glancing at the water. 
 
 '' Well, then, my poor fellow," Smylie went on, " I 
 grieve to have to tell you that the Shaitan who bit you 
 last night has developed this morning serious symptoms 
 resembling hydro " 
 
HOW WE GOT RID OF HUNKS. 43 
 
 " Oh ! not hydrophobia," gasped Hunks. " It's dogs 
 have it, not horses." 
 
 " In this country, alas ! horses too," corrected the 
 surgeon. " His behaviour last night was very odd." 
 
 " Indeed it was!" gasped Hunks, clutching his arm. 
 '' Oh ! my poor mamma ! What will she say ? Doctor," 
 he added, seizing Jones's hand imploringly, " what can 
 you do ? Is there nothing you can recommend. Save 
 me, I implore you ! My people will make your fortune 
 
 if you do." 
 
 Jones shook his head. " I have so little experience 
 in a case like this. Your symptoms are serious : your 
 throat you feel, your dislike of water " 
 
 " If I were only at home within reach of good ad- 
 vice," Hunks cried in an agony. " Doctor, can't you 
 get me sent home at once ? " 
 
 " Your only chance, I should say," replied Jones, as 
 grave as a judge. " If it could be managed " 
 
 "It must; it shall be managed," Hunks continued 
 hysterically. "I must be off overland immediately. 
 Smylie, there's a good fellow, I implore you go and 
 see the Colonel for me." 
 
 *' I think I can manage it with a sick certificate," 
 said Jones. " Your case is urgent." 
 
 And it was managed. The next steamer removed 
 Hunks from India's coral strand, and from the Scilly 
 Islanders, never to return. The shock had been toc^ 
 much for him and his mamma, who never let him 
 out of her sight again. 
 
44 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I do not know if he ever gave Lady Grace the 
 honour of refusing him ; but I know, when I saw her 
 last, it was at a ball the Scilly Islanders gave to the 
 Exalted Personage when she was her cousin's wife. 
 
 Shaitan was alive and kicking for many years after 
 Hunks bolted home, but his temper did not improve 
 with age. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 
 
 I AM left alone, for the first time in my life. It is 
 my birthday too. I am nineteen to-day. I had almost 
 forgotten it with no one near to recall it. 
 
 Quite alone, save for the tiny pink blossom of a 
 baby dozing in the arms of the ayah in the next room. 
 By-the-bye, he has a birthday to-day, too. He is five 
 weeks old ; a little fragile hot weather baby, yet how 
 much he is to me already, and with what a pang I 
 surrendered him to the aforesaid ayah ! 
 
 Alone at a hotel in an Indian hill-station ! Roger 
 brought me up here, and then had to return and grill 
 in the plains. Poor Roger ! But he has gone through 
 so much hot weather. I could grill no longer, and they 
 ordered me away as soon as I could move. 
 
 Oh ! the terrible heat ! What a blurred recollection 
 of suffering and stagnation are the last few months 
 since the furnace life began. It makes me shudder to 
 look back upon it. 
 
 Up here the air is like champagne, and life seems 
 once more worth living. But my reflection in the glass 
 shows me still a very white little face. Ah ! what a 
 colour I used to have at home ! 
 
 Home ! How lonely the very word makes me feel. 
 
 What a long way off home seems ! I never felt lonely 
 
 • at home. How could I when there were eight of us, all 
 
 in a small country vicarage. How I miss them all ! I 
 
 should like to show baby to the girls. 
 
46 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I miss Roger, too. IVe such a sense of safety when 
 he is with me, just as I have with father, and we have 
 never been separated before. 
 
 Roger will miss me a little, I think. He is gone 
 back to sit in that stifling court-house from six in the 
 morning till twelve. Then when he returns to a late 
 breakfast, I shall not be there to pour out his tea. After- 
 wards, he will go to sleep till it grows cool, when he will 
 drive down to the racket-court, just as he has done 
 for so many hot seasons before he married. But he will 
 not miss me as I miss him. I can't go back to my 
 old life. 
 
 We have been married nearly eleven months. Yet, 
 somehow, Roger always seems to me just as he did 
 when I first saw him. Good and kind he always is ; 
 but so much older, so far wiser, so far removed from me. 
 Even at home they never thought me the clever one 
 among the girls. How inferior I must be to Roger then! 
 
 It is just a year since we met. He had run home on 
 three months' privilege leave, thin and tanned. 
 
 The first Sunday that he was stopping at the Hall, 
 and sat in the Hall pew, I remember he looked at me 
 all church time, and how uncomfortable he made me 
 feel. Then, after church, Harry asked father who the 
 " old fossil " was. They had no idea what a great man 
 he is out here, a little King ruling a district as big as 
 an English county ! 
 
 I've sometimes asked Roger what made him single 
 me out of all the girls. I am not so tall as Lucy, nor 
 anything like so clever as Kate. 
 
MY WEDDING DAV. 47 
 
 But Roger would never answer. He would only- 
 smile, and try and stroke my hair smooth. 
 
 Dear mother ! I shall never forget how her eyes filled 
 with tears when I came up to her room that night 
 when Roger had asked me to marry him (after the 
 tennis party at the Hall), to tell her all about it, and 
 ask her what I should do. 
 
 How fervently she kissed me. " Indeed, Lily, you 
 are a lucky girl ! He's a good man, and then an Indian 
 civilian is always worth three hundred a year, dead or 
 alive ! " 
 
 Three weeks later we were married, and the next 
 week I left them all for India. 
 
 I remember I did not think much of mother's words 
 at the time, but when I came out here to the big house, 
 the tribe of servants, the horses, and the carriages, it 
 was all very nice. If only the others could have seen 
 and had a share in all my grandeur ! We were so 
 poor. It seemed almost wrong for me, little Lily, to 
 go driving about in a big carriage and pair, while poor, 
 tired mother was tramping about the village at home. 
 
 Oh ! how doubly lonely and heart-sick it makes me 
 to write and think about them all. I feel so utterly 
 forlorn. Even Roger gone, Roger, who a little while 
 ago seemed almost a stranger. 
 
 As I write, the great Indian full moon streams in 
 at the open window, with the never-ceasing chirping 
 of the crickets, or the distant baying of a pariah-dog. 
 The moon is sailing away placidly in a cloudless sap- 
 phire sky, above the dusky forest-clad precipices, and 
 
48 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 over the deep, dark, silent lake. But even she is alter-? 
 ed. She can't be the same pale, tremulous moon that 
 used to peep into my little room at home ! 
 
 And I am altered, too. It is impossible that I can 
 be the same Lily she used to find there. 
 
 What a noise of laughing and talking. It will wake 
 baby. It is the company dispersing from the table d'hote ^ 
 I have had a little dinner alone here. I shall never sum- 
 mon up courage to face that long tableful of smart 
 women and military-looking men, all by myself. It 
 was quite enough of an ordeal when Roger was here 
 to protect me. I am always shy with strangers, and 
 never did the talking at home. 
 
 There ! A weak little whine like a kitten's. They 
 did wake baby. I must go to him. 
 
 vF ^ ^ * 
 
 Since I wrote the above I have been dining out all 
 by myself ! How very brave of me ! And my courage 
 has been rewarded by having a very pleasant evening. 
 
 It came about in this wise. 
 
 Mrs. Carruthers is the wife of the Commissioner here. 
 I don't exactly understand what a commissioner is. 
 At home I know he's something unpleasant, something 
 to do with taxes. Here, I believe, it is the next step 
 above Roger, who often talks of the time when he 
 will be a Commissioner. 
 
 Anyhow, Mrs. Carruthers is a great lady, and rules 
 society. I feel rather afraid of her. The Carruthers 
 are old friends of Roger's, and he introduced them 
 to me one day when we met them on the Mall, as \ 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 49 
 
 was being carried along in my *' dandy." My dandy ! 
 How I sometimes long for the boys to see me, when 
 I go forth for my evening walk, borne aloft like Guy 
 Fawkes on men's shoulders in an armchair. Wouldn't 
 they laugh ! 
 
 Mrs. Carruthers was very affable. In answer to 
 Roger's apologies she graciously consented to forgive 
 my not having called, and hoped I would come and 
 dine quietly one evening when I was stronger, and 
 left alone. 
 
 I did not dare to get out of the invitation when it 
 came. Besides, Mrs. Carruthers seemed motherly, and 
 called me '' dear." 
 
 The room was quite full when I went in, I wonder- 
 ed what the Carruthers called dining " quietly." And 
 I had on only a little white muslin frock. 
 
 In my character of bride 1 was taken in by 
 Mr. Carruthers. I shall be thankful when I have been 
 married a year, and have done with all the dull old 
 gentlemen at dinner. 
 
 Happily, Mr. Carruthers seemed too hungry for con- 
 versation. He eats no lunch, after this dreadful Anglo- 
 Indian fashion, and is consequently starved and irritable 
 by eight o'clock. So he just introduced me to my 
 neighbour and settled down to gobble up his soup. 
 
 Captain Tressinger, a tall man, rather bronzed, with 
 a long fair moustache and a pair of bright blue eyes, 
 bowed, and looked down at me. 
 
 I don't remember much about the dinner, though 
 I am always trying to remember other people's menus. 
 C, M. G. 4 
 
$0 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I don't remember any of Mr. Carruthers' remarks, all 
 interspersed with Hindoostanee expressions, which he 
 had to explain. 
 
 I don't even remember much of what Captain Tres- 
 singer said. I fancied he did not talk much, only 
 looked a great deal. Anyhow, presently I found my- 
 self chattering away as if I had known him for years. 
 At home they always said I was a chatterbox when 
 I was not shy. And he looked at me so kindly. 
 
 After dinner (how sorry I was when Mrs. Carruthers 
 nodded at me as the signal to rise) there was music. 
 Mr. Carruthers had indigestion, I presume, for he went 
 to sleep in a big chair, and almost snored. 
 
 The room was very hot, and I was still far from strong 
 and felt weary with the unwonted excitement. My 
 flushed face suddenly turned cold, and the room began 
 going round. I hastily made an excuse to get out into 
 the verandah for a gasp of fresh air. Once out, I flung 
 myself into the nearest chair, and closed my eyes, feel- 
 ing as if I should faint. 
 
 Suddenly, some one bent over me. It was my neigh- 
 bour at dinner, asking if he should call Mrs. Carruthers, 
 or get me anything. 
 
 I implored him not to make any fuss, only to leave 
 me alone, and closed my eyes again. 
 
 But he did not go away. He took my fan and began 
 fanning me gently. In a few minutes I felt much better, 
 and said I would go back to the drawingroom. But 
 Captain Tressinger would not let me, and sat down in 
 a chair by my side. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 5 1 
 
 It was a lovely night. The bright moon lit up the 
 depths of the lake below, and the mountains all around. 
 I felt too tired for much talking, and lying back in the 
 chair, enjoyed the stillness and the balmy night air. 
 
 Inside some one sang a song about the " Fairies." 
 The refrain — "And you shall touch with your finger 
 tips the ivory gates and the golden," came through the 
 open window to us, and passed on into the still night 
 
 Suddenly Captain Tressinger asked, looking down at me, 
 
 " Do you believe in fairyland ? " 
 
 I smiled, and answered that of course no grown-up 
 person does. Then I sighed, and added, that I used to 
 fervently, and wished I could now. 
 
 He looked at me a little, curiously, as, somehow, I 
 never rem.ember having seen anyone look before. 
 
 " I do ! " he said in a low voice. 
 
 '' What do you mean ? " I laughed, at the idea of a big 
 man like that believing in fairies. 
 
 Then he explained. 
 
 Somewhere or other he had read that once, and once 
 only in our lives, some one leads us to the ivory gates 
 and the golden, and puts the key into our hands. Once, 
 and once only do the gates open for us, and we catch 
 a glimpse of fairyland. Sooner or later, all get their 
 glimpse; some get a short one, some a long one. But all 
 get a deep one once in their lives. To some it comes 
 early, to some late ; to some too late, he added sadly. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 I did not quite understand what he meant. I suppose 
 he noticed it, for he added : 
 
52 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " You have not had your peep yet, I feel sure. But 
 some day you will, and then remember what I told you^ 
 will you ? " 
 
 Just then there was a stir within. Some of the 
 guests were departing, and I rose and went in to take 
 leave too. 
 
 I was packed up in my " dandy " and started home- 
 wards. I had not gone very far when there was a 
 clatter of ponies' hoofs behind me down the path, 
 and Captain Tressinger came up and asked if he might 
 see me home. 
 
 I was still nervous over my " jampannees," lest in 
 the dark they should stumble in these rocky paths and 
 drop me, and I was only too glad not to be alone, the 
 moon cast such inky shadows under the trees. 
 
 By-the-bye, Captain Tressinger talked a good deal 
 about the moon as he walked home by the side 
 of my "dandy." He quoted poetry. I am rather 
 afraid some of it was Byron. Now, at home, we 
 girls were never allowed to read Byron. But it 
 was very pretty. 
 
 I am interrupted in writing this by a caller. The 
 
 servant brings in the card. 
 
 It is Captain Tressinger. I'm so glad. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I am ashamed to find my poor diary has been drop- 
 ped again. What will Lucy say? She made me 
 promise when J went away I would keep a diary. 
 
 It dropped in the hot weather when I was so ill. 
 But, when I came up to the hills and was left quite 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. S3 
 
 alone with baby, I took it up again. I seemed to need 
 some one to talk to. 
 
 But lately I've not been nearly so much alone, for I 
 have found a friend whom I can talk to as much as I like. 
 
 This is Captain Tressinger, and our friendship dates 
 from Mrs. Carruthers' dinner party. 
 
 He is the first real soldier I have ever known. 
 When he's on duty he appears in uniform. And very 
 well he looks in it. (If I were a man I should always 
 wear my uniform.) 
 
 He is living in this hotel, and, thanks to him, I have 
 summoned up courage to face the table dhoie meals 
 again. The tepid food brought me in my own sitting- 
 room was not nice. Captain Tressinger sits next to 
 me, and I don't feel shy. All the other gentlemen are 
 very civil and kind. 
 
 This is a strange new life I am leading up in this 
 lovely nook in the Himalayas. I am beginning to feel 
 quite strong, the air is so cool and keen. 
 
 It is indeed a lovely spot. The lake lies in a cup, 
 like the crater of an extinct volcano. All around rise 
 steep, wooded precipices covered with ilex and cypress 
 and rhododendron, with here and there a red blossom 
 left, for in April they dyed the mountain-side crimson. 
 
 The lake is green and deep, and sleeps placidly 
 under the shadow of jutting crags on one side and of 
 the willows on the other. 
 
 It is all more beautiful than anything I ever dreamt 
 of I said one day to Captain Tressinger that it was 
 like fairyland. 
 
54 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 He answered that it was fairyland to him. He is 
 very kind. Nearly every day he comes and takes me 
 for a walk. It is very dull to go out alone, carried 
 aloft to the music of the " jampannees'" grunts and 
 groans. So I am only too glad, with Guy Tressinger 
 as a guide, to lose myself in these beautiful paths, wind- 
 ing in and out, among rocks and precipices, through 
 ferny woods and by mountain sides, with far spreading 
 views of plains and snows. 
 
 Sometimes in the afternoons, when it is hotter than 
 usual, and we feel lazy, we go on the lake. We take 
 the Canadian canoe and Guy paddles, while I loll on 
 cushions at the other end. Then, where the shadows 
 are deepest and coolest under Smuggler's Rock, we 
 generally come to a standstill altogether, and Guy 
 smokes, while I talk, or lie and watch the mysterious 
 lights and shadows of evening floating over lake and 
 peak. The prayer gong sounds from the Hindoo 
 temple on the shore, vespers ring out from St. Mary's 
 Convent in the trees, and a chorus of frogs comes up 
 from the reeds by the water's edge. 
 
 One day Guy Tressinger did a fearful thing that 
 almost makes me shudder to write about. 
 
 Far over our heads, on the precipitous cliffs, grew a rare 
 fern. I, heedlessly, said how I wished I could get it 
 
 Guy said nothing at the time, but after a while, when 
 he had finished his cigar, he flung away the end, and 
 paddling to shore, tied up the boat under a tree. Then, 
 almost before I knew what he was about to do, clambered 
 up the rocks, hanging on by his hands and toes. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 55 
 
 I got dreadfully frightened ; it looked so fearfully- 
 dangerous. A single false step might have sent him 
 headlong, not into the lake, but to be dashed to pieces 
 on the rocks below. I called to him as loud as I could 
 to come back, that I did not want the fern. But he 
 only turned his head with a smile and shouted back 
 that it was all right. 
 
 Worse followed. He found he could not reach the 
 wretched plant from below, but had to climb up above 
 it, and then hanging down head and shoulders over the 
 precipice, reach down to it with one hand. It was too 
 horrible to see ! I fairly screamed aloud and hid my 
 face in my hands that I might not see him. 
 
 Presently, I don't knowhow soon, he was back again by 
 my side, and touched me on the arm, holding out the ferns. 
 
 I suppose I looked up with a scared face, for he looked 
 distressed. 
 
 " Did I really frighten you ? Oh ! Tm so sorry ! It 
 was nothing, you know." 
 
 " Promise me, promise me that you will never do any- 
 thing so dangerous again. I can't bear to see you ! " 
 
 He looked at me, for a moment, strangely, as if about 
 to say something. Then suddenly he turned away 
 sprang into the canoe and seized the paddle. 
 
 *' It's getting late and damp for you to be out." 
 
 His voice sounded forced and husky. 
 
 Then without a word he paddled home fast and 
 furiously. But when I got in I was surprised to find it 
 was not really so very late after all. 
 
56 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Ten days have passed since I wrote in my diarry. 
 Only ten days — and yet what a change they havs 
 brought ! 
 
 All, all is altered ! The veil is torn from my eyes, the 
 illusion over. I see now the precipice that yawned at 
 my feet. 
 
 No longer am I the light-hearted, innocent girl, but 
 a woman, a hundred years older. A miserable, con- 
 science-stricken woman. 
 
 Now I see plainly how Guy Tressinger loves me ; and 
 I — with shame let me confess it — I know that in my 
 heart of hearts I love him as I never dreamed I could 
 love anyone. 
 
 With him I am happy. Without him, I am restless 
 and wretched till he comes again. My life seems to 
 hinge on him, to consist in his presence, in hearing his 
 voice. 
 
 I look back to before I knew him. I see now how 
 starved, and cold, and loveless my existence was. I look 
 forward with despair to a future in which he cannot, 
 may not, find a place. 
 
 Allj this I feel to be wrong — dreadfully, desperately 
 wrong 1 But I can't help it. 
 
 It has overmastered me, overpowered me. I know it 
 is love ! 
 
 What have I done that I should be so happy and yet 
 so miserable ; that I should taste this bitter-sweet — this 
 pleasurable pain ? 
 
 For the last few weeks I have been living in a fool's 
 paradise. It was fairyland, the fairyland of which Guy 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 57 
 
 spoke that evening when first we met. He has given 
 me the key. He has opened for me ''the ivory gates 
 and the golden." 
 
 And this one short glimpse of fairyland has changed 
 all the world to me. Who can come back from such 
 a golden vision and view the commonplace earth with 
 the same eyes again ? Oh ! why did I ever go in ? 
 And yet I hug to my heart the peep I have had ! 
 This is how I awoke out of my dream. 
 There was a big ball at the Assembly Rooms by 
 the lake, to which I was persuaded to go. The Car- 
 ruthers said it was the ball of the season, and that I 
 ought to go if only for once. 
 
 Then a great wish came over me for a dance and 
 to wear a certain new ball-dress that had never even 
 been unpacked. 
 
 Lastly, one day Guy begged me, with that strange, 
 imploring look of his, which now, alas ! I understand 
 so well, to go to please him. 
 
 I had never in my life been but to one big ball, and 
 that was the Hunt Ball. It had seemed to me gor- 
 geous, inasmuch as the gentlemen wore pink. Imagine 
 then, what I thought as I entered the Bachelors' Ball 
 and found nearly all the male portion in uniform, 
 including fat old Mr. Carrathers, in a nondescript coat 
 with brass buttons they told me was something 
 political. 
 
 In the gallery a scarlet and gold Lancer band dis- 
 coursed soul-stirring waltzes. My dress was pretty ; I 
 felt young and strong. I knew I could dance ; partners 
 
58 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 crowded round. At my elbow was Guy Tressinger 
 begging for as many dances as I would give him, and 
 then — oh, intoxicating bliss ! — whirling me off in his 
 arms into fairyland. 
 
 What wonder if I lost my head. I was only mortal, 
 and it was fairyland. 
 
 Then came the awakening. 
 
 We, Guy and I, were sitting out in the dim verandah 
 overlooking the lake. There was no moon, only stars. 
 All was dark and mysterious. The sound of the music 
 mingled with the night breeze in the trees and the lap 
 of the water against the building. 
 
 They were playing " Mia Cara." Ah, me ! those 
 melancholy, deep low notes will haunt me to my dying 
 day. 
 
 We had the corner all to ourselves, no one within 
 earshot. I do [not know how long we had been there. 
 Guy had been talking rather hurriedly and excitedly. 
 His face was close enough in the dark for me to see 
 how flushed it was, how brightly his eyes shone, and 
 how fiercely he tugged at his moustache. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 Even I, the chatterbox, was silent. I was with him. 
 I was happy — too happy for words. 
 
 Something made me afraid to break the silence. I 
 felt as if I were treading on a volcano which might 
 burst under me at any moment. It was like a lull 
 before a storm ; as if the air were hot and stifling, the 
 thunder rumbling, and in another moment the torrent 
 of passionate words must fall. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 59 
 
 I suppose an older, wiser woman than I, with more 
 knowledge of the world, would have stopped him. But 
 I was only a child, and unwittingly my heart was all 
 his. 
 
 Then it came. 
 
 " Tell me, why were you so frightened the other day 
 when I climbed up Smuggler's Rock ? " He asked it 
 earnestly, and his eyes asked it too. 
 
 " I frightened ? Oh ! I — I was afraid — it was very 
 silly — afraid you would fall and be — hurt yourself." I 
 could not say killed. 
 
 " Did you care ? Would you have cared if I had ? " 
 he continued incoherently. His hand stole nearer mine, 
 took my fan from me, and played with it nervously. 
 
 I looked up. I do not know what answer I meant 
 to give. But I met his eyes. They seemed to burn 
 me through, and I never answered anything. There 
 was no need for words. 
 
 Then I let my head droop, my heart beating like a 
 sledge hammer, so that I could scarcely breathe. 
 
 " I'm going away soon," he went on, after a pause, 
 hurriedly and hoarsely. He bent down over me, his 
 breath fanned my cheek. 
 
 " My time at the depot will be up very soon, you 
 know, very soon now. My peep into fairyland is over, 
 our peep, may I say our peep?" He seized my hand. 
 
 " Lily, say you're sorry. Oh ! say you'll miss me ! " 
 
 I looked up and it was a moment before I grasped 
 his meaning. Going away ! 
 
 " No, no, I can't have you go ! " 
 
60 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 It broke from me unawares, and then, over-strung, 
 I covered my face with my hands and burst into hysteri- 
 cal tears. 
 
 The grasp on my hand tightened till it hurt me. Just 
 then the music ceased and couples of dancers came 
 streaming into the verandah. 
 
 Guy rose, and leaning over the railing, stood there 
 looking down into the dark lake. 
 
 I fancied I heard a groan. 
 
 Then a feeling of horror got possession of me. I felt 
 afraid of myself, afraid of him, like a hunted creature 
 brought to bay. 
 
 Mastering myself with a violent effort, I rose quickly 
 and left the spot. 
 
 At the door of the brilliantly lighted ball-room, I found 
 Mr. Carruthers, for a wonder, wide awake at this hour. 
 
 " I've got such a headache. Would you be so kind 
 as to get my ' dandy ' for me ? I must go home." 
 
 Happily, Mr. Carruthers is very short-sighted. I felt 
 thankful for it. It was but a short distance back to the 
 hotel, but the maddening waltzes rang through 'my fever- 
 ed brain all the way. 
 
 I went up to my room, and pulled aside the curtain 
 that separated it from baby's. Then I let it fall again. 
 
 No ! I felt I could not face that little innocent, with 
 my guilty secret weighing on my soul. 
 
 I paced the room restlessly, full of conflicting doubts 
 and fears and self-reproaches. 
 
 Then I took off my ball-dress, and pulled the flowers 
 off my head and bosom. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 6l 
 
 Oh ! that wretched ball ; why did I ever go to it ? 
 
 The room seemed to stifle me. I flung open the 
 window and sat down at my writing table. The night 
 breezes cooled my fevered head. Almost mechanically 
 as it were, from the need of confessing to some one, I 
 began to write my diary. 
 
 It has done me good. It has calmed me, though I 
 feel as heart-sick, as despairing, as before. 
 
 A faint glow of dawn is perceptible in the air. A caw- 
 ing of half awakened crows comes in at the window. 
 
 Another day has begun. The beginning of a life all 
 
 changed for me. Suddenly with a start I recollect it is 
 
 the anniversary of my wedding day. 
 
 * * ^ * * 
 
 I have come across the above sheets of an almost for- 
 gotten diary, kept years ago when I first came to India. 
 
 The chapter of my life to which they refer is closed 
 for ever. The wounds are healed if the scars remain. 
 So I will now finish the story of my wedding day. 
 
 Since then we have had many anniversaries of our 
 wedding day, but none, thank God, like the first. Roger 
 and I are staunch friends, if lovers we have never been, 
 and have weathered together many blazing hot weathers 
 and drenching monsoons. 
 
 Our children are growing up around us. The little 
 white cross, underneath which sleeps my little lost dar- 
 ling among the everlasting hills, was all moss-grown and 
 ancient-looking when last I visited it. 
 
 As I write, the agony of that loss comes welling up 
 as if it were yesterday. 
 
62 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 But time softens all. I had my glimpse into fairy- 
 land, the fairyland of love, hand in hand with Guy 
 Tressinger, years ago. It is all over now, only the me- 
 mory comes back to me with the " pain that is all but 
 a pleasure." 
 
 But to go back to my wedding day. 
 Worn out with weeping and despair I fell into a 
 deep, heavy sleep when day broke. From this I was 
 soon awakened. 
 
 The ayah was standing over me, begging me to 
 come quickly to baby, who was very ill. 
 
 In an instant I was by his cot, dazed and terrified. 
 There was no doubt of it. His wee face was blue 
 and drawn. His tiny hands were tightly clenched 
 with the thumbs turned inwards, while his little limbs 
 twitched convulsively. 
 
 Even at this distance of time certain events of that 
 long weary day stand out as distinctly as if it were 
 yesterday, while the whole day is one long blue of 
 agony, almost still too painful for me to describe in 
 detail. It was a succession of hopes and fears. I 
 hardly realised anything or felt real myself. I seemed 
 a third person looking on at myself and baby. 
 
 At last, after what seemed an age of waiting, the 
 doctor came. He looked very grave, and asked all 
 manner of questions, which I answered as best I might. 
 Then he gave his opinion. 
 
 " I 'm afraid you won't save him." 
 He was only a young fellow, of the Army Medical 
 Department. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 63 
 
 He had never known heart-ache in his life. I am 
 *^ure he did not in the least realise how his words fell 
 like lead on my heart numbed with grief. 
 
 Then he offered to telegraph to Roger, adding he 
 was afraid he would not get here in time. I let him 
 do it, knowing all the while, though I hardly had the 
 power to think, that it was quite impossible for Roger 
 to get away at all. 
 
 Some time in the middle of the day (I did not keep 
 count of hours) I was roused, as I sat by baby's cradle, 
 from a stupor almost as great as that into which he 
 had fallen, by Guy Tressinger's voice in the verandah, 
 enquiring after me. 
 
 My heart gave a great bound. Here, at least, was 
 a friend ; some one to cling to in this great, overwhelm- 
 ing trouble. 
 
 But my next thought was one of horror. No, no, 
 I would not, could not see him while Roger's baby — 
 our baby — lay a-dying. It would be adding to my 
 guilt. Was not, perhaps, this blow a punishment for 
 having thought too much of him ? 
 
 I rocked myself to and fro in my lonely grief over 
 my darling's bed, putting Guy out of my thoughts. 
 
 When the doctor came again there was a slight rally. 
 The fits ceased for a time. Still his face looked grey 
 and drawn. You might have said a wax doll was 
 lying there, you could hardly see his breathing. 
 
 Guy called again, and yet again, as the weary 
 afternoon dragged on and the sun shone low in the 
 
64 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 verandah. The hotel was astir with people going for 
 their evening walks and rides. 
 
 Then he sent in a note. 
 
 " My heart aches for you. Only tell me what I can do 
 to help you. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 ^'G. T." 
 
 Even while I was gazing at the note, a cry from the 
 ayah drew my attention to the boy. 
 
 Alas ! another convulsion had set in. His little face 
 and limbs were twitching again. 
 
 When the doctor returned half an hour later, in 
 tennis flannels, his bat under his arm, baby was quiet 
 again, but he said another fit like that would carry him 
 off. 
 
 The sun set. The short twilight came on. The 
 room grew dark. Night fell — an inky, dark, moonless 
 night. 
 
 With it came suddenly a great horror of loneliness^ 
 with a longing for mother, such as I had not felt since 
 I was a child, and I awoke up in a fright in the dark 
 and wanted comfort. 
 
 I could not cry. I had not shed a tear all day. 
 I sat there alone in the darkened room, wailing 
 *' Mother, mother ! " 
 
 Oh ! if she could only have heard ! How she would 
 have hurried to me, and suffered with me. 
 
 Baby lay in a state of coma. At times I thought 
 him dead. I had to strain my ear so as to catch his 
 breathing. I do not know how the time passed. They 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 65 
 
 brought lights, they offered me food. I neither stirred 
 nor answered. 
 
 Suddenly there was a sound of a man's footsteps 
 clanking down the verandah. There was an alterca- 
 tion of voices outside; and then the curtain across the 
 door was pushed aside, and Guy Tressinger entered in 
 uniform. 
 
 " I have to go round the guards, past the telegraph 
 office. Can I do anything for you ?" 
 
 He stood hesitating in the doorway and looked 
 beseechingly at me. 
 
 The sound of his voice roused me. I looked up. I 
 met those eyes, which always influenced me so strange- 
 ly, and they broke the spell, 
 
 I rose, and rushing towards him hid my face on his 
 shoulder, and burst into wild, passionate weeping. 
 
 Even now I can feel his arms around me, and his 
 hot kisses on my cheek as he murmured : 
 
 " My darling, my poor darling ! " 
 
 There was a sound of approaching footsteps. He 
 pushed me gently away. The doctor entered, and 
 went over to baby's bed. I followed, and I think .Guy. 
 left the room. 
 
 Baby was in another convulsion, worse than any of the 
 preceding attacks. The doctor shook his head, and 
 tried to get a few drops of medicine inside the tightly, 
 clenched little mouth. Then he shook his head, again. . 
 
 " I can do no more." 
 
 I bent over the cot and took baby up in my arms^^ 
 
 I felt I would like to feel him there as long as I could. 
 C, M. G. 5 
 
66 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Poor mite ! His wide, blue eyes rolled back and be- 
 came fixed. 
 
 The doctor went and looked out into the dark night. 
 
 How time passed I know not. I seemed stunned. 
 
 Suddenly there was a great commotion outside, a 
 running down the verandah, a calling for the doctor. 
 He went out, saying he would return directly. 
 
 I caught what they said to him outside. 
 
 " You're wanted at once, doctor. There's been an 
 accident. Tressinger's fallen over the precipice. He 
 was galloping wildly to the guard-room and his pony 
 shied with him, and they both went over. A fatigue 
 party has turned out to look for him. Come at once." 
 
 He looked in at the door, and must have seen from 
 my face that I had heard all. 
 
 I motioned him away. 
 
 '' Go, go at once. Don't delay." 
 
 And then I bent over my baby, praying as never 
 in my life I had prayed before, not that he might be 
 spared, but that I might be taken with him. 
 
 There was a long, long interval of silence and soli- 
 tude. 
 
 Baby was quiet and still ; such a feather-weight on 
 my arm. 
 
 I heard a distant clock strike midnight, an owl 
 screech, and a pack of jackals fill the night with their 
 unearthly music, before the doctor returned. 
 
 When he did so, his face was white and set, and 
 he seemed afraid to meet my eye. 
 
 I looked up at him. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 6/ 
 
 There must have been command as well as entreaty 
 in my face. 
 
 " Tell me," I asked in a harsh, hoarse voice, which 
 sounded to me as if some one else was speaking. 
 
 He hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Captain Tressinger has met " 
 
 " Tell me," I repeated. 
 
 His head drooped : 
 
 " He must have been killed instantly ! " 
 
 Then he came across and bent over baby. 
 
 " Let me take him from you now. He does not 
 need you any more." 
 
MRS. CARAMEL'S BOW-WOW. 
 
 Rightly or wrongly, people talked a good deal at 
 the time, more even than people generally do talk in 
 an Indian hill - station, which is saying a good deal. 
 Mrs. Caramel was young, pretty, and attractive. She had 
 met Herbert Aynsley one cold season at Punkahpore, 
 and he had been much smitten. Then the following 
 hot weather she had gone up to the hills alone for six 
 months, to escape the heat, and he had taken leave 
 and followed her thither. Up at that naughty little 
 nook Nimree, among the rhododendrons and under the 
 shadow of the mighty mountains, they were always 
 together ; for Mrs. Caramel found , her own society 
 unendurable. At the balls, after dancing eight or ten 
 dances together, Aynsley would take her down to 
 supper, and afterwards escort her home, under the stars, 
 to her chalet-like cottage among the crags, where any 
 one calling always found him hanging about very much 
 at home. Then they were met in the twilight return- 
 ing from long rides together, their ponies being led 
 behind them while he helped her down the steep places. 
 Long sunny afternoons he sculled her about the lake, 
 and the great full Indian moon would beam down 
 upon them idling about in canoes. Finally, it became 
 an understood thing that neither would go to any 
 dinner or picnic in which the other was not included^ 
 and that a seat must always be reserved for him every- 
 where next to her. To use the common Anglo-Indian 
 
MRS. caramel's bow-wow. 69 
 
 slang, in short, Aynsley was acknowledged as Mrs. 
 Caramel's " bow-wow." 
 
 Of course it was all a great pity, and Mrs. Caramel 
 was very silly. But Herbert Aynsley was a good-look- 
 ing young fellow, smarter and better groomed than 
 the average competition-wallah. On the other hand, 
 Colonel Caramel was fat and stupid, and years older 
 than his wife. He did not seem to mind, if indeed he 
 noticed, what was on everyone's tongue. One's own 
 affairs are often more one's neighbour's business than 
 one's own. 
 
 However, this had taken place some years ago, and 
 now they were all at home. The Caramels had retired 
 from the service. The Colonel had come into a little 
 money, and had developed gouty tendencies ; and they 
 had settled down in a small house in Wessex, which 
 had been left them with the property. 
 
 But the Herbert Aynsley friendship had not waned. 
 As long as they were in India, though often widely 
 separated by the exigencies of their respective services, 
 he had generally contrived to get up to the hills for a 
 little to Mrs. Caramel in summer, and to run over and 
 see . her at Christmas, or for an odd week now and 
 again. It was quite an old story now, and people 
 generally accepted it, as they do accept such friendship- 
 in the easy-going East. Aynsley was now home on 
 sick-leave, and of course staying down in Wessex with 
 the Caramels. But there was another reason for his 
 being there besides his old penchant for Mrs. Caramel. 
 This latter had grown decidedly stout ; also she had 
 
70 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 lost some of her good looks, and presented the washed- 
 out appearance of Anglo-Indian beauties when viewed 
 in contrast with their fresher English sisters. Aynsley 
 was getting a little tired of her. Then the doctors had 
 told him he ought not to go back to India again ; but 
 alas ! he was overwhelmed with debts, the result of 
 years of extravagance. What was to be done ? Mrs. 
 Caramel was fully alive to the state of affairs. Like a 
 wise woman, she seized the bull by the horns, and 
 determined to get him married. Like the true friend 
 she was, with the utmost devotion she discovered an 
 heiress for him. 
 
 The McKinlay's widow and only daughter lived at 
 the big house, Ashleigh Manor, only a stone's throw 
 from the Caramel's little place. Old McKinlay had 
 made a large fortune in business, bought the property, 
 and then died. His only surviving child was Caroline, 
 aged nineteen — ^just the girl Mrs. Caramel wanted to get 
 hold of for Aynsley. She was a thoroughly good girl 
 this Caroline McKinlay : very strictly brought up, and 
 gentle and loving. She would make him a harmless* 
 commonplace sort of wife. Then she had 8000/. a year. 
 A further advantage was that she was decidedly plain? 
 with sandy hair, pale eyes, and a bad complexion — not 
 at all the sort of girl to exercise much influence over a 
 man like Aynsley ; and Mrs. Caramel was not in the 
 least afraid of his getting too fond of her. Her mother 
 was a tall, angular, sharp-featured Scotch-woman, who 
 had married McKinlay in his early obscure days, and 
 had not and never would accommodate herself entirely 
 
MRS. caramel's bow-wow. ft 
 
 to her improved position. She was a strong Presbyterian, 
 and took an austere view of life ; but in deference 
 to her position as mistress of Ashleigh Manor, she con- 
 descended on Sundays to occupy the great square pew 
 in the village church, which went with the big house. 
 
 Aynsley's suit had progressed charmingly. All that 
 beautiful month of August he had laid siege to the 
 heiress's heart. He was to her as a god descended from 
 Olympus ; she had met very few men, and none to be 
 compared to him. In the meantime, Mrs. Caramel, 
 with her honeyed little ways, had quite captivated the 
 mamma. In fact, she had obtained so much influence 
 over that lady, who imagined her the " glass of fashion 
 and the mould of form," that she had actually persuad- 
 ed her to issue invitations for a grand garden party 
 (dances Mrs. McKinlay deemed a snare of the Evil 
 One), to commemorate Caroline's nineteenth birthday, 
 when the house should be thrown open for the first time 
 since the old man's death. At this party Mrs. Caramel 
 intended that Aynsley should lay the copingstone on 
 her plans by proposing to the heiress. 
 
 The evening before this great event Mrs. Caramel sat 
 on her little lawn, after tennis was over, dispensing tea, 
 or rather brandy-and-soda, and good advice simulta- 
 neously, to Aynsley, who lay on his back on the grass, 
 looking very handsome in his flannels, and contemplat- 
 ing lazily the little spiral curls of smoke he puffed 
 up into the air. 
 
 '' You're really very lazy to-night, Bertie," she remark-- 
 ed from the depths of a low basket chair ; " Fm sure 
 
J2 . INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 youVe not attending even to what I am saying to you. 
 You must really make up your mind — that is, if you 
 have any to make up, which I almost begin to doubt — 
 as to when you are going to do it. Is it to be when 
 you give her the bouquet (it will be down from Covent 
 Garden the first thing to-morrow morning), or shall it 
 come off in the evening, after everyone has left ? I 
 could bring her into the garden and make an opportunity 
 for you. Now tell me, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " I really don't know, and I'm sure I don't care," 
 drawled Herbert. ^' By Jove ! it's really an awful 
 thought that by this time to-morrow a fellow may not 
 be his own master any longer ! And then there's that 
 old canting hag of a mother, too ! I shall belong half 
 to her, I suppose," 
 
 " Really, Herbert, you're very exasperating to-night," 
 pouted Mrs. Caramel. '^ Here am I arranging all this 
 for you, and you are too lazy even to decide, much less 
 to say thank you. Why, 1 suppose," she sighed^ " you 
 never even give me a thought in the matter. Perhaps 
 this is the last evening I shall even be allowed to call 
 you ' Bertie,' for instance, after all these years." And 
 her handkerchief went up to her pretty blue eyes. 
 
 " Come, come, little woman," said Herbert soothingly, 
 rousing himself as he spoke. " That's all nonsense, you 
 know. We shall always be the same to each other 
 whatever happens ; you know that. Come along, and 
 let's have a row on the river before dinner." And he 
 put his arm in hers and led her away. 
 
MRS. caramel's bow-wow. 73 
 
 The next day was the garden-party. A bright after- 
 noon, and the place looked its best. Not so Caroline 
 McKinlay, tortured with hopes and fears as to Aynsley's 
 intentions ; and then, as Mrs. Caramel charitably re- 
 marked, she never looked well in white. There were 
 tennis-nets on the lawns, the Militia band under the 
 trees. Tents with refreshments and little umbrella-tents 
 were dotted about picturesquely. The flower-garden 
 was a blaze of colour, ditto the toilettes of the guests. 
 All the world of Wessex was there, many more than 
 Mrs. McKinlay knew the names of ; for in the country 
 we visit the houses and not the people who live in them, 
 and Ashleigh Manor had always been a visitable house. 
 People, too, had brought friends with them, people they 
 had staying in their houses ; for had not the words 
 " and party " been added to the name on each card when 
 Mrs. Caramel had superintended the sending out of the 
 invitations ? 
 
 The shadows of the grand old elms were lengthening 
 over the tennis-courts. Mrs. McKinlay was standing 
 rather solitary and unnoticed among the crowd, who all 
 seemed to know each other so much better than she knew 
 them. Suddenly she caught a fragment of aconversation: 
 " Well, I declare ! If that is not that Mrs. Caramel !'* 
 The speaker was Mrs. General Crabtree, just home 
 from India. (The Crabtrees are a fine old " qui-hai " 
 family, with ramifications in both services, scattered all 
 over India. You must surely, dear reader, have met 
 one or other of them. They have all a touch of the 
 tar-brush ; but people in England don't mind that.) 
 
74 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Somebody rejoined, " Yes, there she is, to be sure, in 
 pink. How stout she's got ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and how gone off ! I always said her 
 looks wouldn't last. And do look ! There's Herbert 
 Aynsley with her ! Only fancy, my dear, t/ta^ going on 
 still ! And at home here; how shocking ! I wonder that 
 old fool Caramel has not divorced her long ago. O, 
 how do you do, my dear Mr. Aynsley ? " (with effusion.) 
 " Who would have thought of meeting you here ? " &c. 
 
 A little later on, while handing her a cup of tea, 
 Herbert whispers to Mrs, Caramel, " Here's bad luck ! 
 That old black cat, Mother Crabtree, has turned up. I 
 only hope she doesn't make mischief" 
 
 Mrs. Caramel turns rather white under her rouge, for 
 Mrs. Crabtree is one of those dear Indian friends of 
 hers she is always talking about, whom she did not so 
 much care about meeting. 
 
 An hour later and the twilight is falling on the now 
 deserted gardens. The carriages are rolling away down 
 the avenue — the lordly barouche of the country magnate, 
 the parsonical wagonette, the drag from the barracks, 
 and the humble hired fly from the neighbouring town. 
 As Mrs. Caramel drives off she casts an admiring glance 
 at the stately old pile and the finely timbered park. 
 
 " Dear fellow ! It will be very nice to have him settled 
 so near. It's a nice place, and they shall give a big ball." 
 
 Herbert Aynsley and Caroline McKinlay are strolling 
 up and down the Beech Walk, out of earshot of the 
 servants who are clearing the tents and taking down 
 the nets. It is already dusk under the trees ; but he 
 
MRS. caramel's bow-wow. 75 
 
 can mark her pale cheeks crimson and her head bend 
 lower and lower as he pours into her ears those sweet 
 words of love which she now hears for the first time, 
 and which are so familiar to him from long practice. 
 At the end of the walk he stops, bends over her, and 
 takes her unresisting hand. His arm steals round her 
 waist. 
 
 " Caroline ! — may I call you Caroline ? — say you care 
 for me! Say you will be my wife ? " 
 
 He looks so handsome ; those dark eyes of his pierce 
 her very soul. For all answer she lets her head fall 
 on his shoulder, and, as he kisses her, love transfigures 
 her face and makes her almost pretty. Then she frees 
 herself and runs away from him, into the shadow and 
 so up to the house, and hides herself in her own room 
 — the happiest girl in England. 
 
 Aynsley lights a cigar deliberately and strolls back 
 leisurely across the darkening park to report himself to 
 Mrs. Caramel. In the avenue a carriage passes him. 
 It contains Mrs. Crabtree, who had been detained 
 awhile by her hostess. 
 
 " I want a few words wi' ye privately,'' had pleaded 
 Mrs. McKinlay, leading her into the large library, which 
 was furnished, as was all the house, by some eminent 
 London upholsterer. The walls were lined with books 
 in fine calf bindings, books which had never been open- 
 ed, while busts of unknown celebrities stood sentinel 
 in the corner. 
 
 " I saw ye speaking wi' that Mr. Aynsley," continued 
 Mrs. McKinlay, standing erect before her visitor, her 
 
yG INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 hands tightly clasped, and her face wearing an anxious 
 look, while her native Doric came out strong. " For 
 pity's sake tell me if ye ken anything wrong about him, 
 for he's after my bairn." 
 
 Thus adjured, and nothing loth, Mrs. Crabtree opens 
 the flood-gates of her store of gossip and scandal, add- 
 ing notes and comments and embroideries various. It 
 was dusk before her recital was ended, and she drove 
 off in a benign frame of mind, with a sense of having 
 done her duty, leaving her hostess rocking herself to 
 and fro in her grief in the dark library. 
 
 A few hours later she stands with arms folded and 
 lips pursed by her daughter's bedside. '* Has he spake 
 to ye, chield ? " she asks sternly. 
 
 Caroline from her pillows confesses he has spoken, 
 but does not think it necessary to mention the kiss. 
 
 '^ Weel, then, I tell ye that he's a verra bad young man. 
 We've been cherishing vipers in our bosom, and ye'd 
 better think no more about him, for ye shall never set 
 eyes on him agin ! " 
 
 Next morning, when Aynsley walks over to the 
 Manor, for the first time he is denied admittance, and 
 cannot catch a glimpse of either mother or daughter. 
 Hardly has he returned, and is discussing with his 
 fellow-conspirator what this may mean, than a letter is 
 brought him, as he is sitting in Mrs. Caramel's pretty 
 little morning room. Aynsley reads the letter, blurts 
 out an oath, and tossing- it over to Mrs. Caramel, stalks 
 lugubriously out of the French window, with his hands 
 in his pockets. This is the letter : 
 
MRS. caramel's bow-wow. 77 
 
 : " Sir, — ^^From inquiries I have made respecting your 
 character, I must beg to decline, on my daughter's 
 behalf, as her parent and guardian, the offer of marriage 
 you have made her, and beg that all acquaintance be- 
 tween us cease from this out. — Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Janet McKinlay." 
 
 In her anxiety not to be misunderstood, the poor 
 woman had sat up half the night writing and re-writing 
 this epistle. 
 
 Mrs. Caramel flew into the garden after the rejected 
 one. She laid her hand on his shoulder. '* O Bertie!"" 
 she began. 
 
 He shrank from her with a scowl. " Damn you ! " he 
 muttered. " If it had not been for my fooling with you, 
 this wouldn't have happened. What the devil am I to 
 do now, I should like to know ? " And he turned away 
 from her. 
 
 That afternoon he packed his portmanteau, and took 
 the train to town, and Mrs. Caramel has never seen 
 him or heard from him since. 
 
 Aynsley's leave was just up, and he had to return to 
 India or starve. On his arrival he found himself posted 
 to that delightful station Guramghur, a dull little hole,, 
 blest with a feverish reputation, and where his social 
 charms were quite thrown away, as there was not a 
 lady in the place. 
 
 Down in Wessex, Caroline, a few years after, marries 
 the very High Church curate ; and when she has a 
 thought to spare from him and her many babies, can. 
 think of Aynsley without even a sigh. 
 
78 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 But the doors of Ashleigh Manor are closed for ever 
 to Mrs. Caramel, and she finds the neighbourhood looks 
 shyly upon her (for we are nothing if not respectable 
 down in Wessex); and old CarameFs temper is often 
 very bad with the gout. 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 
 
 " I'm sure it's true ! I saw the names in the list of 
 passengers by the Hydaspes, and the old bearer told my 
 ayah that there was a ' mem-sahib ' coming." 
 
 Mrs. Commissioner de Forret and Mrs. General 
 Gupper were discussing in the ladies' reading-room of 
 the club at the Indian station of Noluck the surprising 
 intelligence that was electrifying the community. 
 
 There was no longer any doubt about it. Mr. 
 Hurrell, the judge, who had gone home to England on 
 three months' privilege leave, was returning with a 
 wife. It was astonishing, incredible ! 
 
 Let the European reader at once dissociate any idea 
 of the venerable majesty of the law with an Indian 
 judge. Specimens are to be found as young as briefless 
 barristers nearer the shadow of the Law Courts. One 
 has obtained undying fame as a polo - player, and 
 another as a pig-sticker. Mr. Hurrell emulated none of 
 these. His outward man was of uncertain age, heavy- 
 looking and plain. But the society of the South-Eastern 
 Provinces, in the commission of which he was, cherished 
 him as one of her brightest ornaments. As a wit and 
 a raconteur he was sought for at every big and little 
 dinner. Noluck, which had now rejoiced in the light of 
 his countenance for some months, was — especially the 
 female part of it — in despair. 
 
 Not that any of the unattached had ever in their 
 wildest dreams aspired to marrying him. No one ever 
 
80 . INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 could associate Mr. Hurrell and marriage together. 
 But of his flirting capabilities there was no end. 
 
 There was mourning in the messes and clubs — Hurrell 
 was such good company. Both sexes sighed for the 
 snug little dinners (such cooking, such stories !) which 
 would now be things of the past. 
 
 They arrived (yes, it was they, beyond a doubt), and 
 the following day she loomed, large and fair and placid? 
 upon the horizon of the Noluck world, driving up the Mall 
 in the judicial barouche, with red-turbaned grooms armed 
 with yaks' tails whisking the flies off* her golden tresses. 
 
 Two days later Mr. Hurrell took her round, calling^ 
 after the good old Indian custom, in the very heat of 
 the day, between twelve and two. Society was instant- 
 ly divided in its opinions about her. The women were 
 captivated by her new clothes. (Paris, you may be 
 quite sure, said Mrs. General Gupper, whose frocks were 
 all made by a cross-legged tailor in the verandah.) The 
 men, on the other hand, were taken with this beautiful, 
 calm, Juno-like creature, with exquisite complexion, 
 and speaking eyes, languishing under half-lowered lids. 
 And such a neck and shoulders ! 
 
 " Only much too much of a good thing, I should 
 say," sneered Mrs. Commissioner de Forret, after a big 
 dinner she had given in the Hurrells' honour, and on: 
 whom the Indian climate has a disintegrating effect. 
 
 But as the men predominated over the other sex in 
 Noluck — as, indeed, they do everywhere in Indian society 
 —Mrs. Hurrell had a success, especially among the 
 younger men, who, as a rule, like well-ripened charms. ; 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 8l 
 
 Another point in her favour, and which went far to- 
 wards disarming the women, was the discovery that Mr. 
 Hurrell was in nowise deteriorated by marriage. His 
 wings were not in the least clipped — in fact, he soared 
 to flights as brilliant as before, or more so. The little 
 dinners were resumed. His fair friends found themselves 
 as welcome as ever, while all the world was chuckling 
 over the last new funny story that Hurrell had brought 
 out from home. 
 
 Of course, as regarded Hurrell, all this was admired 
 and applauded. With the usual immunity of his sex, he 
 might commit larceny over any quantity of quadrupeds. 
 But woe betide madame if the Mrs. Grundys, the self- 
 constituted lord chamberlains and guardians of the 
 morals of Noluck, had found her even hovering near 
 the stable gate. 
 
 But no fear. Mrs, Hurrell, with exquisite seaman- 
 ship, trimmed her sails precisely so as to float as near 
 the wind as possible, and yet so as not to raise the 
 faintest breeze which might flutter the dovecots of No- 
 luck. If there is anything in the old proverb about safety 
 in numbers, Mrs. Hurrell was as safe as a church. But 
 then a pretty woman has no difficulty about numbers 
 in India, which is always the flirt's happy hunting ground. 
 
 But as the merry month of May drew near apace, 
 Noluck (in the physical meaning of the word alone, be 
 it quite understood) grew too hot for her. Houses were 
 being taken in the hills, the feminine portion of the 
 European population was packing up, and men's 
 thoughts turned to the slaying of pigs, and of leave home. 
 C, M. G. 6 
 
82 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Naturally Mr Hurrell was entitled to no leave : his 
 thoughts ran on club hot-weather whist. But a man 
 would have been a brute who should condemn a com- 
 plexion like Mrs. Hurrell's to the shrivelling effects of 
 the hot weather. Mrs. Hurrell went to the hills. 
 
 There must be something very enervating morally as 
 well as physically, to the European constitution in the 
 atmosphere of that naughty little nook among the 
 rhododendrons, Simree. A few hundred English men 
 and women, with mostly nothing to do, are crowded 
 together over a few square miles of mountain side for 
 weeks on end as on a large ship — and we all know who 
 it is who then sets to work, chuckling, to provide mis- 
 chief for the idlers. But perhaps, if Mephistopheles 
 were to run up thither for a few days from the Lyceum, 
 he would return with a melancholy arching of his eye- 
 brows and declare the place too bad for him. 
 
 When Philip Avebury, a subaltern of the Dumbar- 
 tonshire Regiment, was sent up to Simree, on two 
 months' leave, after a bad attack of fever, his evil star 
 led him to put up at the Highcliffe Hotel. This was 
 the very head-quarters of all the fun and the racket and 
 the noisiness and the naughtiness of Simree— in fact, it 
 had been honoured with a little stanza all to itself by 
 the local Bunthorne when the»Amateur Dramatic Com- 
 pany put " Patience " on the boards. It ran thus : — 
 
 A Highcliffe Hotel young man, 
 
 A kiss-and-don't-tell young man, 
 
 A take 'em to Morrison's and feed *ein on bonbons, 
 
 A do-himself-wel young man. 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 83 
 
 Philip Avebury was a dark-eyed, melancholy youth, 
 of pensive appearance and slightly artistic tendencies, 
 and with plenty of money and good prospects. He 
 posed as the Interesting invalid. As such it was, of 
 course, very much better for him that he should ride 
 out quietly by the side of Mrs. HurrelFs palanquin, 
 through quiet ravines and along lonely mountain-paths, 
 than tire himself over cricket or tennis with the giddy 
 throng by the Assembly Rooms. They said they were 
 collecting butterflies, of which gorgeous specimens are 
 to be found in the Himalayas. But Mrs, Hurrell had 
 made rather a good collection of her own, among 
 the human specimens, before Philip Avebury's arrival. 
 But she put them all away now, and devoted herself to 
 helping him. 
 
 Mrs. General Gupper was spending a rather dull hot 
 weather at Noluck. The station was very empty, save 
 of men. There was no one to talk about. Imagine 
 her delight when the post brought her a real ripe bit of 
 scandal from her friend Mrs. de Ferret at Simree. 
 
 "I should never have believed it — no, never! But 
 it's perfectly true. Colonel Smith met them riding 
 down the hill together to the railways as he came up, 
 and the woman actually bowed. Poor, dear Mr. Hurrell, 
 I quite feel for him ! Such a blow ! And they say 
 she hasn*t paid for a thing in Simree, and has bills 
 all over the place ; and you know how she dresses [ 
 That Mr. Avebury is certainly a very good-looking 
 young man, I must say. People say they Ve gone to 
 Australia, and that he has sent in his papers. Of 
 
84 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 course he'd be obliged to : the Dumbartonshire couldn't 
 stand it. Well, I am surprised ! But it really serves 
 Mr. Hurrell right. At his time of life, and with his 
 knowledge of women, how could he ? " &c. 
 
 The story was all over the north of India in a few days, 
 for Hurrell was a well-known man. With amendments 
 and embroideries various it grew and grew, forming 
 a pleasant topic of conversation now the rains had 
 set in and every one's spirits {anguished. It had been 
 such a flagrant, open, and above-board elopement. 
 Now in India great virtue is attached to a rider locally 
 added to the seventh commandment " if thou be found 
 out." 
 
 But this affair was done in the light of day. There 
 was not even any finding out required (worse luck for 
 the gossips). Under the circumstances, it was natur- 
 ally irresistible for the residents of Simree to have a fling 
 at the culprit, notwithstanding the fact that many of 
 them resided in glass houses. 
 
 How Mr. Hurrell took it — whether it was indeed true 
 that he had rushed up to Simree on the first hint of the 
 business — that the two dak gharry s had met en route 
 at a change of horses, and that Mrs. H. had had to 
 lean back in her carriage to avoid being recognised by 
 her husband — Noluck never knew ; for just at this crisis 
 the Goddess of Red Tape who presides over the Govern- 
 ment of India swooped down upon him and carried 
 him off in her peculiarly sudden and unmeaning fashion, 
 to officiate for somebody or other somewhere else. 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 85 
 
 En revanche^ at the beginning of the cold weather, 
 with the departure of the punkah-coolies, the advent of 
 the globe-trotters, and the return of the dwellers in the 
 hills, Noluck and Mrs. de Ferret experienced a really 
 startling sensation. The Dumbartonshire Regiment 
 marched in to relieve the Duchess of Devonshire's 
 Scilly Highlanders, and with them came Lieutenant 
 Philip Avebury, and with Lieutenant Avebury came — 
 Mrs. Hurrell ! 
 
 Society at Noluck, including, of course, everybody 
 who had known her there, and those who had been 
 with her up at Simree, drew their virtuous garments 
 around them, and passed her by on the other side. 
 
 A great personage, who was there playing at soldier- 
 ing in the East, and as such ruled supreme in Noluck 
 cantonments as brigadier-general, was much scandalised 
 and perturbed. Being himself a pattern of domestic virtue 
 in a family which, both in the present and past gene- 
 rations, had not been noted for the same (though his 
 mother had always been a great stickler for propriety), 
 he felt himself bound to send for Avebury, and remon- 
 strate with him on the presence of Mrs. Hurrell in his 
 bungalow. If he could only have seen how they ellow- 
 haired one laughed, when she read the official letter 
 delivered in hot haste by the orderly ! 
 
 Avebury arrayed himself in uniform and sword, and 
 cantered leisurely down to the General's bungalow. He 
 was a man of few words, and the latter had to do all the 
 talking, which embarrassed him, as he was not used to 
 giving wiggings. 
 
S6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Mr. Avebury — um— I have sent for you — um — to re- 
 monstrate with you on the presence — um — um. I have 
 been creditably informed that you have — um — a lady — 
 um — living with you — um, um — a Mrs. Hurrell " 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, not Mrs. Hurrell." 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? — the wife of Mr. Hurrell, 
 the judge — I am — um — not aware that he has instituted 
 any — um — divorce proceedings — um " 
 
 " No, sir," replied Avebury quietly. " He couldn't 
 do that ! " 
 
 " How — a — what ? Please explain, Mr. Avebury." 
 
 " Well, sir, she was never his wife to divorce " 
 
 " Not his wife ! What do you mean ? Who is 
 she ? '' 
 
 " Mine, sir, now. We were married last month." 
 
A POLO SMASH. 
 
 " Not married ? Not Brantwood ? Never ! " 
 
 The Crimson Cuirassiers were sitting at mess, a long 
 and glittering array of gold lace-laden human beings, 
 while the tables groaned under trophies of silver plate. 
 It was Mackenzie, the adjutant, who had announced 
 this overwhelming piece of news. 
 
 " What's your authority, Mac ? " cried a voice from 
 the other end of the table. 
 
 " No one less than Brandy himself," replied Mac- 
 kenzie. '' Got a letter from him by mail — English 
 letters just in, you know ! " 
 
 " By George, then, I 've won my bet ! " continued 
 the speaker with exultation. ** Had a pony on with 
 him as to which of us wouldn't be married first. Waiter, 
 bring a magnum of champagne." 
 
 " And who's the lucky one ? " asked another voice, 
 that of the sub., who was susceptible and always in 
 love. 
 
 A cynical snigger went round the table. 
 
 " Oh ! a swell," replied the oracle. " A Lady Some- 
 body Something — Sybil, I think — can't remember: 
 Why, confound it, Penheale, I wish you'd be more 
 careful, man." 
 
 For Geoffrey Penheale, sitting next the adjutant, 
 had started violently, and upset the latter's claret over 
 his mess overalls. 
 
88 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Awfully sorry^ old man," rejoined the other, mop- 
 ping his victim up with his napkin. " Show me 
 Brandy's letter, will you, after dinner ? " 
 
 " It's at my bungalow. Come back with me this 
 evening, and I will." 
 
 Penheale did look in at Mackenzie's bungalow as 
 he went to bed, and came out a sadder and a wiser 
 man. 
 
 The next mail's newspapers brought a flaming 
 account of the marriage, by a bishop or two, of Major 
 the Hon. Basil Brantwood, of the Crimson Cuirassiers, 
 with Lady Sybil, daughter of the Earl of Tallboys. 
 But when Geoffrey Penheale had read every word of it 
 in the Morning Post, not even omitting the description 
 of the bridesmaids' dresses, he went back to the bare 
 whitewashed barn where he lived, and, lighting a fusee 
 solemnly committed to the flames on the tiles of the 
 verandah, for lack of a fireplace, a packet of letters in 
 a woman's hand, and a lock of hair. Then he applied 
 for three days' leave, and went out on a shooting ex- 
 pedition all by himself But he made a very poor bag. 
 
 In due course the P. and O. steamer brought Major 
 Brantwood back to the " shiny " and to the bosom of 
 his regiment. Matrimony had evidently produced no 
 alteration in him. He was as small and lean and dap- 
 per, as cynical and reserved and unpleasant as ever. 
 His little moustache was as elaborately waxed as if it 
 had never been out of cosmetique since he started 
 home : the chaussure of those small feet — of which he 
 was so justly proud — was as irreproachable as the best 
 
A POLO SMASH. 89 
 
 Bond Street bootmaker could turn them out. He came 
 and dined at mess the first night as usual (Lady Sybil 
 was tired, he said, with her journey), and before he left 
 the table had withered up each individual thereat with 
 some smart neat cutting thing he said, and made every 
 one feel very uncomfortable. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. As a rule, the Crimson 
 Cuirassiers could not be said to be inveterate church- 
 goers. But upon the Sabbath in question they were 
 loth to leave their religious duties to the orderly officer 
 told off to take the men to church, and turned up to a 
 man — to see Lady Sybil. 
 
 And they saw — a pale, slim slip of a girl, half Brant- 
 wood's age, with a wealth of dark hair and large, sad grey 
 eyes. 
 
 " And such a dowd ! " quoth Mrs. Wildinge, wife of 
 the captain of that name, and who " lived up to it," as 
 the aesthetes say of blue china. " Well, if I were an earl's 
 daughter, and had just had a trousseau, I'd have smarter 
 frocks than that ! " 
 
 And no one doubted it of Mrs. Wildinge. But then the 
 number and the magnificence of her gowns were a stand- 
 ing puzzle to her acquaintance, most of all to her husband, 
 who was simple-minded, and invariably impecunious. 
 
 Now, there had been much wondering among the 
 Crimson Cuirassiers as to how Mrs. W. would take Brant- 
 wood's marriage. Not that the latter had ever been 
 guilty of transgressing that eleventh commandment 
 which holds good in all crack corps, and which runs 
 ** Thou shalt not flirt with thy brother-officer's wife." 
 
90 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 But then Captain Wildinge had only been transferred, 
 on promotion, to the Cuirassiers a short while before? 
 and there was a time — not a hundred years ago — when 
 Major Brantwood and Mrs. Wildinge had been fast 
 friends all through one festive season at merry Mus- 
 soorie, in the hills. 
 
 Geoffrey Penheale had been remiss in his attendance 
 at church, and had not been among the throng to whom 
 Major Brantwood introduced his bride, under the 
 portico after service, while the Cuirassiers swung away 
 back to barracks to the sound of merry music. It was 
 only on the polo ground next day that Penheale met 
 Lady Sybil. 
 
 Brantwood was not playing, for of course he had not 
 yet got any ponies together ; he had driven his wife 
 down in a pony-cart while the game was going on. 
 When it ended, and some fellows sauntered up to her 
 to chat, Brantwood was among those who was found re- 
 freshing himself at the '* peg " table spread under the 
 mango-tree for thirsty players. Penheale was next him, 
 clad in red-and-white striped polo jersey, jaunty cap, 
 and white breeches and boots, similarly engaged. 
 
 " Here, Penheale, don't think you know my wife ! " 
 and the major, with the pride of the possessor of a new 
 toy, seized Penheale by the arm and dragged him up to 
 the pony-cart. 
 
 " Sybil — here — let me introduce Penheale.'* 
 
 Every vestige of colour faded from Lady Sybil's 
 cheek as she turned round and saw Penheale before her. 
 The latter became as white as his nether garments, and 
 
A POLO SMASH. 9 1 
 
 dropped his eyes. 
 
 " What's the matter, dear Lady Sybil ? " asked a 
 silvery voice at her side. " You look as if you were 
 going to faint. Not used to the heat, I suppose. Do 
 some one get her a *peg' — O but you must, just a weak 
 one ! " 
 
 The observant speaker was Mrs. Wildinge, on her 
 little chestnut Arab, who had malevolently watched for 
 some time Lady Sybil monopolising all the men's 
 attention. 
 
 Three days afterwards Geoffrey Penheale, who had 
 put down his name to go in for a garrison class course 
 at a station at some distance soon after hearing of 
 Brantwood's marriage, departed, to go, as it were, to 
 school again. Every one missed him ; he was a very 
 popular fellow. 
 
 It was two months before he came back to the regi- 
 ment, to find Lady Sybil looking paler and sadder than 
 ever. 
 
 The next day the Crimson Cuirassiers gave a dance 
 to the royal duke, who, in guise of divisional major- 
 general, had come over to inspect them. The intoxica- 
 tion of the brilliant scene, the glamour of the soul-stir- 
 ring waltzes, got into Penheale's head. Before he al- 
 most knew what he was doing, he had asked Lady Sybil, 
 ethereal-looking in her billowy white tulle, for a dance* 
 
 The delirium of feeling her once more in his arms 
 unloosed his tongue, as a few minutes later they found 
 themselves sitting alone in the dim verandah, the music 
 hushed, and the moonlit garden stretched out before them. 
 
92 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Sybil ! Sybil ! " he asked hoarsely and bitterly, 
 '*how could you ? " 
 
 All answer was a sob. 
 
 " Is this your love, your faith ? " 
 
 The tears fell fast on the billowy white tulle. 
 
 " Oh ! answer me, Sybil. Surely I deserve — surely 
 Tve a right to know." 
 
 " Oh ! Geoffrey," she broke out, in agony — " oh ! 
 you misjudge me terribly. If you but knew — how they 
 drove me to it. Mamma said it was such a good match ; 
 papa is so hard up ; there are so many of us girls ; 
 they left me no peace till I accepted him. How could 
 I guess I was to meet you ? " 
 
 " I had exchanged, to get away out of England. I 
 could not bear my life after your people dismissed me, 
 but I remained true, Sybil, all this while. I've never 
 thought even of any one else ! " 
 
 He was torturing her, and she gave a little cry of 
 pain, 
 
 " Oh, Geoffrey, if you only knew! IVe never thought 
 
 of any oiie else day and night Oh, God, what am 
 
 I saying, But it's true, it's true ! " 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. 
 Only the sound of her weeping broke the stillness, till the 
 music suddenly began again and recalled them to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Sybil started up and recovered herself with a mighty 
 effort, and as she did so Penheale's self-control gave 
 way. He caught her in his arms, and, pressing her lips 
 to his, whispered — 
 
A POLO SMASH. 93 
 
 " Forgive me, my darling ! '* 
 
 The next minute they had passed out into the h'ghted 
 ball-room, and, after a safe interval, the form of Mrs. 
 Wildinge arose from an armchair in a dark corner, 
 where she had been resting 
 
 " Very pretty ! " she said to herself — " very pretty ! 
 And, upon my word, very good for such a young and 
 artless beginner. Master Brandy, you've got a wife 
 worthy of you ! " 
 
 A few days later that officer was detailed for a general 
 court-martial at a station at some distance. Instead of 
 lasting only two or three days, the trial, which was an 
 important one, dragged on, and detained him much 
 longer than he expected. To compensate him for the 
 detention, however, he had the agreeable excitement 
 of receiving by post an anonymous letter, which ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " You had better look after your wife and Geoffrey P, 
 If, for instance, the trial happened to be over in time for 
 you to take the train which arrives at your station late 
 in the evening, and you accidentally happened to walk 
 up to your bungalow quietly, you might see and hear 
 something to your advantage — or otherwise. " 
 
 I suppose Major Brantwood would hardly have been 
 human if in the end, after mdiny pros and cons, he had 
 not profited by this advice. An old poacher makes a 
 very good gamekeeper, and with him a hint was enough. 
 He did come by the last train, and he did walk up from 
 the station, a most unprecedented occurrence in a land 
 where no one ever walks who can drive, and a most 
 
94 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 unusual thing for a man with Major Brantwood's neat 
 boots to do on the dusty Indian roads. 
 
 Whether the game was worth the candle, or the 
 scandal worth his little game, no one ever knew, for the 
 chokedar, or watchman, was sound asleep, as in duty 
 bound, in one corner of the verandah, and the servants 
 were all in bed for the night in their little row of mud 
 hovels in one corner of the compound. 
 
 Mrs. Wildinge, who, of course, had penned the 
 anonymous letter, would have given her eyes to find 
 out if she had done any harm or not ; but next day a 
 terrible event turned her thoughts in quite a different 
 direction. 
 
 This event was none other than that dreadful polo 
 accident which threw such a gloom over the Cuirassiers. 
 
 The polo ground, after the manner of polo grounds 
 in India at that season, was simply a sea of dust when 
 it had been played on for a little while. A pillar of 
 cloud accompanied the players as they scurried over the 
 ground, and hid them from the spectators, and often 
 from each other. 
 
 No one ever knew quite what happened. Two or 
 three were riding for the ball. The dust was so thick 
 you couldn't see a yard in front of you. Some one 
 crossed, or some one came up off side. No one knew. 
 But there was a terrible collision ; and when the dust 
 cleared off Brantwood was seen slowly picking himself 
 up. But Geoffrey Penheale lay motionless on the 
 ground. It was fracture of the skull, the doctors said, 
 and he never spoke again, and died in the night. 
 
A POLO SMASH. 95 
 
 Brantwood appeared more perturbed by the accident 
 than any one had ever seen him by anythino^ before. 
 In fact, he seemed to feel it more than he did his wife's 
 death, which took place, not many weeks after, suddenly 
 of cholera, one of those solitary sporadic cases which 
 crop up occasionally in even the best-sanitated stations. 
 
AFTER THE WILY BOAR, 
 
 It was getting very hot. Never mind what the glass 
 stood at in the verandah at noon ; it was too hot to go 
 out and see. The voice of the brain fever bird was once 
 more heard in the land, its agonising prolonged three 
 notes proclaiming the hot weather is nigh. Houses 
 were being taken in the hill stations, and the feminine 
 portion of the population was packing up. 
 
 But my breast was stirred by no dreams of hill flirta- 
 tions, of Cashmere big game, or of leave home. I was 
 on pigsticking bent, and not being exactly of a frugal 
 mind, I had set myself up well with the noble animal 
 and had entered the horse I fancied most for the Bulam- 
 pore Tent Club Cup. 
 
 The sun was low in the western sky as I rode out 
 towards the camp of meeting, from a large station 
 sacred in the British mind to one of the saddest memo- 
 ries of the Mutiny times. My way lay through the 
 ruins of former cantonments, along dusty, tree-bordered 
 highways, along which flocks of goats and cows were 
 being driven in from pasture (save the mark ! ) Then I 
 struck across country, past emerald wheat crops and 
 sun-baked plain, and by clusters of mud huts yclept 
 villages, to which, as their sanitary arrangements were 
 not all that could be desired, I gave a wide berth. Here 
 and there a Government-planted rectangular group of 
 mango trees broke the level flat. 
 
AFTER THE WILY BOAR. 97 
 
 Presently I reached the sacred river, and rode along 
 the high sand-banks it throws up in the rains. All the 
 way I had met nothing but crows and coolies, but then, 
 like snakes and the cholera, these we have always with 
 us in India. Once on a plain I had fancied I descried 
 a herd of black buck among the low scrub, and now on 
 the river sands I disturbed three pariah dogs quarrelling 
 over the body of a defunct Hindoo, that Mother Ganges 
 had rejected from her sacred bosom. 
 
 The sun had set rapidly in a cloudless cadmium sky, 
 and the short Indian twilight was coming on, bringing 
 with it a perceptible lowering of the temperature. So 
 I hurried the polo pony I was riding into a hand canter 
 and gained the camp. 
 
 Under the auspices of an indefatigable secretary, a 
 cluster of white tabernacles had arisen under the grate- 
 ful shades of a mango grove. In the midst stood the 
 mess-tent. On the outskirts of the grove everybody's 
 horses were tethered in lines, with head and heel ropes. 
 Their single blanket formed their manger by day, and 
 a single bucket and brush their toilet requisites. Their 
 two attendants slept and ate by their side, and their 
 luggage was of quite an elementary description. 
 
 A smaller wood a couple of hundred yards further off 
 was given over to the married camp. There the ladies 
 were out of earshot of the midnight revelry which is apt 
 to disturb the bats in our camp. Also it shows how we 
 discourage the feminine element altogether. Some of 
 the talkative sex would indeed view the sport from the 
 howdah of an elephant on the morrow, but as yet 
 C, M. G. 7 
 
98 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 none will show us the way. I never heard of a woman 
 carrying a spear and pigsticking. Here is an opening 
 for the shrieking sisterhood. 
 
 Before I turned in for my ante-prandial tub, more 
 India, I went to have a look at the nags. As is usually 
 the case, they had marched hither. It is really odd in 
 India how we entrust a valuable animal to an utterly 
 faithless native and despatch him to proceed his stages 
 of ten miles a day for days and even weeks, through a 
 country devoid of inns and unknown to the groom. He 
 turns up somehow, however, probably having stolen and 
 eaten a good deal of the horse's forage and pocketed 
 some of the rupees provided for the latter's subsistence, 
 and the horse appears very little the worse for it. 
 
 The evening was oppressed with a sense of the impor- 
 tance of the morrow. After dinner, the forty horses 
 (for it is the horses, not the riders, who enter for the 
 Cup. the horses being frequently not ridden by their 
 owners), were drawn by lot into ten heats of four each. 
 Then when we had greeted old friends and acquain- 
 tances, discussed our own and everyone else's animals, 
 and perhaps done a bit of horse-dealing, and told not a 
 few lies, we think about bed. 
 
 Not but what it seems a pity. The night is still, 
 starry, and balmy as only an Indian night can be. The 
 camp is very still, and as we throw away the end of 
 a cigar, before we turn in, only a pariah bays from a 
 neighbouring village, or a jackal howls in the distance. 
 A disturbed owl in the mango tree above wanted to 
 know what it all meant, but I didn't enlighten him, and 
 
AFTER THE WILY BOAR. 99 
 
 sought such repose upon my curtainless " charpoy " 
 as the mosquitos would allow me. 
 
 " Sahib, sahib, half six has struck. Sahib, sahib ! " 
 The old bearer mumbled imploringly in my ear. I 
 consigned him to all sorts of dreadful places, but with a 
 perseverance born of long experience he went at it 
 again. In an inconceivably short space of time he had 
 got me up and dressed me, and booted and spurred 
 I was sipping my morning tea at the door of the tent. 
 The crows are up, though the sun is scarcely so. It 
 must, indeed, be an early worm that can circumvent 
 the Indian crows. There is much shouting at and for 
 servants, and some bad language going on in the tents 
 around. Tempers are not sweet at 7 A.M. 
 
 Gradually everyone emerges. We are indeed a motley 
 crew, for every class of the European population in 
 India is represented. There is one civilian, a full-blown 
 commissioner, whom everyone, notwithstanding, calls 
 '' Jim." Five and twenty years in the " shiny" have not 
 dimmed his geniality and his love of sport, and though 
 it has somewhat reduced his spare little form, we shall 
 presently see him going as well as anyone. The 
 climate has had an opposite effect upon his equally 
 sporting colleague, whose broad back looms before me 
 upon a country-bred cob. Colonels are there and noisy 
 subalterns, rising " competition-wallahs," and sporting 
 police officers, with a detective's eye on a pig. Trade 
 is not unrepresented, and a neighbouring rajah, who 
 owns and has entered some fine Arabs, comes out to 
 view the sport on a wonderfully caparisoned steed. 
 
lOO INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The costumes are as varied as the riders. Some men 
 go in for a turban, some for a mushroom-shaped pith 
 hat, while some wear a soldier's helmet with a curtain 
 hanging down over the nape of the neck to protect 
 them from the sun. Some men ride in thin tweed or 
 flannel coats, some in white drill or drab-coloured 
 ^' karkee " cotton, some wear merely a flannel shirt, while 
 others are padded across the shoulders and down th^ 
 spine as a cricketer pads his legs. But one and all 
 grasp a stout male bamboo, six feet six inches long, 
 weighted with lead at one end, and tipped at the other 
 with a fine steel head. 
 
 As various, too, are the mounts. Smart-looking little 
 country or stud-breds, with, perhaps, queer tempers 
 and man-eating propensities; languid-looking stumbling 
 Arabs, who look a pig in the white of the eye, as the 
 French say ; and grand big Walers (Australians) stand- 
 ing sixteen hands high, like English hunters and splen- 
 did fencers, but alas, not equally staunch to pig ! 
 
 There was a general move towards the home preserve 
 which is to be drawn first. It was a large patch of 
 grass jungle, tall elephant grass, kept sacred for this big 
 meet. The sportsmen drew off on either side to the 
 shelter of two small villages, and the hundreds of native 
 beaters and the long line of elephants were turned 
 mto covert. 
 
 Those who were drawn in the first heat tightened 
 their girths and sat lance in rest. We, whose turn was 
 not yet come, lit our cigars. To each party was an 
 umpire. 
 
AFT^R TltE WILY BOAR. Idl 
 
 Nearer arid nearer down the jungle came the roar of 
 the beaters' cries through the fresh morning air. We 
 could see the tall grass waving where the elephants 
 were crashing through. The game began to break covert 
 Pea-fowl flew screeching away over our heads, and a 
 herd of startled black buck leapt wildly away across the 
 open, in prodigious bounds. Hares ran under our very 
 horses' feet, and quail and partridge whirred by un- 
 noticed. 
 
 Suddenly a large, dark mass lollopped quietly away 
 from a. corner of the jungle. No one stirred till he had 
 got a good start, and the umpire shouted " ride ! " 
 
 In an instant four riders were after the boar. One 
 was on a Waler, two on Arabs, and the fourth was that 
 civilian with whom the climate agreed so well, mounted 
 on his cob. But the Waler had the pace, and got up 
 with the pig first. Looking on at the horse laying him- 
 self out at a racing gallop, and the pig " gallumping 
 awkwardly on just ahead," one failed to understand 
 how the former did not gain on him. But the way the 
 pig negotiated an eight-foot chain in his stride showed 
 how good the pace really was. 
 
 But piggy, getting blown perhaps, after a good, 
 straight run across the plain, "jinked " to the left, and 
 the Waler could not or would not turn smartly enough. 
 This let in one of the Arabs. The boar led him over a 
 castor-oil field, with a crop some ten feet high, which 
 taken externally brought his rider to grief. The Waler 
 came up again, and rattled the pig into a corn crop. 
 But the Waler sheered off just as his rider got alongside 
 
102 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 with his spear down for a thrust. The pig '* jinked '' 
 across under the horse's nose, and ran almost between 
 the legs of the country-bred with the heavy-weight, who, 
 disregarding any interference on the part of the society 
 for suppressing cruelty to animals, turned the cob round 
 upon him in a moment, and took first spear off him in 
 the quarters. 
 
 While this run was proceeding, several other pig had 
 broken covert, and other parties had been despatched 
 after them. At a big meeting like this for the Cup, sows 
 are frequently ridden as well as boars, though this, is not 
 the case in everyday sport. Some of the weaker sex, 
 however, led their pursuers a fine dance, and one old lady 
 squatted down defiantly in a path of corn, and charged 
 like a boar. Of course it is the first spear that counts, 
 but in most cases the pig were polished off, some few 
 escaping, we hope, to fight another day. Some showed 
 fight ; one grey old fellow, badly wounded, sat himself 
 down under a thorn bush, foaming at the mouth and 
 charging desperately, till an individual, with more pluck 
 than discretion, dismounted and gave him his quietus 
 by a lucky shot between the shoulders. 
 
 My turn came unexpectedly ; I never have any luck. 
 My stable companions were on Arabs too, and a long 
 stern chase was looked for. But I got a bad start, and 
 for some time only rode after the others for lack of see- 
 ing the boar. Then there ensued a hitch and an inco- 
 herency in a wheat crop. The pig had squatted. Some 
 one spotted him and whoo-whooped on my right, and 
 before I was aware, a huge black mass thirty-three 
 
AFTER THE WILY BOAR. IO3 
 
 inches at shoulder, with bristles erect, and murderous- 
 looking tusks, bore down upon me. 
 
 " Steady, old boy ! " as I set the little Arab at him, 
 with my heart standing still with excitement. 
 
 " The deuce ! " as I miss him, sticking my spear into 
 the ground, and nearly dislocating my shoulder. 
 
 By the time I have wheeled round and recovered my 
 weapon, the pig was leading the others through a low 
 " dak " jungle of scrub, calculated to push you out of 
 your saddle at every stride. Here he jinked, and No. 4 
 made a lunge at him, and I was glad to see (and hear) 
 missed him too. Then across a strip of fallow and into 
 a guava orchard over an Irish on-and-off bank. This 
 was a great mistake on my part, for I nearly battered 
 my skull into guava jelly, the branches were so low. I 
 dismounted ignominiously and led out. 
 
 When the Arab allowed me to get up again the pig 
 and the party were making for what is, by courtesy, 
 called the island. It is the second preserve surrounded 
 by the Ganges on one side, and on the other, at this 
 time of year only, by low sands and pools. Seeing 
 No. 2 and his horse immersing themselves in one of the 
 latter, as they plunge through after the pig, I decide 
 for what looks like terra firma. 
 
 But the sands appear more treacherous than the water. 
 Are they quicksands ? They yield every now and again 
 alarmingly. Steady, old man ! Again one of these 
 queer, soft-looking, deceptive circles. I feel for the 
 master of Ravenswood. 
 
104 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 By Jove ! in we go, the Arab and I, with a crash, the 
 latter up to his knees, and we part company. 
 
 How many broken legs have we between us ? 
 
 We get up and find ourselves intact. 
 
 No. I sails by cheerily. 
 
 " All right, old chap ? 'Ware melon beds ! One of 
 the few sources of promotion left in the country ! " 
 
 Melon beds ? Who ever heard of growing melons in 
 a dry river-bed ! What a country this India is ! 
 
 A loud hooroosh from the island. I realise that some- 
 one else has got first spear, and that I have not won the 
 Bulampore Cup. 
 
 But that evening, when, after a mid-day halt, the final 
 heats have been run off in the twilight, and after dinner 
 we hoist the victor round the mess-tent with psalms and 
 hymns and (very) spiritual songs, I promise myself better 
 luck next time. 
 
IN THE RAJAH'S PALACE. 
 
 I MUST confess that I felt very disappointed with her. 
 
 I had ridden up to her carriage at the band-stand 
 on the Mall. The strains of the last new waltz out 
 from home were floating among the Millingtonia trees, 
 drowning the champing of the horses' bits, and the 
 chatter of the ayahs and children wandering admiring- 
 ly round the soldiers. 
 
 " Mrs. Ingledene," I had said, " I am getting up an 
 expedition — sport and pic-nicking combined — to the 
 Rajah's palace at Bundelpore, for three days. Will 
 you make one of the party ? '* 
 
 Her face lighted up — such a pretty face — such sweet 
 eyes. 
 
 " What a capital . idea ! I shall be delighted ! " she 
 exclaimed. " But — will you mind rriy bringing a friend 
 — a Mr. Lingmoor, who just then will be staying with 
 us, I think ? " 
 
 Then it was that I felt disappointed with her. 
 
 I had always firmly believed that Jack Ingledene 
 and his wife were devoted to each other. I had only 
 listened with half an ear to Mrs. Crabtree's spiteful 
 stories of the doings at naughty Nynee, during the 
 last season, when the immaculate Mrs. Ingledene was 
 supposed, after the fashion of grass-widows in the hills, 
 to have taken to herself a '' bow-wow." 
 
 Though Jack Ingledene was on duty on a long 
 court-martial, I knew that he would not object to his 
 
Id6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 wife going with me, an old friend of her father's family, 
 and backed by such an unimpeachable chaperon as 
 Mrs. Crabtree. 
 
 But I was disappointed when Ethel Ingledene calm- 
 ly turned up her pretty face to mine, and as good as 
 told me that, unless she was allowed to bring this same 
 '' bow-wow," she would not come to my pic-nic. 
 
 But all the same, like the old fool I am, with my 
 next breath I expressed how delighted I should be 
 to see Mr. Lingmoor, cursing the Indian " bow-wow " 
 system all the time most devoutly. 
 
 As the Collector of Punkahpore, the ruler of a dis- 
 trict as large as an English county, and wielding a 
 sway over hundreds of thousands of dusky natives, I 
 am a personage of some importance in the eyes of 
 the neighbouring semi-independent Rajah of Bundel- 
 pore. This gentleman, though of dubious character, 
 and unable to wrfte his own name, is the despotic 
 ruler of wide territories, and the happy possessor of 
 diamond aigrettes, such as would delight the heart of 
 an English duchess. 
 
 I have standing permission to shoot over his arid 
 plains and rocky hill country, and to stay, whenever 
 I like, in his beautiful summer palace of Bundelpore, 
 which place is but little troubled with his presence, 
 as His Highness prefers his town-house in Gurama- 
 bad, where he can indulge in European luxuries and vices. 
 
 We drove the twenty odd miles which lay between 
 Punkahpore and Bundelpore with relays of horses, 
 along a straight, dusty, tree-bordered road, fairly good 
 
IN THE rajah's PALACE. 10/ 
 
 as long as it ran in my territory, but execrable as soon 
 as it entered that of the Maharajah. We were a merry 
 party of about a dozen, in three carriages, followed by 
 a camel-carriage, containing the commissariat, the 
 servants, and the rolls of bedding, without which no 
 European travels in India. 
 
 I had been somewhat disappointed at my old chum 
 Colonel Tachbrook not turning up. He was retiring, 
 and leaving the country for good, and it was mainly 
 with the object of giving him some good sport that 
 I had arranged the expedition. However, he was 
 delayed up-country, and we were obliged to start 
 without him. 
 
 Mrs. Ingledene was looking very pretty and was in 
 the best of spirits. Lionel Lingmoor, a subaltern in 
 the Royal Scilly Islanders, was a good-looking, easy- 
 mannered fellow, whom she appeared to find charming. 
 
 The only discordant element was the station doctor, 
 Grififenhoofe, a sneering, ill-natured fellow, who had 
 never forgiven Mrs. Ingledene for snubbing him on 
 her first arrival at Punkahpore, and who chuckled fiend- 
 ishly over her very open flirtation with Lingmoor. 
 
 Bundelpore, built entirely of pale salmon-coloured 
 stone, and gorgeous with carved eaves and mullions, 
 oriel windows, delicate friezes and arches, turrets, cupo- 
 las and hanging balconies, lies — a dream of beauty — 
 in the midst of green groves of orange, melon, and 
 mango trees. 
 
 On one front a broad stone terrace overlooks the 
 shady garden walks, the ponds, and stone summer- 
 
I08 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 houses ; on the other, a large artificial lake, with a little 
 tower and steps at each angle, bathed the very walls 
 of the palace itself. 
 
 The Rajah, like many other Indian princes, kept 
 some hunting leopards in a barred cage in the garden, 
 and in the lake some huge black " muggers " or alliga- 
 tors, loathsome-looking beasts, which were fed daily 
 from one of the windows with lumps of flesh. 
 
 We drove under the great gate of Bundelpore, saluted 
 by some of the Maharajah's ragamuffin sentries, just 
 as the sun was setting behind some low, bare hillsi 
 and flooding the palace with a tint of gold. 
 
 The crows were cawing in the trees, ring-doves cooed 
 in the shady depths of the gardens, and flights of tame 
 pigeons circled above the roofs and cupolas. The scene 
 was a delicious change from our painfully uniform 
 bungalows, our straight Mall, and the ceaseless bugle- 
 calls that pervaded Punkahpore. 
 
 We dined in a vast hall, with carved Moorish arches, 
 and after dinner we sat about on the terrace, smoking 
 and discussing the plans for the morrow. 
 
 I rather fancy I must have had a nap in my easy- 
 chair, for I was aroused by a low, sneering chuckle from 
 Griffenhoofe, sitting next me. 
 
 We were alone on the terrace, but the moon, which 
 had just risen, showed us two figures walking down 
 a path in the garden. 
 
 " Deuced funny, isn't it? These women are all the 
 same ! They come out from England perfect Mimosas, 
 and after a few months' training at a hill-station 
 
IN THE rajah's PALACE. IO9 
 
 that's what happens." And he chuckled satirically 
 again. 
 
 It was Mrs. Ingledene walking with Lingmoor. The 
 sight made me feel rather sick at heart. 
 
 We all turned in early that night, for we were to be 
 up betimes to start in the morning. 
 
 The ladies had been installed in the rooms on the left 
 of the great hall, usually allotted to the Rajah's zenana, 
 and we men occupied those on the right. They were 
 not overclean, and rather bare. 
 
 I found my servant had laid out my bedding and 
 Griffenhoofe's in one of the top rooms. Opening out 
 of that was another room, where Lingmoor and Colonel 
 Crabtree were to sleep ; the other fellows were billeted 
 in the rooms below. 
 
 It was a hot night, and Crabtree, who was fussy, said 
 it was less stuffy in one of the verandas, and so departed, 
 leaving Lingmoor in sole possession. 
 
 I felt restless and disinclined for sleep. I lay long 
 awake listening to the jackal's screech, the pariah dog's 
 bray, and the lapping of the water of the lake against 
 the wall. I lay watching the bright moonlight throw 
 golden bars across the somewhat dirty walls through 
 the carved glassless window. 
 
 Suddenly something roused me. A shadow fell across 
 the moonlight on the wall. The thick curtain in the 
 doorless archway moved aside. A woman's figure entered 
 the room. 
 
 There was no mistaking it ; it was Ethel Ingledene. 
 
110 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 I sprang up, as if to speak to her ; but, at that mo- 
 ment, she turned and looked at me. Her face was so 
 unutterably sad that the words froze on my lips. 
 
 Then, to my amazement, I saw her push aside the 
 curtain of the doorway leading to the next room, where 
 Lingmoor was sleeping, and disappear behind it. 
 
 I sat motionless for a minute or two, for I felt as if 
 someone had dealt me a heavy blow. 
 
 Griffenhoofe's voice aroused me ; he was awake, too 
 If ever I saw an evil look on a man's face, his wore it at 
 that moment. 
 
 " Crabtree was right," he said, gathering up his bed- 
 ding. " It will be much cooler down below." 
 
 I followed his example, and departed, but I did not go 
 to sleep. 
 
 My thoughts flew back to the happy country-home 
 where I had known Ethel Ingledene as a child with long 
 fair hair — to the good old rector, her father — to honest 
 Jack Ingledene, whom we all liked so much, poor boy ! 
 and I felt— well, I felt I should like to have the shoot- 
 ing of Lingmoor. What if, when we were out after 
 deer on the morrow, a shot should chance to go astray ! 
 Such things had happened. 
 
 But not this time, however. We all shot very straight^ 
 and made good bags. I managed to give Lingmoor a 
 wide berth all day, for his good spirits and cheery chaff 
 were even more unbearable to me than Griffenhoofe's 
 unpleasant inuendoes. 
 
 It was getting dusk when we returned to the palace. 
 I quite dreaded meeting Mrs. Ingledene, who had not 
 
IN THE RAJAH'S PALACE. Ill 
 
 shewn before we started in the morning. Therefore I 
 was very relieved to hear that she had a bad headache 
 from the sun, and would not be able to come down to 
 dinner. 
 
 Just as I was having my ante-prandial tub— a simple 
 process, consisting of standing on the bath-room floor, 
 and having pitchers of water poured over one by one's 
 bearer — I heard a familiar voice on the terrace below. 
 It was my old chum, Tachbrook, just arrived. Such a 
 pleasant surprise it was and one which somewhat re- 
 stored my good humour. 
 
 We had a very cheery dinner. Afterwards we amused 
 ourselves throwing bits of meat from a balcony over- 
 hanging the lake to the alligators below. The black, 
 slimy monsters rose out of the water into the moonlight, 
 and fought and struggled for the bits we threw, crawling 
 on one another's backs, and opening their huge mouths, 
 set with rows of cruel teeth. 
 
 Miss Crabtree, the spinster of our party, turned away 
 with a shudder. 
 
 " It gives me the creeps to look at them," she said. 
 " I want to talk of something more pleasant — your 
 charming friend. Colonel Tachbrook. What a dear old 
 thing he is ! Now, tell me, is it true what I hear, that 
 there is some romantic story about him — that he was 
 engaged to a girl who was killed in the Mutiny, and that 
 that's the reason he was never married ? Do tell me ! '* 
 
 Of course I had heard something of the kind about 
 Tachbrook, but I was not going to divulge any secret of 
 my friend's. 
 
112 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " My dear young lady," I replied, mysteriously, " you 
 are as curious and as romantic as all your sex. Pray, 
 believe it if you like " 
 
 '* You are very irritating," she laughed, and turned 
 away ! 
 
 Then Tachbrook himself came up. 
 
 " This Bundelpore Rajah of yours, wasn't he very 
 troublesome to us in '57 ? " he asked. 
 
 " It was his father, not the present man. He turned 
 against us from the first, don't you remember, and 
 attacked and killed the Europeans at Guramabad, and 
 at Punkahpore." 
 
 A shadow crossed Tachbrook's face. To hide it, he 
 caressed his gray moustache pensively. 
 
 " I was away before Delhi then. But I remember 
 it all now — I remember it all." 
 
 He turned aside, and changed the conversation. 
 
 Grififenhoofe had given up his place in my sleeping 
 apartment to Tachbrook, much to my delight. I was 
 dog-tired, and trusted that I should be undisturbed by 
 any such unpleasant episode as that of the night be- 
 fore. But Tachbrook appeared restless, and not inclined 
 to sleep. 
 
 " Rum thing it is, old man, I should be stopping in 
 one of Bundelpore's palaces. You've heard me speak 
 of Ethel Brooke sometimes — that dear little girl I was 
 engaged to in '57, before the troubles began. She 
 went away to stay with some people at Guramabad 
 just before the Mutiny broke out. I was ordered 
 suddenly to Delhi, and then came the Guramabad 
 
IN THE RAJAH'S PALACE. II3 
 
 massacre. I never heard of her again — not a sign — 
 not a word. Thank God, the Rajah died the death 
 he deserved — done to death by a traitor ! And now 
 his son is our good friend, and I am his guest ! Such 
 is life! Heigh ho!" 
 
 He lighted a cigar, and smoked me to sleep. 
 How long I slept I don't know. A sudden cry from 
 Tachbrook woke me with a start. 
 " Ethel ! Great God I it is Ethel ! " 
 I sprang up, and there, stealing in through the cur- 
 tain, exactly as she had done the night before, came 
 Mrs. Ingledene. 
 
 Tachbrook stared at her like a madman. 
 " Poor fellow ! " I said to myself. " These sad me- 
 mories have upset his head." 
 
 She glided behind the curtain into Lingmoor's room* 
 Tachbrook jumped up, and followed her. 
 
 " At any price, a scandal must be prevented," 
 thought I, and I sprang up, too, and followed him. 
 
 Lingmoor was sleeping the sleep of youth, and of a 
 hard day's shooting. 
 
 Tachbrook, with outstretched arms, stared at the 
 dark form, which slowly flitted across the room. 
 
 She passed through the open window, out on to the 
 balcony overhanging the lake. 
 
 A horrible fear seized me. She saw herself dis- 
 covered, and would not live to face the shame. 
 " Stop her ! stop her ! " I cried. 
 We both rushed out on to the balcony. 
 It was empty. 
 
 C, M. G. 8 
 
114 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The night breeze ruffled the dark surface of the lake 
 in the depths of which the muggers were sleeping. 
 
 Tachbrook and I glared at each other, too horrified 
 to speak. 
 
 Then a voice called me from the stairs. 
 
 " You are wanted at once, Collector Sahib. There 
 is an old crone, the mother, or aunt, or some such 
 relation of the Rajah, who lives in a little house in the 
 garden, and who is dying, and wants to see you very 
 urgently." 
 
 '^ Oh ! do come," said another voice, a very sweet 
 one. " I did w^hat I could for her this afternoon when 
 you were away, and I found her so ill. But she has 
 something on her mind to tell you, and I promised 
 you should come. Be quick, or it will be too late ! " 
 
 The speaker was Mrs. Ingledene, standing at the 
 door of my room, looking lovely in a white peignoir. 
 At first I thought she was a ghost. But I grasped her 
 arm. It was firm flesh and blood. 
 
 " I will go at once," I said. " You go back to bed." 
 
 As I went down the stairs, I heard Lingmoor's voice 
 calling : 
 
 " Send some one with brandy. Colonel Tachbrook 
 has fainted." 
 
 They led me to one of those little garden-houses, 
 common in the east, where an almost sightless, toothless 
 old hag lay at her last gasp. 
 
 ** You are the Government's servant," she said, *' the 
 great sahib — you are good to my nephew, the Maharajah 
 —you have forgiven of your great clemency the wicked- 
 
IN THE rajah's PALACE. II5 
 
 ness of my brother, when he killed your people, your 
 women and children. I have something to say before 
 I die, if your Highness will listen." 
 
 She spoke with difficulty, and in gasps. I bent down 
 to catch her words. 
 
 " Her spirit came to me to-day, so I know that I am 
 dying — the spirit of the beautiful young white maiden, 
 with the yellow hair, whom my brother carried off from 
 Guramabad, when he killed the rest, and whom he 
 brought here. She was kind to me, the spirit ; she has 
 forgiven me. For I took her jewels. I have them now. 
 I wish to give them back to a white sahib, lest the 
 devils should torment me when I am gone. The Rajah 
 shut her up in the top rooms — no one could hear her 
 cries there — she could not escape — he put men on the 
 stairs to keep the door. He delighted in the yellow- 
 haired maiden — he would have made her his favourite 
 wife — but one morning, when we opened the door — 
 she was gone. Her jewels were there — and a little holy 
 book she carried in her bosom — see, here they are." 
 
 From under her pillow she drew, with feeble grasp, a 
 yellow, worn, little English prayer-book, and a gold 
 brooch and earrings, and gave them to me. 
 
 As I opened the book I was aware of two people 
 looking over my shoulder. Tachbrook and Mrs. Ingle- 
 dene had followed me. 
 
 The fly-leaf was yellow and dirty, but the name on 
 it perfectly legible — 
 
 "Ethel Brooke, September, 1856, 
 " Hardleigh Hall." 
 
116 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 . A great groan broke from Tachbrook. 
 
 " It is her name — her writing," he answered, and hid 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 " That was my mother's sister's name," gasped Mrs. 
 Ingledene. "Their home was at Hardleigh Hall — I 
 remember hearing she came out to India, and was killed 
 in " 
 
 Tachbrook interrupted her. 
 
 '' You are her niece ? " he asked, in a gentle voice, 
 ** You are her very image ; I think I see her again." 
 
 And he drew her to him, and kissed her on the fore- 
 head. 
 
 I turned over the gold brooch in my hand. 
 
 " There is a miniature in the back, see ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ingledene looked, and gave a cry. 
 
 " That is my mother when a girl. I know it quite 
 well — I have one like it ! " 
 
 There was a faint gurgle from the bed. The old na- 
 tive woman in the corner, who had been watching us, 
 fell back dead. 
 
 We left her, and passed out into the cool garden, 
 where the bird-life was just awaking. 
 
 Mrs. Ingledene disappeared to her own apartment. 
 Tachbrook went out alone for a walk. I thought it best 
 to leave him to himself. We were great friends, but 
 after a discovery such as this, not even the greatest 
 friends can be any comfort. 
 
 Worn out by the night's emotions, I fell asleep till 
 breakfast time. When I joined the rest of the party in 
 the great hall, I found everyone devouring letters and 
 
IN THE rajah's PALACE. tlf 
 
 papers just brought out from Punkahpore by a mes- 
 senger. 
 
 Mrs. Ingledene rushed at me with outstretched hands : 
 
 •* I want you to be the first to hear, for you are my 
 oldest friend in this country, and I have so hated to 
 have a secret from you ! Listen, I have just got my 
 home letters, and papa has, at last, given his consent 
 to Nellie's marriage with Lionel Lingmoor. Fm so 
 happy ! You remember Nellie, the youngest of us all — 
 they got engaged when he was home last summer on 
 leave — and papa was furious. So they have been corre- 
 sponding through me, and I have been doing all I can 
 to help them. And now that Lionel is to get his 
 captaincy, papa has given in. I'm so glad, for he's 
 such a nice fellow, isn't he? though, of course, I shall 
 never think anyone quite good enough for Nell ! " 
 
 " I remember Nell perfectly. I carried her pick-a-back 
 the last time I saw her. And as I can't congratulate 
 her personally, let me do it by proxy, dear little lady." 
 
 So saying, I bent down and kissed Mrs. Ingledene 
 on the forehead. If Jack could have read in my heart 
 how penitent I was for my horrible suspicions, I do 
 not think he would have objected. 
 
 Just then Crabtree bustled up. 
 
 " Here's Lingmoor been getting into such a mess— i 
 just like a griff. He's gone and shot one of the Rajah's 
 muggers — didn't think there was any harm. Come 
 and see what's to be done ! " 
 
 " Nothing, I should think, except to administer a few 
 judicious rupees all round, to keep it quiet," I replied* 
 
Il8 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 and followed Crabtree to the steps leading down to the 
 lake, where Lingmoor was surveying the huge carcase of 
 the dead alligator. 
 
 " Ton my honour, I didn't realize they were preserved ! 
 I'm awfully sorry." 
 
 " You may as well have him stuffed now youVe got 
 him," I remarked. " He's a splendid fellow, the grand- 
 father of them all, I should judge." 
 
 I called a low-caste native, who began to cut up the 
 animal. 
 
 Presently, in his stomach, we came on something small 
 and glittering. I picked it up. It was a gold ring. 
 
 I rubbed it bright, and then saw some letters engrav- 
 ed on the inside : 
 
 " Ethel, from W. T.," I read aloud. 
 
 " Will you let me have it ? " said a voice behind me. 
 
 And I handed it to Tachbrook without a word. 
 
TWO STRINGS. 
 
 At home, in the Park in England, it was white waist- 
 coat weather, when women appear in sweet cotton frocks, 
 when the social air buzzes with cricket and yachting 
 talk, and men begin to feel their gout and to say they 
 must go to Hamburg. Up in the Himalayas, where the 
 little collection of chalets dotted about the precipices 
 among the ilex and the rhododendrons form what is 
 called a hill-station, the monsoon was at its height. 
 Drip, drip, drip — hammer, hammer, hammer — for some- 
 times a day and a night at a stretch, down upon the 
 corrugated iron roofs of the bungalows, came the rain. 
 The frogs and the leeches, the fungi and the ferns, grew 
 and multiplied, but it was enough to damp the cheeriest, 
 giddiest nature that ever revelled in the ceaseless round 
 of frivolity and fooling that goes on at Murree, 
 
 Ten o'clock at night. A wood fire made of damp 
 logs that declined to burn brightly. The wind howling 
 among the deodars, the rain pelting, the shivering ser- 
 vants rolled up in rugs asleep in their own log huts — 
 not a soul stirring in the draughty little bungalow but 
 herself It was most depressing ; the kind of evening 
 when every worry, every error, everything you would 
 rather not have said, assumes magnified proportions and 
 haunts you. 
 
 So it was with Queenie Vayle, though a more unlikely 
 looking subject for the horrors of remorse and depres- 
 sion did not exist. Such golden hair — the true dark 
 
120 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 gold colour, such appealing brown eyes, and a nose just 
 the least bit retrousse to give piquancy to the face, and 
 only one-and-twenty. 
 
 They had considered themselves engaged ever since 
 Queenie was in short frocks with a pigtail of gold-brown 
 hair ; and the hideous uniform of the Royal Military 
 College, Sandhurst, did its best, though unsuccessfully, 
 to take off from Reggy Vayle's good looks and well- 
 set-up, manly figure. Then, in order to prevent the 
 possibility of their ever changing their minds or 
 coming across any one they liked better than them- 
 selves, they were married at the end of Queenie's first 
 season, and prepared to make the acquaintance of the 
 world together. It was tempting the gods, and the 
 usual result followed. 
 
 Two years later Vayle's regiment was ordered to 
 India. Queenie's baby died — the young mother and 
 the ayah together muddled it to death ; she got fever, 
 and the doctor packed her off to the hills. Reggy could 
 get no leave. 
 
 To the Mayo Hotel at Simree that season, sent up 
 to recover himself in the cool from a polo accident,, 
 lame and interesting, came Cis Lorrimer, the ugliest 
 fellow in the Crimson Cuirassiers, and the most popular 
 and the most fascinating. He found him-self sitting at 
 the table d'hote next Mrs. Vayle, and he forthwith took 
 her under his charge. She was so new to India, to life 
 in general, and such a refreshing change from most of 
 Cis's female friends. Queenie's silly little head was 
 soon perfectly turned by the attentions of a hero such 
 
TWO STRINGS. 121 
 
 as she had never met before ; a man who, when his foot 
 was upon his native Piccadilly, was one of a set royalty- 
 affected, and whose every nod and word was accepted 
 with effusion by the Mte of Simree society. In India, 
 where the table of precedence is ruled by the number of 
 rupees drawn, a little flavour of real aristocracy goes a 
 long way. 
 
 Under the influence of Lorrimer, Queenie Vayle 
 developed wonderfully. She had come to Simree a 
 simple child ; before many weeks were out she was a 
 woman — and a woman devoured with the great passion 
 of her life. The glamour of Lorrimer was over her ; 
 Reggy became more and more commonplace and unin- 
 teresting, because so familiar ; her letters to him fewer 
 and fewer. 
 
 At last, however, he got one, the penning of which 
 was, of all the foolish things Queenie had done in her 
 silly little life, the most foolish. She wrote and told 
 him that she found she no longer loved him as real love 
 goes ; but, having met the one man in the world for 
 her, she was off on a trip into Cashmere with him. She 
 was very sorry, but she couldn't help it, and hoped he 
 would forgive her ; or words to that effect. 
 
 Reggy Vayle — an honest, straightforward, and very 
 young Englishman, grilling away at Punkahpore — did 
 not prove of the ordinary type of patient, acquiescent 
 Anglo-Indian husband, who calls his wife's " bow-wow " 
 by his Christian name, and takes care to give a few 
 days' notice before he runs up to the hill-station on 
 leave. 
 
122 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 There was a fearful scandal. Society in India 
 
 winks at a good deal, but the law makes up for it by 
 
 severity. The Cashmere trip had to be cut short ; the 
 
 case came on in the High Court ; and Cis Lorrimer 
 
 had to sacrifice everything and make a bolt of it to 
 
 somewhere — Japan or Australia. The court gave him 
 
 two years and mulcted him handsomely. He was 
 
 absent without leave, and, after the usual interval, the 
 
 Gazette recorded that her Majesty had no further need 
 
 of his services. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And now another monsoon had come round again, 
 and Queenie Vayle sat solitary, listening to the rain, 
 utterly alone in the world. Lorrimer made no sign, 
 and her family at home had cast her off as completely 
 as her husband. She felt so utterly wretched that she 
 would have given anything for a kind word from any 
 one. But women looked askance at her, for in India 
 great importance is attached to the new commandment 
 — thou shalt not be found out ; and as to kind words 
 from men, well, it hadn't quite come to that yet, 
 though it might soon, Queenie felt. For life was 
 intolerable. 
 
 It was well-nigh intolerable to some one else, too — 
 a man who had arrived that day from the plains and 
 was going on to-morrow into Cashmere after big 
 game. Reggy Vayle felt in the thoroughly British 
 mood for killing something. He could not kill Lorrimer, 
 for he did not know where he was to be found. So he 
 was going to kill ibex. 
 
TWO STRINGS. 1 23 
 
 It was a mere chance that in the hotel reading-room 
 he saw Queenie's name in the visitors' list. He had no 
 idea she was up at Murree, and the shock of the surprise 
 gave him the oddest impulse. The memory of Queenie 
 rose up before him as she had been a year before — pure, 
 lovely, his own ; and a great hunger came over the man 
 just to see her once more, not to speak to her, not even to 
 let her know he saw her — only to see her for the last time. 
 
 In the dark verandah of Queenie's little bungalow 
 stood a tall figure, the rain running off his mackintosh 
 in streams, on to the flooring. There was a chink 
 between the curtains, and, by pressing his face against 
 the pane, he could see her distinctly. The gleam of 
 the lamp caught her golden head, as she sat, with hands 
 clasped on her knee, gazing into the fire, looking utterly 
 dejected, a lonely little figure. A great feeling of pity 
 and remorse stole over Reggy. She looked so young ; 
 he had sworn to love and to cherish her. Instinctively 
 he stretched out his arms towards her, when 
 
 A sepulchral cough sounded from the corner of the 
 verandah. It was the watchman, the chokedar, who is 
 supposed to guard each bungalow at night, rousing in 
 his slumber and announcing his alertness. Reggy had 
 no choice but to fly precipitately. 
 
 Indian postal officials are crassness itself Vayle's 
 servant had been to inquire for his master's letters as 
 soon as the latter had arrived at Murree, and they were 
 lying on the table in his room when he returned from 
 his Enoch Arden visit. He opened them mechanically. 
 One began " My own darling Queenie," and was signed 
 
124 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Yours, as ever, Cecil Lorrimer." The address on the 
 envelope was Mrs, Vayle, but neither the post-office 
 people nor Vayle himself had noticed it. A cheque for 
 a large sum fell from its folds. 
 
 It was a good letter, and showed the writer in a 
 better light than he had appeared in before. All being 
 lost for both of them — for Queenie, home and fame ; for 
 him, his position in the world, in the dear old corps — 
 Lorrimer, who had been getting his affairs straight, 
 wrote to ask her to come out at once to Tasmania to 
 marry him and start life afresh. It was a straight- 
 forward kind of letter, and it was more. It was a love- 
 letter. Queenie had not been to him merely a toy, to 
 be played with and cast aside. 
 
 Vayle sat with the letter in his hand going through 
 a great fight with himself. He had imagined that 
 Queenie was utterly dead to him ; that he had cast her 
 off for ever. But now, with this other man's offer lying 
 before him, a queer feeling of jealousy came over him. 
 He saw^ her again as he had just seen her — lonely, sad, 
 desolate. He remembered her in the old years ; his 
 little wife, she had called herself, ever since she was in 
 her teens. All her treachery was forgotten ; he felt he 
 could not let her go. 
 
 Lorrimer's letter fluttered into the fire and curled to 
 ashes among the logs. 
 
 Ten minutes later Queenie starts at the sound of an 
 opening door, All the windows are doors in India, and 
 none are ever locked. She turns and shrieks, for a man 
 stands in the verandah with a passionate look on his face. 
 
TWO STRINGS. I25 
 
 He IS kneeling before her ; his hands clutch hers con- 
 vulsively. For she looks to him just the same as she 
 did that Christmas when she blushed and told him she 
 was getting too big to be kissed under the mistletoe 
 — just the same as she did in her bridal veil in the 
 village church at home. 
 
 " Darling ! " he pleads hoarsely, " darling ! will you 
 forgive me ? Will you come back to me ? " 
 
 Far away in Tasmania the other one, waiting and 
 longing, is not in it. It seems so natural to rest her 
 head on Reggy's shoulder, and there lay down the weary 
 load of care and desolation which oppressed her, and 
 shut out for ever the hideous nightmare of the last 
 few months ; and they are remarried within a few 
 days. 
 
 ^ ei& * « 
 
 The scene changes to the Park and white-waistcoat 
 weather. Cis Lorrimer, landed at Charing Cross that 
 morning, stands in a quiet corner under the trees, with 
 his hat tilted over his eyes, and sees ghosts. Ghosts of 
 the men and women he has known in town before the 
 Crimsons sailed for India five years ago. Men grown 
 stout, women gone off ; men grown bald, women with 
 unmistakably increased hair. Frocks new and wonder- 
 ful ; a new curve in a hat brim. Familiar forms ; 
 strange faces. But there, flitting down, chatting gaily 
 to nice-looking women, a well-remembered face with 
 golden hair, but looking happier, more peaceful, than 
 when he saw it last. 
 
126 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 He watches her across the Row and put into a hansom 
 at the corner by her friends. Then he jumps inta 
 another and follows it to Gargantuan Mansions. 
 
 That evening, when the sunlight, darkened by the 
 awning over the balcony, casts deep shadows in the little 
 drawing-room of the flat, Queenie Vayle sits alone, 
 toying with her tea. 
 
 There is an electric ring, a footstep in the tiny pas- 
 sage, and a voice — well remembered — speaking, makes 
 Queenie start to her feet. 
 
 The maid, without a word, is showing some one into 
 the dim room. Hands are held out towards her. 
 
 " Queenie ! Queenie ! at last I have found you ! " 
 
 She gives a low cry of pain and half turns away. 
 
 " Won't you speak to me ? You never answered. 
 Speak to me now ; do, Queenie. I'm doing well ; 
 a different fellow ; and — and — I want you, Queenie." 
 
 She looks up at him for a few moments, and then a 
 light breaks upon her. 
 
 She motions him away. 
 
 " You mustn't speak like that, Cis. It can't be ! It 
 is all over ! " 
 
 His face grows hard and set suddenly, as if he had 
 been struck a blow. 
 
 "What do you mean, Queenie? Has anyone come 
 between us ? Good God ! " 
 
 She moves to the door that divides the drawing- 
 room from the little dining-room and opens it very 
 softly. 
 
TWO STRINGS. 12^ 
 
 There is an odour of tobacco about the room, and 
 Reggy Vayle lies back in an arm-chair enjoying an 
 ante-prandial nap and snoring slightly. 
 
 " Yes," she says, pointing to him, " some one has — my 
 husband ! " 
 
 She crosses the room on tiptoe and, bending her fair 
 
 head over the back of his chair, kisses him lightly on 
 
 the forehead. 
 
 When she goes back to the drawing-room it is empty. 
 ***** 
 
 Everyone knows how Cis Lorrimer, late of the Crim- 
 son Cuirassiers, got into the Mounted Infantry in Egypt 
 and was killed at the Ghazi Dhru Wells business. 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. 
 
 Mrs. Splatter was the biggest lady in the Anglo- 
 Indian station of Noluck. I am not, of course, alluding 
 to her corporeal size, though that too was worthy of 
 note, but to her social position. She was, to use the 
 native term applied to her and her ilk, the "burra 
 mem," or big woman. 
 
 What matter that the progenitors of her lesser half 
 ( " my husband, the Commissioner," as she was always 
 careful to designate him) were not unconnected with 
 a hosiery shop in St. James's Street, and that her own 
 parents owned a crockery establishment in the Strand ? 
 In Noluck, East Indies, such are the stern rules of 
 official precedence, Mrs. Splatter went into dinner 
 before everybody else. 
 
 Mr. Commissioner Splatter was a man of a mosaic 
 temperament, and, though he ruled hundreds of thou- 
 sands of her Imperial Majesty's dusky subjects, scat- 
 tered over an area as large as an English county, Mrs. 
 Splatter governed him. 
 
 The eldest child of the Splatter pair was Ella, a 
 winsome little person of seventeen. She had just "come 
 out " (in India girls do indeed come out) per steamship 
 Honolulu, like European goods, to enliven the some- 
 what severe commissionorial residence, a huge, white- 
 washed, double-storied bungalow, shut in with veran- 
 dahs so as to render the windows almost invisible, and 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. 1 29 
 
 standing in a square yard, yclept a garden, and fringed 
 with the mud huts of the tribe of red-coated retainers 
 who loafed on the broad flight of steps. 
 
 Ella '' took after " her papa, as the nurses say. She 
 had no very decided opinions or characteristics — an 
 excellent thing, both in a young lady and in a senior 
 member of the Civil Service. But it was certinly from 
 neither parent that she got her fresh English beauty 
 and cheery girlish ways. 
 
 Ella had been conveyed to India under the un- 
 impeachable chaperonage of Mrs. Lynx, whose husband 
 was civil surgeon at Noluck, and to whose care Mrs. 
 Splatter unhesitatingly entrusted her daughter. But 
 the best-laid plans of mice and mothers often deviate 
 from the straight line, and certainly Mrs. Splatter had 
 not foreseen that, owing to Mrs. Lynx being laid on 
 her back with a sprained ankle for the greater part of 
 the voyage. Miss Ella would be free to make and to 
 cultivate pretty extensively the fascinating acquaintance 
 of Lieutenant George Eston, of the 130th Foot, with- 
 out a penny beyond his pay. How he allowed pretty 
 Ella to leave the ship without proposing to her might 
 well be a puzzle to any man who had looked into her 
 blue eyes. But probably young Bridges, the engineer, 
 had something to do with it. He was perpetually 
 coming up and flushing the couple when Eston, in a 
 cosy corner, was about to say something irretrievable. 
 
 In the short twilight of a spring evening (Indian 
 days are much of a muchness as regards length, and 
 the blind man's holiday is short), Mrs. Splatter sat in 
 C, M. G. 9 
 
130 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 the reading-room of the Noluck Club, laying down the 
 law to a representative gathering of Noluck female 
 society. The Chutter Munzil (profanely dubbed the 
 Chatter Munzil) is a decayed royal palace of stucco on 
 the evil-smelling banks of a torpid river. Like most 
 Indian clubs, it has one room thrown open to ladies, 
 where they may peruse the Queen and the picture 
 papers, and discuss the far more absorbing topics of 
 local scandal and domestic grievances. 
 
 Outside on the terrace a long line of patient carriages 
 awaited their mistresses and masters. The groonis 
 were mostly engaged in lighting the lamps as the dark- 
 ness fell, while from the club came a click of billiard- 
 balls and a popping of corks. 
 
 Weary of the endless stories of the frisky ways of 
 Mrs. Frayle, or of the impertinence of Mrs. Paynter, 
 the wife of the colonel of the Lancer regiment quartered 
 in the cantonments, or of the peculations of cooks, and 
 tired of papers three weeks' old, the bloom of whose 
 contents had been rubbed off by telegrams, Ella left her 
 mother and Mrs. Colonel de Ferret deep in confab, and 
 strayed on to the steps outside the open French windows. 
 The tom-toms and cow-horns which had beaten to 
 evening prayers were hushed in the teeming native 
 city, and a subtle odour of objectionable smoke crept 
 over the land, and announced that the mild Hindoo was 
 cooking his evening meal. Suddenly the four-in-hand 
 brake of the Lancers drove up on to the terrace 
 with a dash, and a bevy of white-breeched and booted 
 and spurred polo players hied them into the club. 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. I3I 
 
 But one came along to the reading-room and peeped 
 in cautiously. After looking round the group of ladies 
 he turned away, and in so doing brushed against Ella 
 in the darkness. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, Vm sure," he murmured, raising 
 his cap. 
 
 Ella started and hesitated a minute. It was so dark 
 that she might be mistaken in the voice. Then she 
 made a bold shot. 
 
 *' Good evening, Mr. Eston," and in another minute 
 they were telling all the news they had bottled up for 
 each other since they had parted at Bombay. What 
 an age it seemed ! Yet it was only a month ago. 
 
 They had not half finished when it grew raw and 
 cold on the riverside, and Mrs. Splatter was heard 
 within, about to depart, and beginning her last words. 
 
 " I must fly — there's mamma coming ! " whispered 
 Ella. " When shall I see you again ? " 
 
 " When you like," answered he. 
 
 " Oh ! not till then ? " she replied, with a bewitch- 
 ing smile, which betrayed her ironical tone, and took 
 shelter under her mother's wing. 
 
 With great presence of mind Eston advanced and 
 called up the carriage. The open landau drew up, 
 driven by a native coachman in a dark tunic over his 
 skin-tight white-cotton trousers, and who held the reins 
 on a level with his nose. Two grooms, dressed to match 
 him, clung on to the back of the carriage, armed with 
 yak-tail fly-whisks, and rushed to open the door. Eston 
 
132 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 helped the ladies in, and Mrs. Splatter, who mistook 
 him in the dark for someone else, was very affable. 
 
 ''Who is that young man?" inquired the lady, as 
 they rumbled off to the Civil Lines. " I thought at 
 first it was Mr. Cramwell," (Mr. Cramwell was the 
 unmarried joint-magistrate.) 
 
 But when Ella explained that it was only a common 
 or garden subaltern, whom she had met on board ship, 
 and who was staying with a friend in the 131st in 
 cantonments, Mrs. Splatter sniffed scornfully. In 
 virtue of her exalted position as the wife of one of the 
 " senior " heaven-born, Mrs. Splatter abhorred what 
 she termed the military. A rising young civil servant, 
 worth three hundred a year dead or alive, was of more 
 value in her sight than many soldiers with curled 
 moustaches and bravery of gold lace and spurs. She 
 gave Ella forthwith to understand as much, and the 
 latter's spirits, which had risen so ridiculously at the 
 unexpected rencontre with Eston, promptly sank to 
 zero. 
 
 Next morning, at the orthodox calling hour, between 
 twelve and two, Mr. Eston sent in his card for Mrs. 
 Splatter by one of the red-coated retainers on the steps. 
 Then he followed it into the large drawing-room, 
 furnished with real English upholstered tables and 
 sofas. But the great lady was distinctly frigid, and 
 other callers, of more importance than a subaltern, 
 engrossed her attention. Poor Eston hardly got in a 
 few words alone to Ella, before a further batch of 
 visitors caused him to beat a precipitate retreat. 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. 1 33 
 
 Nevertheless, something must have been arranged 
 between them, for next day he joined Ella in her 
 morning ride up the shady Mall, and they had a gallop 
 together round the racecourse, the only soft going in all 
 Noluck, and that a littered course. Ella looked pretty 
 even under her hideous white sun-helmet, and Eston 
 blessed the Indian custom by which grooms pursue 
 their mistresses on foot only. Of course, as they were 
 going to ride at a good pace, it was only humane to 
 dispense with the services of the white-robed attendant 
 and bid him await their return. 
 
 No doubt it was exceedingly wrong of Ella to be 
 riding about alone thus with a decided detrimental, all 
 unbeknown to her mother, while the latter was occupied 
 with domestic cares, such as giving out the stores 
 checking the cook's accounts, and counting over the 
 dirty dusters. But in the first place, even had Mrs. 
 Splatter been able to chaperone her daughter on horse- 
 back, she would, indeed, have needed a weight-carrier ; 
 and, in the second, the Anglo-Indian system of bringing 
 up children away from their parents is hardly conducive 
 to much sympathy and confidence, and Mrs. Splatter 
 was hardly the mother to elicit much of the latter. 
 
 Eston had only ten days' leave, and he was not the 
 man to let the grass grow under his feet. About 
 6-30 A.M. one deliciously fresh morning (the days were 
 growing perceptibly hotter), all among the glowing 
 bouganvillias and alamandas of the fort gardens, 
 haunted with sad memories of British heroism, he told 
 Ella what she had guessed already, the while sapient 
 
134 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 crows croaked at them from the mango branches, and 
 shrill green parrots jeered at them as they shrieked 
 past like a streak of green lightning. But the doves 
 cooed to them sympathetically from the peepul-trees. 
 
 But, alas for the course of true love ! The upstart of 
 that sweet morning's compact was a stormy interview 
 between Ella and her mother, which sent the latter to 
 bed with a headache and tears. 
 
 When Eston arrived at noon to see the commissioner, 
 he was met by the stern remark that, in Anglo-Indian 
 parlance, the door was shut, and in the evening Mrs. 
 Splatter and Ella cut him dead as they passed him on 
 the Mall in their afternoon drive. He noticed Ella's 
 eyes were red. 
 
 Next day was Sunday, and the last day of Eston's 
 leave. In accordance with the convenient Indian 
 custom that runs all the expresses at night, and so 
 materially lengthens one's existence, Eston was to 
 rejoin his regiment by that evening's mail train. But 
 he felt he could not leave without seeing Ella once 
 more. So he did a thing he could never remember 
 doing except when with the regiment and on duty 
 since he left Harrow, and that was — going to church. 
 
 He was rewarded, Ella sat in the front seat, the 
 commissioner's. Eston secured one at right-angles to 
 her, and thus turned Mrs. Splatter's flank. But when 
 one is a " burra mem," and sits in the uppermost seats 
 in the synagogue, one must be very devout. So the 
 latter lady missed a great deal of the eye telegraphy 
 which went on between the lovers all service time. 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. 135 
 
 The weather was getting hot ; white-frilled punkahs 
 were swaying methodically, pulled by heathen in the 
 verandah, over a congregation consisting of a sprinkling 
 of black-coated civilians and their families, a fringe of 
 whitey-brown clerks and shopkeepers, and a brilliant 
 patch of soldiers in divers uniforms, who had marched 
 to the very church doors with their bands playing 
 joyous melodies. These infantry, as usual, ever since 
 the outbreak of the Mutiny at Meerut while the troops 
 were in church, had each man his rifle resting in the 
 book-shelf before him. Even the chaplain fanned him- 
 self languidly as he began a long-winded discourse 
 which, combined with the punkahs and the early hour 
 (church began at 8 A.M. now), soon sent Eston off into 
 a half-waking dream, not unconnected with a church in 
 which Ella played a prominent part. So sleepy was he 
 that when, at the conclusion of the service, the soldier 
 who did verger came round with the alms-bag and 
 offered him one of those little tickets whereon is to be 
 inscribed the amount of the donation — as no one carries 
 any coin in India — Eston clean forgot where he was, 
 and, hastily snatching the proffered pencil, wrote 
 quickly, with hazy recollections of the club : — 
 " One whisky and soda. G. Eston, Lieut, 130th " 
 Shortly after Eston's departure Mrs. Splatter carried 
 off Ella to the neighbouring hill-station of Simree for 
 the hot-weather months. Old Splatter remained be- 
 hind at work, enjoying his whist and billiards at the 
 club, as he never got enough of them when under con- 
 jugal surveillance. 
 
136 INDIAN IDYLLS, 
 
 Cram well, too, the rising young civilian, was off to 
 the hills. The fickle goddess of promotion had marked 
 him for her own. He was caught up into the seventh 
 heaven of the Local Government, and Noluck hot 
 weathers would know him no more. En revanche, Rose 
 Cottage, the little chalet wherein Mrs. Splatter had 
 planted herself among the rhododendrons, became very 
 familiar with his presence, and his attentions to Ella 
 became daily more marked. Mrs. Splatter smiled upon 
 his suit, and probably no one would have had any 
 objections to make to the affair, if Cramwell had not 
 been an out-and-out red-haired cad of the first water, 
 probably " riz '' in a Scotch grammar school and with 
 no manners whatever, while Ella was quite the prettiest 
 girl that season at Simree. 
 
 By way of setting in motion the mill-wheel round 
 of gaieties which engross the frivolous mind of the 
 mountain Capua, the august hostess of Government 
 House issued invitations for a fancy ball on the Queen's 
 Birthday, Forthwith the feminine mind became much 
 exercised as to costumes, and in every verandah sat 
 a cross-legged native tailor, stitching away at fancy 
 dresses, which he held with his toes. It was to be a 
 tremendous function, and rumour even whispered that 
 Mrs. General Money, the best-dressed woman in Simree, 
 had telegraphed to Paris for a dress to eclipse every one 
 else's. 
 
 In the midst of all this excitement, who should 
 turn up at the Empire Hotel, a few days before the 
 ball but George Eston. Regardless of the envenomed 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. I37 
 
 glance shot at him by Mrs. Splatter when he ran 
 against her in the Assembly Rooms at an afternoon 
 concert, he went off straightway to Messrs. Sharpe and 
 Dunn, the English tailors. From among the chaos on 
 their workroom floor he had picked out for him Mr. 
 Cramwell's fancy dress, and immediately ordered for 
 himself the exact counterpart, bribing Messrs. S. and D. 
 to solemn secrecy. 
 
 Mr. Cramwell, after much cogitation, had decided to 
 disguise his red head in the grey locks and venerable 
 beard of a monk, while a flowing black robe, girt with 
 a hempen cord, was to veil his manly form. George 
 Eston did exactly the same ; and when the Simree 
 world found themselves — a motley crew — assembled 
 under the gubernatorial chandeliers, there was not a pin 
 to choose between the two monks. In fact, every one 
 imagined that it was one and the same ascetic prowling 
 about in two places at once, except a few who, as the 
 evening wore on, imagined they saw double. No one 
 was more taken in than Mrs. Splatter, whose argus eye 
 was continually spying her daughter sitting out in dim 
 corners with the unsaintly anchorite, and who gloated 
 over the sight. 
 
 She was jubilant, indeed, when at the close of the en- 
 tertainment her six panting bearers deposited her in her 
 " jampan " in the verandah of Rose Cottage. The Lieu- 
 tenant-Governor's supper had been excellent, and to it 
 she had done ample justice. True, that a " seniorer " 
 lady than herself had been taken in by the Great Panjan- 
 drum himself to the solemn, sit-down, square meal which 
 
138 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 IS such an important feature in an Indian ball; but he 
 had honoured Mrs. Splatter with a quadrille. So she 
 turned to Ella effusively : — 
 
 " Well, my dear, and how have you enjoyed yourself ? " 
 
 " Awfully, mamma ! " 
 
 " And how did you get on with — with him ? Did he 
 say anything, Ella ? '* 
 
 Ella's long lashes drooped over her eyes, and her very 
 neck and shoulders blushed. 
 
 '* Well— yes — mamma." 
 
 " Dear child ! I am pleased ! But I won't bother you 
 at this time of night. Go and get some beauty sleep, 
 and tell me everything in the morning." 
 
 Ella turned away hanging her head. But at the door 
 of her room she came back again. 
 
 " Mamma, won't you kiss me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Splatter folded her to her capacious bosom. 
 
 But next morning, while the " burra mem " was still 
 wrapped in slumber, dreaming sweet dreams of pdt^ de 
 foie gras and a seat on the Legislative Council for her 
 lesser half, a tonga might have been seen whirling away 
 down the road to the plains as fast as a pair of gallop- 
 ing ponies could draw it. Under the hood, on the back 
 seat, sat Eston and Ella. 
 
 The sun rose brilliantly from behind the forest-clad 
 mountains, as they tore down the zigzags, round sharp 
 curves, above overhanging precipices, through deep 
 gorges. Torrents roared unseen in the ravines, and 
 waterfalls answered them from the crags above. The 
 koel boomed its cuckoo-like note across the valley, and 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. 139 
 
 cowbells tinkled from upland pastures. Patches of rosy 
 rhododendrons dyed the hill-sides crimson. At the 
 sound of the blast of the coachman's horn, long trains 
 of heavily laden bullock-wagons crept out of the way 
 of the clattering tonga, which a fresh pair of ponies 
 every five miles carried farther and farther away from 
 parental ire. 
 
 Little Mrs. Grey, the wife of a captain in Eston's 
 regiment, sat in the evening of that day in her verandah 
 trying to feel cool after her evening drive in the fur- 
 nace-like atmosphere of Guramghur. Of course she 
 might have been away amusing herself in the hills, but 
 her Charley could not get leave, and so, as she put it, 
 she meant to " stick it out " with him. Great was her 
 surprise to see a station gharry drive up, from which 
 emerged Eston. 
 
 " I thought you were up at Simree ? " was her 
 greeting. 
 
 " So I was. Mrs. Grey, will you do something 
 for me ? " 
 
 He led her into the drawing-room, with such an 
 unusual expression of triumphant anxiety blended on 
 his face that Mrs. Grey asked herself if he had either 
 come to grief in some way, or been made A.D.C. up at 
 Simree. But Eston was a great friend of the Greys, 
 and in his need he had not counted on them in vain. 
 After a very short explanation, the little woman ran 
 down the steps and, opening the carriage-door, helped 
 Ella out. The latter, after a minute's hesitation, flung 
 herself into Mrs. Grey's arms, and Mrs. Grey kissed 
 
140 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 the sweet little face, where the smiles struggled with 
 the tears. 
 
 "And now," remarked Eston, when this eminently 
 feminine performance was concluded, " I'm off to see 
 the padre." 
 
 They were married next morning in the whitewashed 
 barn which did duty for a church at Guramghur— 
 married quite early, while yet the barracks w^ere astir 
 with the usual matutinal bustle and noisy with bugle- 
 calls, while people were going for the before-breakfast 
 rides, and ere the morning mail-train sauntered into 
 Guramghur station. 
 
 In it came Mr. and Mrs. Splatter, the former armed 
 with a thick stick, and the latter, woman-like, with her 
 daughter's clothes. But they came too late. When 
 they entered the Greys' breakfast-room, Ella was 
 Mrs. Eston. 
 
 After a preliminary outburst every one decided to 
 make the best of everything, and Splatter pere et mere 
 returned next day to Simree, without their daughter, 
 bearing with them a grain of comfort in the knowledge 
 that, though their son-in-law might be penniless, yet 
 he was the nephew of a real baronet. The thought 
 of her child's uncle-in-law somewhat consoled Mrs. 
 Splatter when, later on in the season, Cramwell became 
 engaged to the decidedly plain daughter of her great 
 rival the Commissioneress of Todiabad. At any rate, 
 it gave her something to enlarge upon, when the 
 latter lady condoled with her in such an irritating 
 manner. 
 
A MODERN LOCHINVAR. I4I 
 
 But through the scorching hot weather and the drench- 
 ing monsoon which followed, Ella never grumbled over 
 her dinner of herbs in the little thatched bungalow, 
 or sighed for the stalled ox and the luxury of a 
 thermantidote in the Commissioner's mansion at No- 
 luck. What matters it if a subaltern's pay does not go 
 far? Are not the banks of India a refuge for the 
 destitute ? And little reck young lovers of heavy 
 interest and a day of reckoning. What matters the 
 lively mosquito, the maddening prickly heat, the ther- 
 mometer at ninety-something, or the rains coming down 
 and making life one long Turkish bath, or coming 
 through and necessitating an umbrella in bed, while rep- 
 tiles and insects find a happy home in the room? Certain- 
 ly the rainy season in the plains is hardly a joyous 
 one, and yet Ella and Eston were ridiculously happy. 
 But with the clearer skies of returning sunshine of 
 September a vague dread spread through Guramghur. 
 The cholera-fiend hovered over the native city, and 
 struck down his victims in the crowded gaol and the 
 busy bazaar. He stretched his sword over canton- 
 ments, and the troops fled before him into cholera- 
 camp, with their bands playing, it is true, but leaving 
 . some of their number behind them in hospital. 
 
 He spared not the Estons' little thatched bungalow. 
 Thence, one evening, all that was mortal of Ella was 
 borne on a gun-carriage down the Mall, along which she 
 had cantered so gaily only the day before, and laid to rest 
 in the little white-walled cemetery, crowded with name- 
 less soldiers' graves and thick with children's mounds. 
 
MY FIRST SNIPE. 
 
 " They're in, old man ! Til be hanged if they're not !" 
 
 This was Captain Cartridge's remark to Shotwell, and 
 puzzled me somewhat, as I lay half asleep in a long 
 lounging chair in the ante-room, with my feet raised 
 higher than my head on the broad elongated arms. 
 
 What were in, I asked myself, sleepily. It could 
 not be the letters, for it was yesterday that I had 
 received Messrs. Lappel and Son's polite and patient 
 " to account rendered," from far away Bond-street. It 
 could not be charming Mrs. Dashington and her pretty 
 sister, the only women worth speaking to in the station, 
 for everyone knew that Shotwell and Cartridge had a 
 soul above paying calls. 
 
 Only a month before H.M. troopship Alligator had 
 disgorged me at Bombay, and my evil star and the Great 
 Indian Peninsula Railway had led me to join my regi- 
 ment at the small and remote station of Guramghur. 
 Talk of a one-horse place : Guramghur was only a one- 
 pony place, for we were but a poor infantry corps without 
 the wherewithal to spend on polo or pig-sticking, or 
 even paper-chasing ; and one " tat " wherewith to canter 
 to and from mess, and to drive in our bamboo carts, 
 satisfied our modest aspirations. We wanted but little 
 in the way of horseflesh at Guramghur, but, in the case 
 of Colonel Cormorant, who weighed over sixteen stone, 
 we wanted that little strong. No, there was nothing to 
 recommend Guramghur — no society, very little work, as 
 
MY FIRST SNIPE. I43 
 
 we were the only troops, and but for the society of the 
 Dashingtons, I must have been bored to death. But 
 this is a digression. 
 
 Inquiry on my part elicited the information from 
 Shotwell that it was the snipe that formed the topic of 
 their conversation. How dense of me ! As if when 
 Shotwell and Cartridge got together they ever talked 
 of anything else but killing something. All the same, 
 we were proud of our two crack shots, for I fear we 
 were rather a " dog and walking-stick " regiment, and 
 we would descant on their wonderful bags to other non- 
 sporting characters. 
 
 Shotwell added, kindly : " You should go out and have 
 a try at the snipe, my boy ; finest sport out !" 
 
 My ambition was fired. So they had arrived, these 
 mysterious birds of passage, winging their way from far 
 northern steppes over pathless snows, to alight for a few 
 days in some quiet morass on monotonous Indian levels, 
 ere they sped on again, no one knows whither. Did I 
 not possess a brand new gun that had never yet left its 
 case ? I would sally forth and deal death and destruc- 
 tion among the snipe, and astonish Mrs. Dashington by 
 sending her in a dish of them for dinner. 
 
 Returning to my bungalow I ordered my bearer to 
 bring before me some trustworthy " shikari " who would 
 lead my infant footsteps in the way in which they should 
 go — after snipe. He arrived, and except that he was a 
 trifle less clothed and more unkempt than the usual run 
 of natives, there was nothing to denote especial wood- 
 craft about him. After a three-cornered conversation 
 
144 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 between the "shikari," the bearer, and myself, and ai 
 prodigious amount of misunderstanding, it was arranged 
 that on the morrow I was to shoot the Paniput Jheel, 
 where the snipe were as thick as mosquitoes. 
 
 It was dawn when my bearer succeeded in the, to 
 him, dangerous task of waking me. The air was chilL 
 with the welcome and delicious crispness of the cold 
 weather. No one seemed astir except the crows, who 
 cawed monotonously in the branches, and even the 
 " chokedar," or private watchman — the ostensible protec- 
 tor of our lives and property — was still asleep in a corner 
 of the verandah. In the shafts of the cart standing 
 by the steps was the " slave," a most useful grey pony, 
 with no particular faults except that of an inveterate 
 habit of jibbing at starting, and of such a vicious temper 
 that no one except his own "syce" could approach 
 within two yards of him in the stable. After the usual 
 prelude of whacking and pushing the wheels and reviling 
 the animal's maternal ancestors, we at length made a 
 start, my new gun resting carefully against the seat by 
 my side, " Reveille " was sounding in barracks, and a 
 few natives wrapped corpse-like in their sheets were 
 flitting down the misty Mall. A jackal, returning home 
 from his nocturnal prowl, stole across the road. Once 
 outside cantonments and bowling along the straight 
 white road, a perpetual excitement was kept up by our 
 meeting trains of bullock-carts laden with bales of cotton 
 for the railway. As the drivers were mostly asleep on 
 the summit of their loads, with their blankets well 
 wrapped over their ears, it required a good deal of 
 
MY FIRST SNIPE. I4S 
 
 vehemence on mine and the syce's part before they 
 could be induced to prod the lethargic bullocks out of 
 my way into the deep dust on either side the road. 
 
 At the sixth milestone of the monotonous, tree- 
 bordered road, whose only variety was an occasional 
 collection of mud huts or a mango grove, I found the 
 shikari squatting on his haunches in the dust, and look- 
 ing somewhat cold. Here I left the cart, and shoulder- 
 ing my gun, started off towards the "jheel," across 
 fields of low green bushes of '' dal," across carefully 
 tilled little patches of rising corn, and skirting tall crops 
 of millet and sugarcane, over a sun-baked plain. Pre- 
 sently the ground fell slightly, and became cracked 
 and caked like dried mud. My guide stopped short, 
 and appeared bewildered. With some difficulty, I 
 gathered from him that this was where he had expect- 
 ed to find the jheel, but that the water had mysteriously 
 vanished, God only knew where, and with it the 
 snipe. 
 
 Short as had been my residence in the country, my 
 faith in the wild Hindoo had already received several 
 fearful shocks. I, therefore, approached the shikari 
 with alarming menaces of corporal punishment, and — 
 despite his entreaties and asseverations that he knew 
 no more of the whereabouts of the jheel than did I, 
 "His Highness, the protector of the poor, his father 
 and his mother," all rolled into one — informed the " son 
 of a pig " that this was not Paniput Jheel, and that if 
 he didn't take me there sharp it would be the worse 
 for him. 
 
 C, M. G. 10 
 
146 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 • This ebullition had the desired result. Resuming our 
 march, we very shortly came on a tangled mixture of 
 mud and morass, swamp and sedge, with here and there, 
 a thorn-bush or a clump of high grass stretching as far 
 as the eye could see in a long serpentine line. 
 
 Forthwith from our rear the shikari evoked four 
 coolies who had been stalking solemnly behind us 
 wrapped in dirty sheets. These formed a line, with my- 
 self in the middle, and we started beating along the 
 sedge and water on the edge of the swamp. The sun 
 was now well above the horizon and had a good deal of 
 power ; the air was dead still. 
 
 Suddenly from out of a tussock of grass right in front 
 of me, with a wild cry, like the creaking of an unoiled 
 lock, rose a bird, ridiculously small to expect one to 
 shoot. When I add that instead of giving one a chance 
 by flying straight and fair it made three distinct twists, 
 the reader will not be surprised to hear that it got 
 away scot-free. 
 
 There was indeed no doubt about the snipe being in, 
 and I only wished my eye had been the same. Now in 
 wisps of four or five, rising together like a rocket and 
 scattering like fireworks ; now singly, sometimes at one's 
 feet and sometimes out of shot, they went up in all 
 directions. Still every one escaped me. The sun grew 
 hotter. My feet and legs were soaked. My temper 
 did not improve, but the snipe's chances did. The 
 shikari accompanied my misses with mal apropos 
 observations as to when to fire, which made me feel 
 inclined to slay him. 
 
MY FIRST SNIPE. 147 
 
 But at last came a proud moment. One bird, with 
 evidently better feeling than the others, rose well within 
 shot, and, with a subdued twitter, made off slow and 
 straight. The next minute he fell dead, and a coolie 
 promptly retrieved him out the water. A poor thing — 
 after such an expenditure of time and walking and 
 cartridges — but mine own. I gazed lovingly at the 
 long-billed trophy ere I hung him by the neck on the 
 gamestick. 
 
 The discharge of a gun not far off startled me, and 
 to my intense astonishment I beheld Shotwell and 
 Cartridge emerge from behind a patch of elephant-grass. 
 Their greetings were warm, but hardly cordial. 
 
 "You're a nice sort of chap ! What do you mean by 
 coming out on to our jheel ? " 
 
 " I'm very sorry," I began, " I had no idea that in this 
 country any of the shooting was private '^ 
 
 " Bless the boy ! I don't mean that. But the shikari 
 ought to have known better. He knows we keep this 
 
 jheel snug " And Cartridge made for the shikari, 
 
 who fled. 
 
 I interposed, for a light seemed to dawn upon me. 
 
 *' Hold hard. Cartridge ; now I think of it, he was 
 not at all anxious for me to come here. He tried to 
 put me off with a dried-up place across the hill." 
 
 Cartridge laughed. My innocence was so palpable. 
 
 " Well, and what have you got ? You have been 
 blazing away enough to scare every snipe out of the 
 country." 
 
148 INDIAN IDYLLS, 
 
 Triumphantly I pointed to the game stick, but to 
 my mortification evoked a roar of laughter from my 
 brother officers. 
 
 " Why, man, that's not a snipe at all ! That's a 
 snippet, look at its white breast ! " 
 
 And they both seemed so amused that I got propor- 
 tionately annoyed — for after all one is not born a 
 snipe-shot — and I was not sorry to find subsequently 
 that my battue had so disturbed the jheel, that the 
 two professors were unable to get near a bird, and were 
 forced to give it up and beat a retreat homewards. 
 
 Cartridge and Shotwell lived in a bungalow next 
 mine. As, later in the day, I was emerging soothed 
 and amiable from a warm tub, a shot from their veran- 
 dah startled the grey squirrels in mine. Looking out 
 of the bathroom door I perceived the two again 
 intensely amused over something. Their mirth was 
 irritating. 
 
 At dinner time at mess the story of my first day's 
 snipe shooting went gaily round, with embroideries 
 various. Especially it seemed to tickle Fitzdangle 
 (he is such a fool, anything will amuse him), who had 
 made use of my absence to go over and lunch with 
 the Dashingtons. 
 
 But Cartridge patted me on the back. 
 
 " Never mind, my boy, you'll do better next time ! 
 And I've told them to serve you for breakfast with 
 one of the few snipe we really did kill, that you may 
 see what it tastes like." 
 
MY FIRST SNIPE. I49 
 
 Next morning I came in late to breakfast, for I was 
 stiff and tired with my walk and my wetting. The 
 table was full of fellows, while others presently lounged 
 in as if expecting something. My promised snipe, a 
 plump little carcase mounted on fried toast, was 
 brought in solemnly by the mess-sergeant himself. 
 General interest was evinced as I ate it, and when it 
 was finished everyone wished to know how I liked it. 
 I remarked it was very well cooked, but rather dry and 
 bitter. Fitzdangle sniggered again. 
 
 But at lunch Cartridge shouted across the table : 
 " Well, and so you liked the hoo-poo ? " 
 " What hoo-poo ? '' 
 
 " The hoo-poo you ate for breakfast, thinking it was 
 a snipe. Shotwell shot it in our garden, and we had 
 it most carefully plucked and cooked ! " 
 
 To this day the sight of one of those jaunty little 
 birds, with his nodding perky crest, running about 
 the garden, reminds me very unpleasantly of my 
 exceedingly mauvais quart dheure of chaff which 
 followed Cartridge's disclosure. 
 
 However, to do him and Shotwell justice, I must 
 relate that in order to encourage the young idea, they 
 took me out the following week to Paniput Jheel 
 again. We made a splendid bag (Cartridge shooting 
 four birds with a right and left shot) of thirty couple, 
 to which, however, I must confess, though the snipe 
 rose steadier and flew straighter, I only contributed 
 the modest quota of five. 
 
150 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Nevertheless, I went home in such good spirit that 
 I couldn't resist, as I dressed for mess, shouting across 
 to the doctor, with whom I share my bungalow, to ask 
 him why my tailor Lappel was like a snipe. 
 
 Of course he gave it up, for the doctor is a Scotch- 
 man and a " carfu' mon " in money matters, but other 
 people besides an impecunious subaltern will have no 
 difficulty in perceiving that the similarity lies in their 
 both having long bills. 
 
MRS. DIMPLE'S VICTIM. 
 
 The hounds met at the Fox Inn, Nethercombe, and 
 all the village was astir. Nethercombe was very proud 
 of its gorse, which was warranted from time immemorial 
 to hold a fox. One by one, then in twos and threes, red- 
 coats and black,- dog-carts and broughams, came down 
 the village street and congregrated in front of the inn, 
 where mine host was drawing his best March ale vigor- 
 ously. Then there was a flutter, and the huntsman, and 
 ths whips, with the pack at their heels, were made way 
 for by the crowd, and halted under the sign-board. 
 
 There was a brief law for the late-comers, filled in 
 by greeting and chatting, and the Master led the way 
 over the brow of the hill towards Nethercombe Gorse. 
 
 The last of the field was disappearing up the lane, 
 leaving only a few second horsemen and hangers-on 
 under the sign-board, when a smart dog-cart rattled up 
 and its two occupants, hastily throwing away the ends, 
 of their cigars, and divesting themselves of their box- 
 coats, shouted for their horses. 
 
 The tall slim man with the fair moustache was God- 
 frey Okeburne, of the 150th Hussars; his companion 
 was a brother officer, and they had driven over from the 
 depot at Alderminster. 
 
 Ths hounds were already rattling a fox about the 
 gorse by the time the two later comers had trotted up 
 the muddy lane to the corner by the gate, and some of 
 the field were industriously pounding up and down the 
 
152 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 rides, to the intense annoyance of the Master and his 
 subordinates, as well as of Reynard. 
 
 At last, however, this latter succeeded in eluding them, 
 and in sneaking off unperceived, till he was viewed away 
 by a shepherd near whosehut he had incautiously ventured. 
 
 In another minute the hounds were put on the scent, 
 and the whole field was squeezing through a gate and 
 down a pasture, as if their lives depended on it. 
 
 Well to the front rode Okeburne, but the chesnut was 
 fresh and hot, and had got her head up unpleasantly. 
 She hurried at the first fence, taking it too much in 
 her stride. At the next, a tall big bull-finch, with a 
 deep ditch and a bank on the near side, she went with 
 a rush. • How she landed or rather did not land, no one 
 ever could tell, for the next moment she was lyin^ a 
 struggling mass at the bottom of the ditch, with her 
 back broken and her rider under her. 
 
 " Take 'un to the Vicarage, there's nowhere else for 
 'un to be took, and no doctor within five mile," quoth 
 Chawbacon, who advanced with a timely hurdle, as 
 Okeburne was dragged from under his horse, uncon- 
 scious, and with one booted leg dangling helpless and 
 broken. 
 
 So to Nethercombe Vicarage they took him. The 
 Vicar was away for the day, and it was his daughter 
 May who received the hurdle with its ghastly burden 
 in the narrow hall. She made no doubt Okeburre was 
 dead, and therefore there was real relief, that made the 
 blue eyes dewy in her fair face, when Okeburne opened 
 his eyes on it and the world a few moments after. 
 
MRS dimple's victim. 153 
 
 His first sight of life again— for it had been a nasty 
 cropper — and as such it fixed itself in his memory for 
 evermore. But it was some time before he saw the blue 
 eyes dewy again though. Five weeks he lay a helpless 
 prisoner at the Vicarage, mending his shattered limb, and 
 all the while the blue eyes first gazed softly at him, then 
 shyly, and then danced and sparkled as they met his. 
 
 After the five weeks were over and the mischief was 
 done, though the leg was nearly mended. Lady Marcia 
 appeared on the scene, full of dignified maternal solici- 
 tude for her younger and troublesome son, albeit she 
 he had not thought it worth while to hurry back from 
 abroad sooner to look after him. 
 
 She fixed May with a stony stare, before which the 
 soft blue eyes fell. 
 
 " My nurse, mother," said Okeburne, uneasily. 
 
 " Indeed ? I am so grateful for your kindness to my 
 son, but if I had had any idea how much he was 
 encroaching on it, I would have moved him at any 
 price ! So good of you ! " 
 
 Young and unused as she was to the world, May felt 
 the sneer and the blue eyes filled. Okeburne noticed it. 
 
 That evening, in the twilight, when Lady Marcia 
 had departed, having made arrangements to send to 
 remove her son on the morrow, May stood at the 
 window of the little sitting-room and looked wistfully 
 into the bare elm branches against the darkening sky. 
 The rooks were cawing good-night, and the maid came 
 in and fetched away the Vicar. Someone wanted him. 
 May too rose to go. 
 
154 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 But Okeburne, who had been drinking in the picture 
 of her fair face and form against the light, sat up in his 
 long chair. 
 
 " Why are you going ? " 
 
 " Have you forgotten ? It's choir practice night ; I 
 must go and look up the hymns in the study." 
 
 'Xomehere!" 
 
 She obeyed unwittingly. Had he not called her to 
 do things for him for the last five weeks ? 
 
 The next minute she found herself a prisoner ; his 
 arm was round her waist. 
 
 '' Don't, Captain Okeburne — you'll hurt your leg — 
 sit down — " 
 
 '' Then sit here on the floor by me, darling ! It's our 
 
 last evening, and I've something to tell you — but I think 
 
 you know it already — eh ? " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Three months later Captain and Mrs. Okeburne had 
 left the depot and embarked to join the regiment in 
 India. Lady Marcia had forgiven them, and given 
 them — her blessing. As for any increased allowance, 
 it was not to be thought of Godfrey had already 
 run through more money than any of the boys, and 
 if he chose to marry a girl without a penny, well, he 
 must just go back and soldier in India again. Any- 
 how, it was something to get him married ; it might 
 steady him, though what he could see, &c., &c. 
 
 And that was just the verdict of the 150th when they 
 saw Mrs. Okeburne. Certainly marriage did steady 
 Okeburne, at first. Perhaps the fact that the dashing 
 
MRS. dimple's victim. 155 
 
 150th happened to be at a very remote station, where 
 there was absolutely nothing to be done except pig- 
 sticking, helped towards his improvement. In any case, 
 May was altogether happy. 
 
 But the month after which she was named came on 
 apace in all its sultriness, and played havoc with her 
 fresh English complexion, her sparkling eyes, and her 
 spirits. Simultaneously Okeburne, whose curse in life 
 had always been that he wanted so much amusing, 
 found the even tenor of domestic life, which had been 
 so sweet in its complete novelty, pall upon him. He 
 felt positively relieved when the doctor ordered his 
 wife up to the hills. 
 
 Okeburne escorted her thither, and one evening they 
 arrived at Simree and put up at the hotel by the lake. 
 May was much too fatigued to put in an appearance 
 at dinner, and her husband went down alone. 
 
 The first person he saw in the long dining-room as 
 he scanned the lines of people at dinner was little 
 Mrs. Dimple. 
 
 Her bright black eyes greeted him mockingly. 
 
 " Come and sit by me, dear boy. It's ages since 
 
 And what is this I hear, married ? Oh ! how 
 
 could you ? " 
 
 Daisy Dimple was the daughter of one and the wife 
 of another Indian civilian. She was not more than 
 five-and-twenty, and everyone had heard of her and 
 her doings in every hill-station in the Himalayas. 
 She never went home, what need ? India was better 
 fun. The only use of England was to supply you with 
 
156 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 clothes. In the hot weather she took up her abode 
 at some hill-station till it got too hot for her, and in 
 the cold season she flitted from station to station 
 wherever there were any balls or races or festivities 
 going on. 
 
 Dimple had some appointment somewhere. His great 
 characteristic was good-naturedness. Daisy had been 
 engaged to half-a-dozen men before she married Dimple 
 at seventeen. Her father, in a burst of parental in- 
 dignation, rushed the marriage on in a week, or she 
 probably would never have done it. 
 
 Wherever Mrs. Dimple moved she was followed by a 
 faithful pack of "bow-wows," some of many years' stand- 
 ing. These she managed with such discretion that they 
 never quarrelled, each having his times and seasons, and 
 all of them called Dimple " Dick." 
 
 Before he went home Godfrey Okeburne had been 
 one of the "pack " and a favoured member. 
 
 He had not been up at Simree again for ten days 
 (which May spent chiefly in bed with fever brought 
 on by the journey) before he was again enrolled in the 
 faithful cohort by little Mrs. Dimple. 
 
 Bacchus taking the chair at a temperance meeting, 
 a pterodactyl among the water-fowl in St. James's Park, 
 or the inmate of a Turkish harem lecturing on the 
 rights of women, could not have been more out of place 
 than the poor child from Nethercombe Vicarage was at 
 Simree. It is always the naughtiest of hill-stations, and 
 that year, owing to the presence of Mrs. Dimple and 
 others of her ilk, it surpassed itself. Happily innocence 
 
MRS. dimple's victim. 1 57 
 
 IS as blind as love, and May Okeburne passed through 
 the fire unscathed. Her health, too, somewhat shatter- 
 ed by the hot weather, and several bad bouts of fever, 
 prevented her from going much into society, and she was 
 only too pleased that her husband found some amuse- 
 ments. Poor child, she gave out innocently enough 
 that she did not mind how much and how late he was at 
 the Club playing billards. But Simree laughed in its 
 sleeve at her, for it was very little that the Club saw of 
 him ; in fact for '' Club," read Mrs. Dimple's little rose- 
 coloured bungalow among the rhododendrons. 
 
 But Okeburne's two months' leave was nearly up, and 
 he must return to his regiment. May was really 
 unfit to face the hot weather again before the rains fell, 
 and the doctor's wife, good soul, proposed to keep her 
 three weeks longer with them. Okeburne agreed, in 
 spite of May's begging to be allowed to accompany him, 
 and ere his leave expired took himself off on a ten days' 
 fishing expedition among the mountains. May, of course, 
 was quite unfit for such roughing it. 
 
 One evening she and the doctor's wife came home 
 from their airing carried aloft in their '* dandies " along 
 the Mall by the edge of the lake. It was crowded with 
 people riding, walking, and being carried and the band 
 was playing near the Assembly Rooms. 
 
 *' I haven't seen Mrs. Dimple about lately," remarked 
 May's companion. 
 
 " I hope she's not ill ; but you're quite right, I haven't 
 seen her since Godfrey left." And then she thought no 
 more of the matter. 
 
158 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Two days later the doctor's wife proposed to make 
 a little expedition out to a bungalow on a" small lake 
 some few miles off, and send lunch there. She fancied 
 it would be a change and do the girl good, for May had 
 faded so terribly, as fair, transparent women do in India. 
 Only brunettes, like Mrs. Dimple, aided by art, manage 
 to defy the ravages of the climate. 
 
 May's bearers, with their light load, got ahead of the 
 more portly Mrs. Smith and the others, and she found 
 herself arrived first at a turn in the road whence she 
 caught a lovely view of the lake embosomed in the hills, 
 and the little bungalow on a terrace above. Figures 
 were moving about — servants and ponies. Evidently 
 someone was staying there. 
 
 Presently the unseen watcher, halting on the moun- 
 tain's path, saw two people step from behind the " chick " 
 which covers doors in India, and seat themselves on 
 chairs in the verandah. In another instant she had re- 
 cognised her husband and Mrs. Dimple. 
 
 Mrs. Smith's jampan bearers toiling up the hill were 
 met by May in her jampan returning. 
 
 " It's so hot and open near the bungalow, I want to 
 have lunch here under this tree, if you don't mind, Mrs. 
 Smith ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear. But how white you look ! Here, 
 quick, William, she's going to faint — some brandy." 
 
 " It's the heat, I think," murmured poor May. And 
 that one white lie was all that her agony ever wrung 
 from her. 
 
MRS. dimple's victim. 1 59 
 
 Not quite all, though. For when unhealthy Septem- 
 ber came, and cholera swooped down on the I50th's 
 station, it carried off May as its first victim. Mrs. Smith, 
 bending over her at the very last, caught the words 
 gasped by the blue lips : 
 
 '' Oh ! if he had only cared for me a little, I shouldn't 
 have minded ! " 
 
LIZZIE : A SHIPWRECK. 
 
 She was my first love, Lizzie Baynes. 
 
 I remember her in a short, white-cotton frock at 
 the tenants' ball we gave down at Bannicombe every 
 Christmas, a most fascinating little maiden. Blankshire 
 my elder brother (home, like me, from Eton, for the 
 holidays), and young Terence, the village doctor's son 
 had a great quarrel, almost amounting to a fight, over 
 a dance with her. It was characteristic of Lizzie that 
 she finally elected to dance with Blankshire, because he 
 had a name all to himself, — meaning, of course, his 
 title. 
 
 As we grew older my passion waned, for we saw very 
 little of each other, I never being down much in Wessex 
 except for the shooting ; and I rather fancy Lizzie dis- 
 appeared to a boarding school in a neighbouring town. 
 Then, one spring, going down from Oxford to bury 
 myself at Bannicombe and read for my degree, I found 
 her blossomed out into an exceedingly pretty, if some- 
 what vain and flighty, little siren. Her father, whose 
 father before him had been land-steward at Bannicombe, 
 was mighty proud of her. 
 
 Sometimes on a wet afternoon, or in the evening 
 when I was sick of " mugging," I would wander over to 
 the farm and have a smoke and chat with old Baynes^ 
 Somehow, I generally found young Terence there, and 
 was amused to notice the paroxysms of ill-concealed 
 jealousy into which the little minx would throw the 
 
LIZZIE: A SHIPWRECK. l6l 
 
 poor young fellow by flirting a bit with me. So I saw 
 how the land lay there. 
 
 A year later, running down to Bannicombe for a few 
 days, while on a round of visits in that part of the 
 world, the first person I met coming down the avenue 
 as I drove up from the station was old Terence, the 
 doctor. He had been up to the house to see a sick ser- 
 vant. He was in such a state of beaming delight that 
 I could not help stopping to ask after Mrs. Terence 
 and the tribe of boys. He then quite took my breath 
 away by the announcement that Pat Terence, the eldest, 
 and my former rival, had passed his examination for 
 the army, and had that week been gazetted to some 
 line regiment. Of course I congratulated the old man 
 marvelling all the time over the folly of the Cardwell 
 competitive system, which brought penniless lads like 
 this into the service, and wondering how on earth the 
 uniform was to be paid for. 
 
 The next time I saw Bannicombe was after eighteen 
 months' absence, shooting big game with Blankshire in 
 the Rockies. The little village wore quite a festive 
 appearance as I drove up from the station, the bells 
 ringing and all the women and children at the cottage 
 doors gazing and talking ; for, as I discovered, no less 
 an event had just taken place than the fair Lizzie's 
 marriage to young Terence. 
 
 " An officer in the army ! To think of that, my lord," 
 quoth old Baynes to me with exultation. '' Not but 
 what my girl's pretty enough for a duke ; that she is,— 
 begging your pardon, my lord." 
 
 C, M. G. II 
 
l62 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Good old fellow ! She was the only loss among all 
 the boys, and her parents and her brothers had wor- 
 shipped her from her cradle. 
 
 Three or four years later I was idling away a few 
 weeks at Simla, on my return from shooting in Cashmere, 
 and while it was yet too hot to go after the tigers in 
 the Terai. The evening after my arrival I found my- 
 self at a ball at the Viceroy's, and in a crush at a door- 
 way, face to face with Lizzie Terence. 
 
 In spite of the elaborate ball dress, and the diamonds 
 glittering round her snowy neck and shoulders, there 
 was no mistaking the pleading violet eyes, the sweet 
 childish face, which first turned deadly white, and then 
 flushed crimson as she recognised me. 
 
 " Lizzie," I said, holding out a hand, " is this the way 
 you treat old friends ? " 
 
 She stopped and looked at me with an imploring look. 
 
 " Oh, Lord Archie ! one does not expect to meet old 
 friends out here," she faltered. 
 
 " If we are going to dance this, we had better begin 
 before the crush comes." 
 
 The speaker was Major the Honourable Percy 
 Standish, the smartest and most aristocratic of all the 
 Commander-in-Chiefs A.D.C.'s, black-browed and dis- 
 sipated-looking. 
 
 All the years I had known Percy Standish about 
 town, I had never liked him less. The familiar tone 
 in which he spoke to Lizzie jarred upon me. They 
 passed on, and some one behind me congratulated me 
 on being an old friend of the beauty. 
 
LIZZIE : A SHIPWRECK. 163 
 
 Remembering the imploring look of the violet eyes^ 
 I restrained a smile, and admitted to the honour of 
 having known her as a girl, and knowing her people 
 down in Wessex, suppressing all details, and marvelling 
 over the elasticity of Anglo-Indian society. 
 
 " So she's the beauty ? " I asked. 
 
 " Quite the prettiest woman this year in Simla," 
 rejoined my informant. '* Bad style, you know, but 
 very fetching. Standish discovered her when the Chief 
 was inspecting her regiment, and got her up here. But 
 he's such a beastly selfish chap, won't let anyone else 
 have an innings," 
 
 " The Viceroy hifhself was rather smitten," remarked 
 
 some one else ; " but Lady (naming our hostess) 
 
 put her foot down. She has so much to put up with, 
 don't you know " 
 
 And so on with notes and comments which won't 
 bear repeating, and which made me feel sick at heart, 
 as I watched Lizzie aud her diamonds revolving with 
 Standish. 
 
 I went to call upon her in her pretty little chalet, 
 nestling on the hill-side among the rhododendrons. 
 Poor Terence, she informed me, was grilling away in 
 the plains somewhere below, and could not get leave. 
 I met her everywhere, at heavy official dinners, at Ben- 
 more subscription dances, state balls, picnics, out on 
 the fir-clad heights of Mashobra, and at sky races down 
 in the grassy valleys of Annandale ; at all the entertain- 
 ments, in fact, which make up that mill-wheel round 
 of dissipation called the Simla Season. For once the 
 
1 64 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 doors of the Viceregal lodge are open to anyone, all the 
 other doors in Simla follow suit, and Standish had 
 compassed the first requisite for Lizzie, — not that at 
 any time it requires much management, for there is but 
 one society in Simla, and that is elastic. 
 
 In public Lizzie was always very gracious to me, 
 throwing over in my favour many of the lesser stars 
 among her admirers ; but when we were alone together 
 she was embarrassed, ill at ease, and carefully kept the 
 conversation off home and home subjects. I know not 
 whether she was afraid lest I should divulge her 
 antecedents, or take her to task, with the licence of an 
 old friend, for her present behaviour. On the score of 
 the former she need have had no fear, but the latter 
 I felt sorely tempted to do, and watched anxiously for 
 an opportunity, which she never gave me. 
 
 A week or two slipped away. One evening, about 
 midnight, I started to walk back from the club to my 
 hotel. I had been playing whist there part of the time 
 with Standish, who, however, had complained of fever, 
 and left early. It was a glorious Indian moonlight 
 night ; the cool night-breeze rustled in the deodars, and 
 the sky was flooded with stars, while the nearly full 
 moon cast inky shadows. It was all so lovely, I felt 
 disinclined for bed, and lighting a cigar, strolled along 
 the Mall under the rhododendrons. Suddenly, round 
 an angle in the road, I saw before me a pony waiting at 
 the foot of a zig-zag path leading up the hill-side, with 
 a sleepy groom lying on the road beside him. In an 
 instant I recognised the pony as one of Standish's, the 
 
LIZZIE: A SHIPWRECK. 165 
 
 one with the two white stockings I had often seen him 
 riding, I looked up, and saw Mrs. Terence's house 
 gleaming white among the trees. Before I had time 
 for wonder, I heard a sound of voices, and a dark 
 mass coming down the path instinctively made me 
 slacken my pace. The dark mass evolved itself into 
 a man and a woman. The former stirred up his groom 
 with the butt-end of his whip, mounted the pony, and 
 cantered off, the latter remained standing bareheaded 
 in the moonlight looking after him. 
 
 Now was my opportunity, I quickened my pace, 
 came up behind her, and laid my hand on her shoulder. 
 
 ** Lizzie, what does this mean ? What would your 
 father say ? " I asked, as sternly as I knew how. 
 
 She quailed and shrank before me, and looked 
 around as if she would have fled. Then suddenly she 
 burst into tears, 
 
 ** You won't tell father, will you ? " she sobbed. " It 
 would kill him ! I know I'm very wicked ; but I must 
 have excitement, and parties, and frocks, and Percy 
 is very fond of me, and he's a lord's son, you know." 
 . I hesitated for a moment what to do. Her tears 
 unmanned me. I had never seen her cry. 
 
 " Lizzie," I said at last, " let me save you from your- 
 self. Let me send you home to your father. I will 
 pay your passage," 
 
 " O no. Lord Archie," she cried, with a shiver. "Not 
 home, — I could not bear it. Bannicombe is so dull, — 
 no dances, no men. No, anything but home." And she 
 escaped from me, and fled up the hill. 
 
1 66 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The following afternoon, at the Senior Member of 
 Council's weekly garden-party, I overheard a scrap of 
 conversation between Mrs. Commissioner Crabtree and 
 Mrs. General Backbite. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about it, I should say. We 
 saw his pony waiting below the house a few nights ago 
 as we were going to the Smiths' dance, and it was still 
 there when we returned. Looks bad." 
 
 I turned and saw Mrs. Backbite wearing as vindictive 
 an expression as ever I saw on mortal woman's face, 
 and recollecting something I heard about her having 
 great hopes last year of catching Standish for her 
 daughter, I trembled for Lizzie. 
 
 That very evening I got a telegram saying my shoot- 
 ing party in the Terai was awaiting me, and had to 
 rush off early the following morning without time to 
 say good-bye to Lizzie. On emerging from the jungles 
 some weeks later, and returning to civilisation and 
 posts, I found my Simla letters full of a terrible de- 
 nouement, 
 
 A garbled story of an anonymous letter sending 
 an infuriated husband rushing up from the plains, to 
 find a white-stockinged pony waiting on the terrace 
 by night : a locked door broken open ; a fight between 
 two angry men, and a wretched little wife turned 
 neck and crop out of doors — all this came down piece- 
 meal from my various correspondents, and made my 
 heart bleed. 
 
 Before I left India the case came into court, and I 
 read in the papers that Standish had been mulcted in a 
 
LIZZIE : A SHIPWRECK. 167 
 
 heavy sum (I suppose his relations helped him out, 
 for I knew he had not got it), and only by bolting 
 home without leave, and jeopardising his commission, 
 escaped the two years' incarceration which the Indian 
 law inflicts on similar offenders. 
 
 Of what had become of the erring Lizzie, not one 
 syllable reached me. 
 
 As a change from the ordinary mail route, I embarked, 
 for home in a vessel belonging to one of those foreign 
 lines which coast up Italy. After the first few days 
 when people on board had got over their sea-sickness 
 and began to talk, I found much speculation rife as to a 
 mysterious and lovely being who occupied a reserved 
 cabin, whence she never emerged, and who had all her 
 meals brought in to her, though she was not ill. I paid 
 but little attention to the gossip, knowing how people 
 make mountains out of molehills on board ship, for lack 
 of anything better to talk about. 
 
 One night, however, when we were not far off Aden, 
 finding my cabin unbearably hot, I came up again to 
 sleep on deck about an hour after turning in. Emerging 
 on the deck at the top of the companion, I found myself 
 face to face with a figure wrapped in a shawl, pacing 
 the deck like a caged tigress. There was no mistak- 
 ing her, though she was worn and haggard, and her 
 eyes shone like burning coals. 
 
 " Lizzie ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 She gave a cry, and turned from me ; but I held her 
 fast. 
 
r68: Indian idylls. 
 
 '' Leave me," she cried. " How can you speak to me ? 
 I saw you come on board, and I have been trying to 
 avoid you." 
 
 " Why should you avoid me, Lizzie ? " I asked, 
 soothingly. *' Come and sit down and talk to me. I am 
 an old friend." 
 
 " Friend ! " she repeated* with a harsh little laugh. 
 " I haven't a friend in the whole world. Everyone shuns 
 me ; no one speaks to me. All because I've been found 
 out, Ycu can do what you like if only you're not found 
 out. Percy's left me, raving at me because he's lost his 
 appointment. They've taken my boy away from me ; 
 and you don't suppose Pat will take me back, do you ? " 
 she added bitterly, with an hysterical little laugh. 
 
 I tried to calm her, to induce her to go down below 
 to bed, but in vain. Then, noticing she was shivering 
 in her thin white gown, I offered to go and fetch her a 
 warm rug. She looked up at me with something of the 
 old pathetic look in her lovely eyes. 
 
 *' You were always good to me ! I wish I had gone 
 home when you told me to." 
 
 It was quite a calm night, the tropical sea like glass ; 
 yet, just as I dived down the companion, I distinctly 
 heard, though I hardly noticed it at the time, a splash 
 of water, as if a wave had dashed against the side of the 
 ship. Down below lights were out, and it was only 
 after some delay I could find my rug in the dark. 
 When I returned on deck, I was glad to find Lizzie had 
 taken my advice, and gone, as the watch explained to 
 me in his Italian patois. So I turned in too. 
 
LIZZIE : A SHIPWRECK. 1 69 
 
 But with the next morning came a terrible hue and 
 cry. The mysterious lady had disappeared. Her cabin 
 was empty ; her berth unslept in. There was but one 
 solution of her disappearance, namely, the splash I 
 had heard in the midnight Indian Ocean. I kept 
 my own counsel, but it was perhaps with the feeling 
 it was best that I had thus seen the last of the erring, 
 lovely Lizzie, and that the waters had closed over 
 her unhappy career. 
 
 " Mad from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery- 
 Swift to be hurl'd. 
 Anywhere, anywhere, 
 
 Out of the world. 
 In she plunged boldly. " 
 ***** 
 
 A few days after I reached England the Turkestan 
 war broke out, and among the list of killed in the 
 first engagement I read the name of Pat Terence. The 
 same paper contained the announcement that that 
 gallant and distinguished officer, lately on the staff 
 of H. E. the Commander-in-Chief in India, Major the 
 Honourable Percy Standish, had been appointed mili- 
 tary secretary to his cousin, Sir Benjamin Blazer, the 
 new governor of Victoria. 
 
 I must leave off now, for Lizzie's boy, whom I have 
 sent to school^ and who always spends part of his holi- 
 days with me, is clamouring for me to go out and bowl 
 for him. 
 
HOW THE CONVALESCENT DETACHMENT 
 KILLED A TIGER. 
 
 The noble army of convalescents was en route for the 
 hills. It is a thing of the past, now, that annual march 
 of the blind, the halt, and the lame fleeing from the 
 already furnace-like plains stations, for the railway now 
 jogs along to the very foot of the Himalayas. 
 
 We were a motley crew. There were once-gay Lan- 
 cers dejectedly trudging along on foot ; gunners of every 
 species ; infantry of every coloured facing, including 
 trewed Highlanders and Rifle Brigade, rusty with the 
 dust. Day after day the weary little band trudged along 
 thestraight,dusty, seemingly never-ending road, towards 
 the cool paradise whose faint blue outline fringed the 
 long level horizon. 
 
 Bullock carts were goaded along laden with women 
 and children, perched on the top of all their household 
 goods, and covered over with a straw awning, leading a 
 veritable gipsy caravan life. A long drawn-out line of 
 doolies — those ferocious doolies of which Punch heard 
 in the Afghan war as carrying off the wounded —each 
 with its sick occupant tossing under its coffin-like roof, 
 jolted along in the dust to the never-ceasing grunt of 
 the bearers. 
 
 Foremost in the van rode the gallant major in com- 
 mand of the heterogeneous multitude in full glory of 
 charger and trappings. About and behind him came 
 the married captains and junior subalterns of all sorts, 
 
THE CONVALESCENT DETACHMENT AND STRIPES. 17I 
 
 who had either volunteered or been ordered to do duty 
 at the Convalescent Hill Depot for the next six months, 
 and to whom had been granted dispensations to ride on 
 ponies, and who were clad in such variety of undress 
 uniform as seemed good to every man in his own eyes. 
 Mention must be made, too, of our " pill " and his apo- 
 thecaries, whose time hardly hung heavy on their hands. 
 
 Trailing in front and behind the corps for miles along 
 the dusty road came little groups of baggage animals. 
 There were strings of camels tied to each other's tails, 
 the foremost led by a native driver, a '' drabby," with 
 their vicious-looking heads and legs swinging about in 
 all directions, and with rolls of tents balancing on each 
 of their horny sides. Then came elephants with more 
 tents, stalking along in an independent, business-like 
 manner. Further on a string of mules, on their pack- 
 saddles the men's kits in neat bundles, all ambling along 
 on the look-out for mischief, for mules always seem pos- 
 sessed. Next came more bullock-carts with officers' 
 baggage — the wheels creaking, the drivers shouting and 
 whacking. Thus we moved along. 
 
 Already two nights had we encamped under the rows 
 of mango trees which mark the Government camping 
 grounds every ten miles or so, and had brought money 
 and wild excitement into the cluster of mud huts yclept 
 a village across the road. Two mornings had we been 
 passed from time to time by the galloping " dak gharry," 
 a bathing-machine-like vehicle harnessed with two small 
 ponies, and whose sleepy occupants, on their way to the 
 hills, peered out at us. Who knows, perhaps one such 
 
1-72 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 conveyance contained the she who was to be the joy of 
 our souls at ball, picnic, and ride for the next few 
 months by the lake up above ! 
 
 Before midday we are again settled in our canvas 
 village as comfortably as if we had been there for a 
 week. This camp was bounded on one side by a 
 luxuriant thicket of bamboos. In a rude hut therein 
 resided a filthy fakir — i.e., religious person — whose 
 earthly mission seemed to consist in daily feeding at 
 sundown troops of jackals who assembled at his sound- 
 ing on the cow-horn. This spectacle proved a mild ex- 
 citement, for the men who turn out to witness it from 
 the everlasting lotto game, or " house," the cries of which, 
 *' one, three, eight, fourteen, house," &c., had rung out 
 unceasingly all the hot hours. 
 
 But in the major's tent — where at noon he had dis- 
 pensed justice on a mule driver who had given one of 
 his beasts a sore back with bad loading, and on a 
 Tommy Atkins caught thrashing a villager who had 
 dared to demand payment for some liquor — in the 
 major's tent a solemn conclave was held. He a was real 
 Highlander and had sporting instincts, but he was 
 nothing to Jones of the 1 14th, who Avas young and blood- 
 thirsty, and yearned to slay beasts not a whit less than 
 Smith, a veritable old " shikarry," who looked upon 
 soldiering in India as one long, shooting expedition, 
 only that sometimes men were to be stalked and not 
 tigers. These two urged on the major with the 
 following results : — 
 
THE CONVALESCENT DETACHMENT AND STRIPES. 1 73 
 
 In the Decalogue of the British army in India it is 
 written that '' on the seventh day thou shalt not march, 
 but shalt halt, polish up thy kit, and do a bit of 
 shut-eye." The major being very new to his responsible 
 position, and somewhat of a Presbyterian, was inclined 
 to a minute observance of anise and cummin. It took 
 a little persuasion to get him to decree that halt we 
 should, but that the Sabbath should fall on that day 
 when we should be encamped at Sahari two marches off, in 
 the heart of the Terai, a strip of marshy-forest stretching 
 at the foot of the hills and the sportsman's paradise. 
 
 A further result of the conclave was the despatching 
 of a native trooper, the major's orderly, with a polite 
 request to the neighbouring Rajah of Panpore to have 
 some elephants waiting for us at Sahari. We didn't 
 know much about the Rajah except that he had 
 elephants, and had lent them before, and that he resid- 
 ed in a metropolis some forty miles off surrounded with 
 a cactus hedge, and where they made blue pottery. 
 Civilians might have other views, but to the average 
 military mind it is what Rajahs exist for. The conclave 
 then dispersed, and there was a general tendency to 
 look up rifles and cartridges. Young Robinson, just 
 from home, sallied out secretly to try his brand new 
 rifle, at the imminent risk of the villagers' cattle. 
 
 Sahari was a camp of evil odour. Its very appear- 
 ance was malarious, and the sight of the forest officer's 
 bungalow, perched up on stilts, as it were, to be out of 
 the way of the miasma, was enough in itself to make 
 one feel feverish. However, we all promised ourselves 
 
174 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 a dose of quinine at bed-time, and then the sight of the 
 Rajah's elephants tied up in line dispelled every idea 
 but that of sport. Presently we found we were in 
 luck's way. There was a civil engineer in camp hard 
 by, building a bridge over a refractory river. He was a 
 devoted "shikarry," and allowed two elephants, which 
 were used quite as much for sport as for their legitimate 
 work. Then the forest officer himself was roosting 
 for a day or two in his bungalow perch, and he was 
 supposed as a matter of course to know the where- 
 abouts of every tiger and herd of deer in his district, 
 which was about the size of an English county. That 
 is rather the raison d'etre of forest officers ; they are, as 
 it were, gamekeepers on a large scale. To crown all, 
 " khabar," that is to say news, of a tiger itself floated 
 mysteriously through the camp. Some cow or other 
 had fallen a victim only a night or two before, within 
 a mile of the camp. Was ever such luck as ours ? 
 Everyone was on the tip-toe of excitement, and young 
 Robinson had fearful nightmares of hand to hand 
 combats with the lord of the forest. 
 
 It was cold, and raw, and misty, and barely light, 
 when our bearer insisted on awaking us next morning ; 
 but as soon as we had collected our ideas sufficiently to 
 remember the importance of the occasion, we turned 
 out to a man. Outside the tents the huge beasts were 
 drawn up in battle array, a patient mahout seated be- 
 hind the ears of each. The private elephants carried 
 neat, if narrow, howdahs, wherein two men, not over- 
 burdened with long legs, might sit with difficulty as in 
 
THE CONVALESCENT DETACHMENT AND STRIPES. I75 
 
 a narrow pew in church. But some of the Rajah's 
 elephants had only a pad or mattress, whereon some of 
 the youngsters were forced to maintain a precarious 
 existence. Next came the mounting. It was all very 
 well for the elephant to lie down, but that hardly seemed 
 to make any appreciable difference in its height. Still 
 the howdah towered above us, and ladders there were 
 none. However, the animal was good enough to make 
 a curl in his tail, using which as a foot rest we were able 
 to haul ourselves up it on to his back. 
 
 Then the procession started. Fifteen elephants 
 solemnly stalked through the brushwood, and through 
 the jungle beyond the camp ; crashing under boughs 
 which almost swept one off the howdah, fording marshy 
 streams, up the muddy fern-clothed banks of v/hich the 
 wary beasts would not venture till they had sounded 
 them with their trunks and feet. After about a mile of 
 this we emerged on a clearing in the forest, a patch 
 of tall elephant grass some half-mile square. Two 
 " stops " were sent round, one to each corner of the far 
 end of the grass, and the rest of the elephants formed 
 line to beat down the jungle. The two stops carried 
 the major with the engineer, and the forest officer with 
 Jones. We smaller fry mounted on the line elephants 
 dived silently into the grass and the beat began. 
 
 All that we could see around were the other 
 elephants' ears and their riders' sun helmets waving 
 above the sea of grass. Screaming pea-fowl, whirring 
 black partridge, quail, hog, and spotted deer fled start- 
 led from the covert under our vQry noses, and were 
 
176 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 allowed to escape. Suddenly, to the motionless watch- 
 ers at the otlier end of the jungle,' the grass appeared 
 to wave as if from a mass creeping below it. A few 
 minutes later and a patch of colour flashed on the out- 
 skirts of the jungle The next moment the tiger 
 himself cautiously sneaked into the open. Then we in 
 the rear heard the sharp reports of two shots. When 
 we gained the open we found the triumphant major 
 afoot measuring his kill : and as we crowded round him, 
 we of his detachment felt a measure of his. glory fall 
 upon us. The tiger was laid across a pad elephant, 
 and carried off into camp. 
 
 But the morning was still young, so short and sweet 
 had the performance been ; so we remounted and beat 
 again — for deer, this time. The jungle seemed alive. 
 They bounded out on each side as we crashed along, 
 and every minute the forest re-echoed with a shot. In 
 fact, young Robinson on the front of veteran Brown's 
 howdah declared himself deafened for life by the con- 
 stant discharge of the latter's rifle in his very ear. Thus 
 the morning wore away, till the sun striking almost 
 vertically down through the branches — some of which, 
 after the foolish habit of some Indian trees, are shed- 
 ding their leaves in the spring — warned us to return to 
 camp to tub and breakfast. We repeated the perform- 
 ance, minus the tiger episode, in the cool of the evening, 
 and there was much feasting off venison in the men's 
 tents for some days to come. 
 
 At dinner we made merry with the forest officer and 
 the engineer, who lead such solitary lives, poor fellows, 
 
THE CONVALESCENT DETACHMENT AND STRIPES. \^^ 
 
 that they were quite uproarious. But we must turn 
 in early, for reveilU will sound to-morrow with the first 
 streak of dawn, and three-quarters of an hour later the 
 bugle-call to strike tents. Nevertheless we pass out 
 into the moonlight to gaze once more on the tawny 
 skin of our prize stretched taut on the ground, previous- 
 ly to being rubbed with wood ashes to preserve it. 
 The major has carefully removed the claws and 
 whiskers, or the natives, who regard them as charms, 
 would make away with them. One more loving 
 measurement— for is he not our depot tiger, the legend 
 of whose demise will linger around the Convalescent 
 Depot for years to come ? — and we turn in to a well- 
 earned repose, lulled to rest by the bubbling of the 
 camels seated in circles close by ready for the dawn, or 
 the far off bay of a pariah and howl of a jackal, or a 
 difference of opinion between two mules. 
 
 C. M. G. 12 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 There was a dead silence in the room, broken only 
 by the ticking of the clock. The master of the house — 
 the Rev. Theophilus Carr — stood with his back to the 
 fireplace, his hands thrust into his trousers' pockets, and 
 his eyes bent on the ground with a stern -set look on his 
 face. Mrs. Carr, a pale, frightened little woman, sat at a 
 mall table, nervously trying to do some fancy-work 
 which trembled in her hands, and ever and anon stealing 
 furtive glances at the others. 
 
 The central figure of the group was a good-looking 
 young man, smart and well dressed in an irreproachable 
 country costume of shooting-coat and knickerbockers. 
 He had a thin face, perhaps rather worn for his years, a 
 slight dark moustache, fine eyes, and dark hair already 
 prematurely thin on the top. He sat nervously drawing 
 diagrams on the carpet with his walking-stick, and his 
 face wore a worried, harassed look. 
 
 Looking out of the window stood Mabel Carr, who 
 looked the image of her father. She was a tall, slight 
 girl^ with her hands tightly clasped behind her back, 
 and a hard-set look on her face just like his, only that 
 her lips quivered now and then. 
 
 At last Mr. Carr broke silence. 
 
 " No, Godfrey, much as I like you personally as an 
 acquaintance, I can only repeat what I told you when 
 you called a week ago. I should not feel justified either 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 179 
 
 as a clergyman or a parent in giving my Mabel to a 
 young man of your antecedents. No, don't interrupt 
 me. I dare say you are no worse than many, but I look 
 for some one better than most for herr And here a 
 softer look came over his face as he glanced at his 
 daughter. " I must beg, therefore, that you consider all 
 over between you, and that, for the present at least, all 
 acquaintance between us cease." 
 
 Godfrey Allen barely heard him out. He sprang to 
 his feet, and seized his hat. 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Carr,'' he cried bitterly, " remember 
 she would have saved me — me, the son of your oldest 
 friend ; but now I tell you I shall just go straight to the 
 devil!" 
 
 And with one look of unutterable longing at Mabel 
 he strode to the door and left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Carr gave a little shocked cry at his last words, 
 and a nervous look at her husband. 
 
 Mabel didn't move till she heard the hall door slam ; 
 then she, too, turned and left the room without a word or 
 a look. Her father's eyes followed her sadly to the door ; 
 then he flung himself down into a chair and took refuge 
 in a newspaper, while Mrs, Carr began to cry quietly. 
 
 As Mabel closed the drawing-room door behind her, a 
 slip of a school-girl sister, who had been waiting in the 
 hall, ran up to her, and threw her arms round her neck. 
 
 "Dear Mabel, is it all over? Is he gone away for 
 good ? Oh ! I know he has." 
 
 Mabel put her gently aside, and, fleeing upstairs to 
 her room, locked the door behind her. 
 
l80 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 All the long golden summer afternoon the sunlight 
 flickered in and out through the casement, and the bees 
 hummed in the jasmine creepers. She could hear the 
 mowing-machine at work on the lawn, and then the 
 hammering-in of the tennis pegs. Anon came the 
 shouts of her father and sister over their game. Her 
 mother knocked hesitatingly at her door, but she gave 
 no ianswer. The evening shadows lengthened, the cattle 
 lowed in the meadows, the rooks came cawing home 
 to the tall trees about the hall. Still Mabel lay on her 
 bed, her wet face buried in the pillows, fighting out her 
 first hopeless battle with cruel fate. At eighteen her life 
 seemed darkened for ever. 
 
 Presently came Mary, the house-maid, (who also had 
 a young man, and was very sympathetic,) with a cup of 
 tea, which was declined. But she added in a hoarse 
 whisper through the keyhole — 
 
 " A note from the 'all miss, please." 
 
 Even without the bright half-sovereign Mary had just 
 then in her pocket, she, or any of the servants at the 
 Hall or the Parsonage, would have done anything to 
 help Godfrey and Mabel. 
 
 " Put it under the door," was the reply ; and when 
 her footsteps had died away down the passage, Mabel 
 rose and picked up the note. 
 
 " I must see you to say good-bye to you. Meet me 
 at seven o'clock at the boat-house.— Yours, faithful to 
 death.— G. A." 
 
 The bitterness and anger faded out of Mabel's face 
 as she read these words, and were replaced by a sad, 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. l8l 
 
 heart-Stricken look that was pitiable to see. She 
 bathed her eyes and smoothed her hair and went down 
 to the study. Her father was looking out the hymns 
 for next Sunday. It was choir-practice night, and 
 upstairs her mother and Nell were putting on their 
 things to go to it. 
 
 " Father/' she said, holding out the letter, *' Godfrey 
 wants to say good-bye. He won't come here : may I 
 go down to meet him at the boat-house? I will come on 
 to practice after." 
 
 He looked up at her face, so sad, so worn with the 
 struggle, and, noticing the beaten look on it, with all 
 the magnanimity of a conqueror he said : — 
 
 " Yes, child, you may go, but don't be late for 
 practice." 
 
 Down by the river the shadows were growing dusk 
 under the trees. The frogs croaked among the banks, 
 and bats flew about. The skiff lay idle on the water, 
 which was ruffled by the evening breeze. Over the 
 meadows the mists were rising, and among the light 
 bank of clouds to the east a pale light showed where 
 the moon soon would rise. 
 
 Godfrey was pacing restlessly up and down the 
 bank. When Mabel's white dress loomed under the 
 trees, he went up to her and would have caught her in 
 his arms. But she drew back, and putting both hands 
 in his looked up in his face. 
 
 " Godfrey, I 've come as you asked me — to say 
 good-bye ; don't make it too hard for me, I can't 
 bear it." 
 
1 82 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " My darling ! " he murmured. His voice shook, and 
 he covered her hand with kisses. Then abruptly he 
 put her away from him, and began walking up and 
 down as restlessly as before. 
 
 " Good God ! " he exclaimed, " it is hard that some 
 people should have all they want and others nothing. 
 Up there," and he pointed to the big house among 
 the trees, "my brother has everything he can possibly 
 desire ; I am of the same stock, with the same bring- 
 ing up and education. Why should he be rich and 
 I a pauper ? And why, just because I am a pauper, 
 should I not be allowed to have the only thing I 
 want, which would make up for everything else — you ? 
 And they talk of the justice of Heaven!'' he added 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Oh, hush!" said Mabel. "Perhaps it is best for 
 you, who knows. Poor as I am, too, I should only be a 
 burden to you, and you'll perhaps get on better with- 
 out me." 
 
 " Mabel," he said earnestly, stopping straight in 
 front of her, his hands thrust doggedly into his pockets ; 
 *'you don't know what my life has been when you 
 talk like that. It was not all my own fault ; things 
 have gone against me. But with you to live for, you to 
 work for, I would and could have kept steady and 
 straight! And you know it!" And his face lit up 
 with a loving smile, and he drew her to him and 
 printed one long kiss on her brow. 
 
 She drew herself away, but held his hand. Look- 
 ing up into his face, she said quietly and solemnly : — 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. I83 
 
 "Yes, Godfrey, I shall always remember how you 
 loved me ; and I shall n-ever love anybody again as I 
 love you. God bless you and keep you ! " And she 
 tore herself away and was soon lost to sight under 
 the dark trees. 
 
 Godfrey stood where she had left him, watching her 
 as long as he could see her, while a chill evening breeze 
 stole down the river and rustled the branches. 
 
 Mabel walked swiftly over the park. The sun had 
 set, the twilight lay brooding over the land. Nature 
 seemed in harmony with her sorrow. Hurrying over 
 the dewy grass, she startled the deer under the trees and 
 the owls in the branches, and entered the churchyard. 
 
 There were lights in the chancel already, though it 
 was still summer twilight out of doors. A sound of an 
 harmonium and voices singing came over to her. She 
 entered the church quietly by the northern porch. 
 The nave was almost dark ; no one noticed her. Echo- 
 ing through the empty building came the voices of 
 the choir : — 
 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home, 
 Lead Thou me on. 
 
 She knelt down in a seat, and, laying her head on the 
 book-rest, sobbed aloud. Her life seemed darkened for 
 ever. Yet she felt so young, and such a long, dreary 
 journey seemed to stretch out before her, a journey to 
 be trodden without him — 
 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent ; till 
 
 The night is gone. 
 And with the dawn those angel faces smile 
 That I have loved long since and lost awhile. 
 
1 84 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 But he seemed lost for ever. Never again would he 
 smile on her. It was all over, this dream of theirs. 
 No dawn would brighten for her. Never again was she 
 to hear his voice and see his eyes fixed lovingly upon 
 her. Fate had come between them. This hard, pro- 
 saic, worldly nineteenth-century Fate, which overlooked 
 their wild, young love, and only thought of £ s. d., and 
 asked : " What ye shall eat, and what ye shall drink, 
 and wherewithal shall ye be clothed." 
 
 The music ceased, the children clattered out of the 
 chancel, glad to be released. The old sexton began 
 putting out the lights. Then steps came down the 
 nave towards her. Mabel looked up. It was Chris- 
 topher Trent, the curate. He stopped in surprise. 
 
 *'You here, Miss Mabel? I thought you were not 
 coming to-night." 
 
 Mabel rose and moved towards the door. She couldn't 
 speak, and was glad it was too dark for him to see her 
 face. But in. the porch he seemed to notice some- 
 thing in her manner. 
 
 " The others are gone," he said ; " let me see you 
 home. You seem quite cold and tired." For she 
 shivered in the evening air. '*You won't mind my 
 coming with you ?" he added, with such pleading in 
 his look and voice that she must have noticed it, had 
 she not been too engrossed with herself, for the honest 
 fellow suffered in seeing her suffer. 
 
 It was nearly a month after this that Mabel sum- 
 moned up her courage and took the path to the boat- 
 house again. She had settled down into the everyday 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 1 85 
 
 routine of life. But there were dark circles under her 
 eyes, and her cheek was pale, and she was listless and 
 aimless. Sweet, gentle, and obedient she had always 
 been at home, but her spirits were gone. Her parents 
 marked all this, and said to each other : " She is young ; 
 let her alone. Time will heal all." 
 
 But her mother shed quiet tears over her sometimes. 
 Nell never teased her now, and was more than usually 
 devoted. 
 
 To-day, however, Mabel thought herself strong 
 enough to allow herself the 
 
 Pain that is almost a pleasure, 
 
 And the pleasure that's almost a pain, 
 
 of revisiting the spot where she had said good-bye to 
 Godfrey. But she chose the middle of the day. 
 
 Adams, the head gardener at the hall, who had 
 known her since she was a baby, was pruning some 
 creepers about the boat-house. She stopped to wish 
 him good morning, though inwardly vexed not to have 
 the place to herself. 
 
 " Weel, Miss Mabel," began the old Scotchman, " and 
 begging your pardon, there are sair news fra Lunnon." 
 
 " What do you mean, Adams ? " she asked quickly, 
 for she guessed he meant news from some of the Hall 
 people now in town. 
 
 '* It's that sorra I am. Miss Mabel, as I dinna ken how 
 for to tell ye. Maister Godfrey, indeed ! — him as I 
 mind when he was so high " 
 
 " Master Godfrey, well, what of him ? " and Mabel 
 turned sharply and fixed her eyes on the old man. 
 
l86 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 '' Yes, Miss Mabel, Master Godfrey. Why, ye must 
 ha' heard sooner or later, tho' I grieve to tell ye. He's 
 gone and 'listed for a soldier, the bonnie lad ! " 
 
 The colour left Mabel's lips. 
 
 " Tell me quick, Adams, how did you hear this ? It 
 can't be true ! " 
 
 " Ah ! and I'd gie a guid deal if it weren't. But come 
 straight fra' Lunnon, fra' my granddaughter Jessie, the 
 lassie as is one of the housemaids at squire's, ye ken, miss, 
 and it's ower true, it's ower true ! " And the old man 
 shook his head mournfully. " Ye see, miss, when Mais- 
 ter Godfrey went away from here so sudden, like a month 
 back (and right sorra we were for the cause as made him 
 gang awa', begging yer pardon. Miss Mabel), he went up 
 to squire in town. And Jessie do say, as squire took on 
 finely, and that they had words all along o' debts or 
 money or summut o' the sort, and Maister Godfrey he 
 left the house in a rage, and then next day he coom and 
 tell the squire as how he'd gone and 'listed for a soldier, 
 and squire swore he'd never spake to him again, and 
 turned him out of the house. Ah ! they twa lads, as I 
 mind them, how they picked my flowers and stole my 
 peaches. That they should ha' come to this ! " 
 
 But Mabel had turned away, her hand clasped to her 
 side, as if her heart would break. 
 
 Some weeks later, one grey morning in early autumn, 
 with a tinge of winter rawness already in the air, Mabel 
 and her sister were taking their daily constitutional along 
 the dreary uninteresting turnpike road which ran between 
 the fields and hedgerows of a flat agricultural landscape^ 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 1 87 
 
 At the same time, in a busy southern seaport, a large 
 white Indian troopship was getting up steam to leave 
 the dockyard. The blue-peter flew at her masthead, 
 and the broad gangway which connected her second 
 deck with the jetty had already been withdrawn and re- 
 placed by a narrow plank. The poop was covered with 
 officers in uniform, and a sprinkling of ladies and naval 
 officers. The other parts of the ship swarmed with 
 troops already, mostly in their rough, sea-going sailor- 
 like kit. 
 
 They crowded the ropes, the deck-houses, and looked 
 out of the port-holes. 
 
 Below on the jetty were groups of spectators and 
 officials. The order had already been given for all for 
 shore to leave the ship, and one after another tearful 
 little parties had reluctantly come down the plank, and 
 placed themselves on some point of vantage on the 
 j etty, where they were still within shouting, or at all events 
 within distinguishing, distance of their friends on board. 
 
 At last, however, even the small plank was removed 
 the great hawsers which tied the ship to her moorings 
 loosened, the last sailor jumped on board, and with a 
 convulsive jerk of her screw the huge vessel began to 
 move. 
 
 Then from all the hundred throats on board, first low 
 and husky, and then swelling all over the vast dockyard, 
 even to the town beyond, rose a true British cheer, which 
 dimmed many men's eyes and made the women cry. 
 
 But Godfrey Allen, hardly recognisable in the rough 
 blue serge suit and stocking cap of a private soldier, 
 
1 88 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 neither waved adieu to friends ashore nor joined in the 
 cheer. There were doubtless many men on board who 
 were leaving their mother-country under various circum- 
 stances of trouble, disappointment, and even crime, but 
 none with half the bitterness that rankled in his heart. 
 
 A year passed, and brought about great changes at 
 Beeston Rectory. Mabel was leaving for ever. The 
 stern, proud father has been suddenly struck down in 
 a fit, and the crushed widow and her daughters had, 
 after the sad lot of clergy-folk, to seek another house. 
 It was now their last evening at the old Rectory. 
 
 Mabel, quiet and self-contained, but having within her 
 an aching heart, had been her last round in the village. 
 She had bidden good-bye to the poor people who had 
 known her all her life, and amongst whom her father had 
 toiled for so many years. She had knelt for the last 
 time in the old church where she had been baptised, con- 
 firmed, and where she had once dreamt of being married. 
 Then she had stood awhile at her father's grave, sad but 
 quiet, with no other feeling than that of affection to the 
 parent who lay there. Doubtless he had been hard and 
 stern to her, but in many ways she was. like him, and 
 he had through it all been very fond and proud of his 
 handsome daughter, and now all misunderstandings 
 and hard thoughts were utterly forgotten. 
 
 Then came her last pilgrimage to the boat-house. It 
 was getting dark as it had been on that never-to-be-for- 
 gotten night— one little year ago. 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 1 89 
 
 The Hall was shut up again : the great rows of win- 
 dows, with the white blinds drawn down, seemed to stare 
 coldly at her as she passed. She sat down on the rustic 
 seat. The river flowed on sluggishly, just as it had done 
 that night, and the breeze came up chill across the 
 meadows. But Godfrey ? Where was he ? All these 
 months, no news, no sign, no word of him. And so it 
 was to be always, all through life ! Her life was quiet 
 and uneventful, and he had filled it up. She had not 
 yet learnt to live without him. 
 
 She was not long alone. A figure in a wideawake and 
 a long coat came to her over the grass. It was Chris- 
 topher Trent, the curate, come to feel his way, with the 
 love-light that she would not notice shining in his eyes. 
 
 " Miss Mabel," he began humbly, " I followed you 
 here to get a quiet word with you, which I couldn't do 
 in the house. You don't mind, I hope ? " 
 
 She gave no answer. She would not help him. 
 Perhaps she hardly even heard what he said ; her 
 thoughts were so far away. 
 
 " What I wanted to say," he went on, " is only this. 
 I want to ask you to be kind enough to look upon 
 me as a friend." 
 
 " Mr, Trent," she said, " youVe been that to us more 
 than ever during the last few weeks. I don't know what 
 we should have done without you," she added wearily. 
 
 " Oh ! but," he pleaded, " I want to be a friend to 
 you specially. You are left quite alone in the world : 
 you have a great charge in your mother and sister, and 
 you have a great deal to bear. I ask nothing more 
 
190 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 than for you to look to me for any help I can give you 
 — to treat me really as a friend." 
 
 A light seemed to dawn upon her. She looked at 
 him sweetly, and pressed his hand. 
 
 " I will, indeed," she said frankly. " I never had 
 a brother, but you shall be to me as a brother would 
 have been." 
 
 Christopher sighed. 
 
 They walked home together silently. At the garden 
 gate Nell met them. 
 
 " Oh ! Mab, Vm so glad you've come in. I can do 
 
 nothing with mother. She won't touch her tea, and 
 
 you know she's hardly eaten anything to-day, and she'll 
 
 be ill if she goes on like this. " 
 
 * * ♦ » 
 
 The Carrs settled themselves at a northern water- 
 ing place, with rows of terraces and crescents, an 
 esplanade, a pier, plenty of bathing-machines, and a 
 regiment quartered up at the fort. Starcombe con- 
 sidered itself quite a first-class place. The Carrs were 
 not poor, but not very well off. There was no necessity 
 for the girls to do anything but amuse themselves, 
 unless they liked, and Nell, who was growing up a very 
 pretty girl, asked for nothing better. The girls in 
 Starcombe divided their attentions between the curates 
 at the ultra-high church down in the town and the officers 
 up at the fort, and had rather a good time of it. But 
 Mabel missed her quiet village life and her father, and 
 Christopher Trent, and the poor, and the many in- 
 terests in life she had at Beeston, and could not live 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 19I 
 
 only for flitting and dressing. Also, in a corner of her 
 heart, she nursed Godfrey Allen still. Life seemed 
 grey and dim, and she felt old and sad and dull beyond 
 her years. 
 
 Yet another twelvemonth past, and Nell married a 
 nice young fellow in the regiment at the fort. Christopher 
 Trent married them. He ever hovered about the Carr 
 family. Then Nell and her husband sailed away to India, 
 and for a long six months of a dull dreary winter Mabel 
 was the companion of her invalid mother, who was fast 
 fading away — weakly and vaguely as she had done 
 everything else through life. 
 
 Christopher Trent was a true friend at this time. 
 His little visits formed the only cheerful break in 
 Mabel's monotonous existence, and the sick woman de- 
 lighted in him. 
 
 At last one morning, when she had sent Mabel out 
 for a walk, Mrs. Carr spoke to him and drew from him the 
 secret he thought he kept so well hidden. 
 
 *' I can't last much longer," she said, " and I shall 
 die happy if I can leave Mabel with you She has 
 been a good daughter to me, and you deserve that she 
 should be as good a wife to you. There was that non* 
 sense about young Allen a long time ago, but her 
 father was very firm and wise, and she has forgotten all 
 about him now. There has never been any one else : 
 she is not so attractive as Nell was." 
 
 " It has been the one wish of my life," sighed 
 Christopher ; '' but it must rest entirely with her." 
 
192 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Presently Mabel came in, with a bright colour from 
 her walk on the cliff in the east wind. Her mother 
 took her hand, and drew her down beside her sofa. 
 
 "Mabel," she said, ''here's Christopher Trent, weary 
 with waiting, like Jacob. Won't you say yes to him 
 and let me die in peace ?" 
 
 Mabel raised her eyes — those deep true eyes which 
 always spoke her thoughts. 
 
 " Christopher, I must have a few words alone with 
 you first." 
 
 They went out again into the esplanade. People 
 had mostly gone into lunch : there was no one about 
 but the boat-men and the fly-men and the goat-chaise 
 boys, and the goats and the fly-horses were eating their 
 lunch too. 
 
 Christopher began. " I won't say much, Mabel ; 
 you know all I could say ; I feel you do. But I've the 
 offer of a living down in the East-end, a bad part of 
 the town, with plenty of work, needing brave hearts 
 and busy hands. Will you come and help me? I 
 know it is what you would like. It is a noble sphere 
 open for your energies, and, as for me, there is no other 
 helpmate in the world I would choose." 
 
 They took a turn in silence, and then she stopped 
 short and looked him full in the face. 
 
 "Christopher, you knew all about Godfrey Allen; 
 but you may have forgotten— -I can't forget : I never 
 shall. For all I know, he may be dead, but his memory 
 will never be dead to me. No one can ever be to me 
 what he was." 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 I9J 
 
 Christopher bowed his head. " I know all," he said^ 
 " and I would not wish you to forget. I am content 
 with you as you are." ; 
 
 "Dear, noble soul," she answered, putting her hand 
 in his. " Then you must take me as I am." 
 
 Not long after the invalid faded away, one bright 
 spring morning, when the east wind was blowing down 
 the cliff, and the sea shimmering in the treacherous 
 sunny glare. 
 
 A sultry June day in the soldiers' recreation -room 
 of the 30th Hussars at Paltanpore. A burning wind 
 blowing across barracks, with a breath like a furnace 
 blast. Inside, thanks to the punkahs and the " kuskas 
 tatties," screens in the doorways kept constantly wet, and 
 through which the hot wind blew cool, the glass is only 
 ninety-eight degrees. A few men in white drill uniform 
 lounging about. One was seated at a table idly turning 
 
 over an English paper, and reads as follows : — 
 
 * * * ♦ * 
 
 " On the -— th May, at St. Stephen's, Starcombe 
 by the Rev. David Carr, uncle of the bride, the Rev. 
 Christopher Trent, vicar of St. Estaphe's in the East^ 
 to Mabel, elder daughter of the late Rev. Theophilus 
 Carr, rector of Beeston, Berkshire." 
 
 The reader stares at the notice vacantly, then starts 
 up like a madman, with a muttered oath. 
 
 That night he makes a beast of himself in the bazaar, 
 and is taken up by the picket mad drunk and finds him- 
 
 self presently lodged in the cells for ninety-six hours. 
 
 ♦ * » • * 
 
 C, M. G. 13 
 
194 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The summer saw Mabel settled at St. Estaphe's in 
 the East, in a little dreary house in a dull little square, 
 an oasis of respectability among the surrounding desert 
 of squalor and misery. All the gay world was out of 
 town. The pavement was baking under the sun of a 
 very hot August, and the world of brick and mortar 
 seemed like a furnace to our country mouse. But 
 Mabel was happy, happier, perhaps, than she had ever 
 been since that fateful evening by the boat-house. She 
 was very busy. The parishioners of St. Estaphe^s never 
 went out of town, and the harvest was very plentiful 
 and the labourers very few. She worked among a 
 population for whom there is no ''season," and with 
 whom care and want are ever at home. 
 
 But they gradually got to know her, and some of 
 them to love her. A glimpse of the tall, graceful figure 
 in its sober dress passing down some squalid court sent 
 a thrill to many a care-laden heart that had almost 
 forgotten how to feel pleased with anything but drink, 
 while a look from those sweet eyes of hers brought 
 comfort to many a sorrow-crushed heart that had 
 ceased to expect any. And so on through the winter 
 and through another summer. Not much time for 
 thought or for looking back into the closed chapter of 
 might-have-beens of the past. 
 
 One autumn evening Christopher Trent mounted his 
 doorsteps, put his latchkey into his front door, opened 
 it, and walked with a step that was very weary into the 
 dining-room, where Mabel stood at the urn, and high 
 tea was spread oil the table. 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. g^ 
 
 He threw himself into a chair tired out. She brought 
 him his slippers and a cup of tea. She stroked his 
 thin hair, already plentifully streaked with grey, with 
 a sweet smile that cheered him. 
 
 " My wife," he murmured, holding her hand, " what 
 should I do without you ? " Then he roused himself. 
 
 "That's a bad case of fever among the O'Learys 
 down in Crumble Alley. I'm afraid it's typhus. They 
 sent for me from the night-school. It's the eldest boy 
 that's down, and the mother was like a mad creature. I 
 promised I'd go back there this evening, for I managed 
 to soothe them both a little." 
 
 *' You must have something to eat first," was all her 
 answer. 
 
 Within three weeks Christopher Trent had caught 
 the fever from the Irish boy, and lay on his deathbed. 
 His life, so nobly sacrificed, was ebbing fast. His last 
 thoughts, his last words, were for his poor people ; he 
 grudged leaving them so, they needed him so sorely 
 still. But his last look, as a smile of heavenly peace- 
 fulness which had its origin in things unseen, overspread 
 
 his dying face, was for Mabel. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The 1st of January in India, Empress Day. On the 
 brigade parade ground at Paltanpore all the troops are 
 drawn up for the usual review. The General, Sir Harry 
 Blague, of Mutiny renown, a handsome soldierly figure, 
 with iron-grey moustache and close-cropped grey hair, 
 rides down the line with his staff. First, he passed the 
 horse artillery, a chestnut battery, very smart. Then came 
 
196 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 the 30th Hussars, the crackest cavalry corps in India, 
 They have an Irish earl for their adjutant, and a sprink- 
 ling of scions of aristocracy among the officers, though 
 the present colonel is only Wilking, son of the great 
 furnishing firm. Indeed, they look a smart set of men 
 in their dark tunics with yellow froggings, and the brass 
 spikes of the white helmets glittering in the sun, while 
 the horses champ at their bits. Then the general 
 moves on down the line, inspecting the field artillery, an 
 English infantry regiment in scarlet standing like a wall, 
 and then a couple of native infantry corps in scarlet, 
 with gay pugrees, looking most workmanlike. 
 
 Facing the line, gathered about the saluting post, 
 where the royal standard floats aloft, is a mass of 
 spectators in carriages, on horseback, and the natives in 
 gay little canopied country carts. At intervals, keeping 
 back the crowd, stand erect and motionless troopers of 
 the 30th Hussars. 
 
 Behind one of these is a carriage, and from its 
 occupants proceeds the following conversation : — 
 
 " Who's the tall woman on the chestnut Arab by the 
 flagstafl*? " 
 
 " Oh ! don't you know, that is the good-looking 
 widow just out from home — Mrs. Trent, I think, her 
 name is ! " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I know ; she's the pretty Mrs. Fielding's 
 sister in the 120th. That's the General's Arab she's 
 riding. They say he's very much smitten with her ! " 
 
 The trooper in front, standing like a statue, strained 
 his ears to catch all this. His cheeks paled for a moment 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. I97 
 
 under their tan, and his eyes eagerly sought out the 
 object of their remarks, and rest long upon her. 
 
 He was only Private Godfrey, nothing more, and 
 never would be anything more. He was evidently 
 a gentleman by education ; there were many such in 
 the ranks of the 30th Hussars. When he first joined 
 some years before, his captain, as usual, tried to give 
 him a helping hand. But he was a disappointing man, 
 strangely reserved and unsociable with his comrades, 
 and with no wish to raise himself. From time to time 
 he would break out into fits of wildness which would 
 keep him back from the promotion he otherwise would 
 naturally have obtained. There was no depending 
 on him. Of course with his education he might have 
 become a clerk had he chosen, and worked up in that 
 line. But he seemed to have no incentive for getting 
 on at all, though he was a good rider and a smart 
 soldier if he chose. So finally they let him alone, and 
 there he stuck, a private. 
 
 The General now returned to the centre of the long 
 line, which stretched away on the dusty sandy plain. 
 The troops presented arms and carried swords in a 
 general salute, while the band, massed in the centre, 
 played '' God save the Queen." 
 
 Then the heavy guns boomed out so many rounds, 
 and were followed by the feature of the day, the feu 
 de joie. All along the infantry line flashes of smoke 
 pointed skywards, followed by the sharp report, rush 
 with the utmost precision up the front rank, and then 
 back again down the rear rank. 
 
198 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The chestnut Arab which carries Mabel Trent does 
 not understand all this at alL He is very fresh, and 
 starts, plunges, and backs. At the second feu de joie 
 he twists round and round in terror, but when the 
 whole mass of troops take off their helmets, and wave 
 them, giving three cheers for the Empress, it is too 
 much for him. He lowers his head, kicks out, and 
 bolts away from the dreaded sight, scattering the crowd 
 before him. His first kick-up unseats Mabel, but her 
 habit catches in the pommel and she is dragged along 
 head downwards, a terrifying sight ! 
 
 But as the Arab nears where Private Godfrey is 
 keeping the ground, the latter dexterously gets in his 
 way, and arrests his course. Then, watching his op- 
 portunity, gets alongside and seizes the bridle. Fling- 
 ing himself from his own horse he frees Mabel, bruised 
 and cut, and lays her on the ground. A crowd of 
 friends and doctors, and help in general, close round 
 her, while he remounts his horse and falls back into 
 his place again. 
 
 To everyone's surprise Sir Harry Blague stops the 
 parade till he has seen Mabel carried away home under 
 proper care, and ascertained that she is not seriously hurt. 
 After the march past is over the regiments file away 
 back to barracks. An aide-de-camp gallops up to 
 Colonel Wilkins, who calls up the Adjutant. "The 
 General wants to know who stopped Mrs. Trent's horse ? " 
 Private Godfrey makes no sign, and they are unable 
 to find out who it is, till, at the stable-hour which 
 follows, a comrade divulges. 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 19^ 
 
 Colonel Wilkins sent the name up with these com- 
 ments : — 
 
 '' A queer character, very reserved and morose, 
 supposed to be a gentleman, but no good, most un- 
 trustworthy." 
 
 The name of the trooper who had saved her life 
 came, of course, to Mabel's ears. It struck her ear 
 familiarly. Was it possible it could be he? She 
 reflected for a moment. If it was he would make 
 some sign. She sent word to offer him a reward for 
 his presence of mind. But it was declined with thanks. 
 He would not come to receive it. 1 1 could not, then^ 
 be he. Also, Colonel Wilkins's account of Private 
 Godfrey hardly suited the bright, high-spirited Godfrey 
 Allen she had known and loved. 
 
 Weeks rolled on. Sir Harry Blague's attentions 
 became more and more marked. Mabel dreaded every 
 day that he would declare himself, and put an end to 
 the pleasant friendship between them, for she sincerely 
 liked the gallant old soldier. 
 
 Mabel's life at Paltanpore was not unhappy. She 
 was a great help to her sister, worried with many ba- 
 bies, small means, and bad health, and no longer pretty 
 and gay. The women and children of her brother-in- 
 law's regiment found in her also a kind, sympathising 
 friend, as they battled with the climate and exile and 
 temptation. The small world of Paltanpore liked her 
 too, for she was never given to uncharitableness and 
 scandal-mongering, and her large heart sympathised 
 with all. 
 
^00 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 , One day another big parade. This time a sham 
 fight. Mabel viewed the mimic fray, riding about with 
 the General and his staff, mounted this time on a 
 thoroughly reliable pony. The feature of the day was 
 a charge by the 30th Hussars, in which a soldier was 
 thrown by his horse coming down in a hole, ridden 
 over, and badly hurt. 
 
 That evening about dinner-time came the message 
 Mabel had waited for all these years. It came at last. 
 
 Private Godfrey, the soldier who had been fatally 
 hurt that morning, was dying, and had got permission 
 for Mrs. Trent to come and see him. 
 
 She drove at once down to the hospital under a 
 bright full-moon, which silvered the white dusty road and 
 cast inky shadows. A moon you could see to read by. 
 
 A long, bare, white-washed room, the many doors 
 open admitting the evening breeze, for the weather was 
 already getting hot. Native hospital attendants in blue 
 and red pugrees glided about with bare feet. An hospital 
 sergeant in uniform led her to a small room on one side, 
 where a dim lamp enabled her to see the figure lying 
 on the narrow bed, and the face tossing on the pillow. 
 
 Would she have recognised it ? Had she not 
 guessed it was he ? Hardly, perhaps. It was so worn 
 and tanned, and the hair so thin and grizzled. Only 
 the eyes as they opened now and then were the same. 
 
 *'I don't think he'll last the night," said the 
 apothecary to her as he came his round. The place 
 was very quiet. A couple of orderlies from the dying 
 man's own regiment waited about in attendance on him. 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 201 
 
 But he was no special chum or favourite with anyone, 
 and they seemed merely to look upon their presence 
 there as a matter of duty. 
 
 Mabel knelt down by the bedside, resting her hands 
 on the coarse brown blanket. Did he know her ? He 
 seemed so restless ; in such pain. But nothing could be 
 done for him that had not been done. She took his hand, 
 already growing clammy, and called him softly by name. 
 This seemed to rouse him ; his eyes assumed a sensible 
 look, and rested long upon her. Then a smile spread 
 over the weary face, and he tried to speak, and with a 
 great effort he said, " Mabel ! At last ! " 
 
 After that he seemed quieter, but gradually sinking. 
 All through the night she sat by his bed, wiping his 
 brow, moistening his lips, and holding his hand. If she 
 let go her hold he seemed to search for her. 
 
 One hour after another was struck on the gong at the 
 guard-room in barracks, and the sentry's challenge of 
 " Twelve o'clock, and all's well ! " was caught up and re- 
 peated hourly in the still night. Pariah dogs bayed at 
 the moon, and the jackal's chorus — 
 
 Like Crying babe or beaten hound, 
 
 or, as Byron has it — 
 
 Like sound of midnight revelry, 
 
 echoed weirdly from some deserted spots. The moon- 
 light flooding one verandah, travelled gradually round 
 the building, and came in at the opposite one. 
 
 It was getting near morning. Already a faint grey 
 streak showed in the east, and the inevitable crows were 
 awake and beginning to caw in the trees. 
 
202 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Suddenly Godfrey roused himself again. A look 
 came over him of his own self so. many years ago. The 
 fine eyes turned on Mabel with their old fire. Bending 
 down to catch his words, his voice, though weak, seemed 
 to her to have its old ring, 
 
 '* IVe spent a wasted life, Mabel, but I've been true to 
 you. Faithful to death — good-bye — kiss me — Mab — — " 
 
 It was the last flicker. Even as she pressed her lips 
 on his there was a faint sigh, and the once strong hand 
 relaxed its grasp of hers. Then some one came and led 
 her away. 
 
 The next evening at sunset a funeral party entered 
 the military cemetery of Paltanpore. 
 
 An Indian graveyard is not a lovely spot. Four high 
 whitewashed walls keep out the jackals. Inside on one 
 side are a crowd of monuments, on the other rows of 
 nameless graves. Straight walls bisect the square, bor- 
 dered with dusty, stunted shrubs, a few mango or cy- 
 press trees where the crows caw. Whether or not the 
 place is well kept and cared for depends entirely on the 
 chaplains, and they come and go. Here are no loving 
 friends always living close at hand to wander in with 
 sweet memorial flowers. For most of the dead have 
 been laid here by strangers, and no eye that once loved 
 them will ever look upon their grave5. 
 
 Outside the gate stops the gun-carriage, with its 
 six artillery horses and riders. The band ceases the 
 "Dead March in Saul," to which the long procession 
 had slowly paced from the hospital The couple of 
 officers belonging to the dead man's troop, who vote the 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 20^ 
 
 whole thing a bore and want to be off to polo, standr 
 chatting, while the plain coffin covered with the Union 
 Jack, with the sword and helmet of the deceased upon 
 it, is lifted down and borne upon the shoulders of six 
 comrades. Outside the gate, too, waits " the master- 
 less steed," which has been led behind the coffin with 
 the jack-boots reversed in the stirrups. The chaplain 
 comes to meet the cortege. It is a sickly year in 
 Paltanpore, and he has many funerals. He hurries over 
 the service as he leads the way to one of the two graves 
 always kept ready and open in every Indian cemetery. 
 Behind the coffin follow the troop in full dress, and on 
 one side the grave the firing party range themselves. 
 
 A tall .woman's figure in black is hidden behind a tree 
 not far off. She hears the chaplain's voice gabbling the 
 service, through the short Indian twilight which is 
 already falling. Then the sharp report of a volley of 
 carbines startles the rooks who are going to bed. Then 
 the band strikes up a few bars of the ^'' Resurrection," 
 then another volley rends the air, a few more bars, and a 
 final volley. And then the whole of the grand old air 
 rings out its message of hope and peace. Mabel's eyes 
 look up to the dark blue vault overhead, where the stars 
 are beginning to twinkle, and feels that indeed yet 
 another reveille trumpet call will sound again for her 
 soldier and herself. She stands there yet awhile, musing 
 mournfully, but tearlessly. Women, like her, who have 
 suffered much, have exhausted their tears. ^ 
 
 Presently outside the cemetery she hears the bandl 
 striking up again, but this time some merry popular 
 
204 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 air, which jars upon her. The released officers gallop 
 off, and Private Godfrey is as good as forgotten. 
 
 Mabel lays a large white cross of roses on the grave 
 which two half-naked natives have just finished filling 
 in, and then turns to walk home up the now moonlit 
 Mall. 
 
 Presently she hears a horse canter up behind her and 
 stop. The General jumps down and gives it to the 
 native groom. 
 
 "Good evening, Mrs. Trent. I met your carriage 
 going home just now, and they told me that I should 
 find you walking here. I am so glad to have the 
 opportunity of speaking to you alone. It is what I 
 have been looking for for so long." 
 
 She gave a gasp as if in pain. The man did, indeed, 
 pain her by speaking to her now, and it pained her, too, 
 to have to give him pain. 
 
 "I am a battered-about old fellow," he continued, 
 "and you are yet young and lovely. I feel it is 
 presumptuous for me to dare to speak to you at all. 
 But I want to offer you my heart with all the devotion 
 a younger man could possibly feel, and to entreat you 
 to make the remainder of my life happy. I have never 
 cared for any woman before, or thought of any as I 
 think of you," he added softly. 
 
 " But you care for me, I feel you do. Then listen to 
 my story," she replied, turning round upon him. And, 
 standing tjiere in the moonlight with her sweet eyes, 
 fixed earnestly upon him, she told him all. As she 
 proceeded, the. fine old grey head, which had always 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 20$. 
 
 been held so high before all the world, bent lower and 
 
 lower in despair, and the steady hands nervously drew 
 
 patterns with the cane in the dust. 
 
 When she had ended, the old soldier raised her hand 
 
 reverently to his lips, and left her in silence. 
 % * * % 
 
 Far away from the lonely, nameless grave at Paltan- 
 pore one of the most devoted of the zealous sisterhood 
 of St. Estaphe's, in the East, is Sister Mabel, toiling 
 on — 
 
 O'er moor, o'er fen, o'er crag, o'er torrent, till 
 The night is gone ; 
 
 And with the dawn those angel faces smile 
 That I have loved long since and lost awhile. 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 
 
 A Story founded on Fact, 
 
 Colonel Rylstone was one of the best-known and 
 most popular men in Blankshire. Every winter he 
 came down to a little hunting-box in the centre of the 
 best part of the country, and no one rode harder or was 
 more genial and cheery in the hunting-field. Every 
 autumn he had a moor in Scotland, and three or four 
 Blankshire men were sure to be among the succession 
 of guns he entertained there. Yet Rylstone, with all his 
 popularity, was the despair of the mammas of Blankshire 
 who possessed marriageable daughters. Still in the 
 prime of life, good-looking, well off, and good-tempered, 
 he seemed only to need a wife to make him quite per- 
 fect. But he appeared absolutely impervious to the 
 charms of the Blankshire maidens. He would fill his 
 little house with nice men for the hunt ball in the winter, 
 and be profuse with theatre dinners and Hurlingham and 
 Sandown tickets to his Blankshire friends who came up in 
 the season. But thus far he would go, and no further ; 
 and Blankshire matrons heaved sighs of despair when 
 they spoke of him. Why on earth didn't he marry ? 
 
 One August, when all the gay world is at Cowes or 
 Homburg, I happened to find myself down at Dressing- 
 ton-by-the-Sea from Saturday till Monday. Everyone 
 knows what Dressington is like the first week in August ; 
 elaborately got-up Jewesses with foolish Gentile youths 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 207 
 
 in tow ; overdressed Gentile maidens, who have tempo- 
 Tarily ensnared Jewish youth — short, swarthy, and irre- 
 proachably got-up, oozing money from every pore. 
 Among such a horde on the parade, after church, I was 
 amazed to run against Colonel Rylstone, of all men 
 under the sun ; and Colonel Rylstone walking by the 
 side of a bath-chair ! 
 
 Now, the bath-chair contained neither an aged relative 
 likely to pop off suddenly with the gout nor a pretty 
 and interesting invalid. In it sat a man whose age 
 would be difficult to define. His face looked young, 
 though his hair and moustache were perfectly white. 
 His eye was vacant and lack-lustre, his expression utter- 
 ly vague and meaningless, and his face was contorted 
 every few moments by a terrible twitch. A more dis- 
 tressing object could hardly be seen. 
 
 Colonel Rylstone's greeting was cheery and cordial, but 
 he followed it up by no invitation to come and look him 
 up at his hotel or to dine with him. It was by a mere 
 accident I found he was staying at The Grand, where I 
 was, and even then I could see nothing of him. He 
 was in constant attendance on the shattered wreck of 
 humanity in the bath-chair. He ate with him, sat with 
 him, walked with him, and it was only, I presume, after he 
 had seen him put to bed by his male attendant that the 
 Colonel turned up late in the smoking-room. He drew 
 a chair up to mine, and lit a cigar, with a worn — distress- 
 ed look on his face, very foreign to his usual expression. 
 " You look tired, Rylstone," said I. '* Down here on 
 duty, I suppose ? " 
 
208 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, on duty — a most painful, distressing 
 duty, one which darkens my whole life, or rather the 
 original cause of it does. Did you see that poor fellow 
 in the chair ? " 
 
 " I did, indeed." 
 
 " Well, some twenty years ago he was the crack subal- 
 tern of my old corps, the Crimson Cuirassiers, and 
 a better fellow, a smarter soldier, and a finer rider you 
 couldn't find in all the three Presidencies. We were 
 quartered in India then, at Punkahpore." 
 
 " His head seems affected now. How did it happen ? 
 Drink ? " 
 
 " Never met a soberer fellow than Alan Ardshiel. No,, 
 it was a joke, a blackguardly practical joke. I'll tell you 
 about it if you like. If you thoughtless young fellows 
 with your chaff and your practical jokes were to take a 
 lesson from it, it might do some good." 
 
 Rylstone in a moralising mood was something so new 
 to me that it was with some curiosity I prepared to hear 
 his story, while he poured himself out a preliminary^ 
 whisky-and-soda. 
 
 "Punkahpore was not a lively station as regards 
 society," began the Colonel. " There were plenty of black- 
 buck to shoot and pig to stick, but not many ladies to 
 flirt with. The * Crimsons' were not a very much 
 married corps. The Colonel's wife was in England, and 
 the Major's too much occupied with her babies to be 
 interesting socially. The Commissioner's wife was fat and 
 pompous, and the Police-officer's decidedly 'touched with 
 the tar-brush,' as we say in the East. So there was much 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 209 
 
 rejoicing amongst us youngsters when Alice Thornlegh, 
 the doctor's daughter, came out to him from her school 
 at home. She was just eighteen, and such a pretty girl 
 with a fresh peach-like complexion and gold-brown hair, 
 a * sight for sair een ' to us, sick of the pasty-faced 
 beauties of the East ; and she was so deliciously fresh 
 to everything, so overflowing with spirits and fun, that she 
 seemed to breathe fresh life into the social languor and 
 stagnation of Punkahpore. 
 
 " Of course all we subalterns fell in love with her at 
 once. For the space of about a month she retained a 
 paramount place in all our affections, and we all hated 
 and all were jealous each of the other. But, after that 
 time, as is the manner of healthy British boys, soldiering, 
 sport, and cricket resumed their natural sway over us. 
 But not over all. On three of us Miss Thornlegh had 
 made a more durable impression. Charley Chiverton 
 was one : the senior subaltern, a dark-browed, rather 
 morose fellow, given to bullying at school, fellows who 
 had been with him at Eton said, and certainly not popular 
 in the regiment. Nobody ever went, in any scrape or 
 difficulty, to Chiverton for help. No one ever appealed 
 to him to do a turn of duty or a guard for him ; for 
 Chiverton would certainly have found some excuse for 
 declining assistance. But he was a good-looking fellow 
 enough, and for a while Miss Thornlegh seemed to admire 
 his dark, inscrutable eyes, and rode and walked with him 
 a good deal, and chose him on her side for croquet. 
 
 *' Alan Ardshiel was quite as much devoted to the 
 pretty Alice as Chiverton, but, unlike Chiverton, he did 
 d, M. G. 14 
 
210 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 not attempt to conceal it. His was a sunny, frank nature, 
 and he was too palpably happy in her society, too 
 evidently wretched away from her presence, for his 
 i penchant ' not to be known all over barracks. 
 
 " Ardshiel was my great chum ; we always did every- 
 thing together, and shared a bungalow. If it had been 
 anyone but he, I might, perhaps, have taken a more pro- 
 minent position in the race for Miss Thornlegh's favour. 
 But how could I find it in my heart to compete against 
 old Alan ? And then, one evening, I found out quite by 
 accident that it would have been perfectly useless, for he 
 was first favourite. 
 
 "We had been to a moonlight pic-nic, to the ruins of the 
 Dilkusha, a ruined palace a few miles away from Punkah- 
 pore. We had the table placed on the stone terrace, the 
 flags of which were crumbling and splitting, and were 
 the noontide haunt of lizards. The regimental band 
 played from a shaky stand in the quaint, formal garden, 
 a mass of weeds and creepers. The glorious tropica} 
 moonlight flooded the whole scene, making everything 
 as clear as day, and the old palace stood out as if built 
 of marble instead of stucco. 
 
 " After dinner, as we sat smoking on the terrace, 
 I discovered Miss Thornlegh was missing, and the ques- 
 tion was with whom, for Chiverton and Ardshiel had 
 likewise vanished. I considered it my duty to ascertain 
 with which she was walking round the weed-grown 
 paths. If it was with my chum, nothing should in- 
 duce me to spoil sport. But if it was with Chiverton 
 — well, then — 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 211 
 
 ** The shadows that the brilliant moonlight cast under 
 the orange and mango trees, and over the stagnant green 
 water in the stone-edged tanks, were black as ink. I 
 lit a cigarette, and wandered on my search. The 
 crickets whirred in the branches overhead, the disturbed 
 frogs splashed in the water, as I passed by ; the distant 
 bay of a pariah dog, or howl of a jackal, echoed over the 
 plain. Then there came a low murmur of voices. Two 
 people were whispering, their heads very close together, 
 and across the tank, on a stone bench, I dimly discerned 
 two figures in the shadow. The next moment I recog- 
 nised their voices. It was Ardshiel and Alice. Never 
 mind what they were saying, my boy. Very much what 
 you and I would say under the same circumstances to 
 the girl we loved, I fancy. It was enough for me, and 
 I turned away, very sick at heart. As I did so, Chiver- 
 ton stepped out of the shadow not many yards ahead of 
 me. I saw his face as he crossed a patch of moonlight, 
 and a more evil expression I never beheld. He must 
 have overheard Alice and Ardshiel's conversation as 
 plainly as I had. 
 
 " I went back to my bungalow. I had no heart for the 
 pic-nic now, the chatter of the party would be intolerable* 
 Chiverton's bungalow was next to ours, and he must 
 have come back soon after I did, and have had an alter- 
 cation about something with one of his servants, for I 
 heard sounds of angry voices, much bad Hindoostanee, 
 and worse language, accompanied by the yells of the 
 wretched domestic who was being chastised. The man 
 went to hospital next morning, sick. 
 
21^ INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Ardshiel returned very late, and in exuberant spirits. 
 He came into my room and wanted to talk. But I pre- 
 tended to be asleep. 
 
 '*The following afternoon Mrs. Thornlegh and the 
 doctor had a croquet party on the carefully tended bit 
 of lawn in front of their bungalow, which had to be 
 irrigated every night by little runnels from the well, to 
 be kept green at all. I did not play, but took a melan- 
 choly pleasure in watching the way in which Chiverton 
 with the whity-brown wife of the police-officer on his side, 
 mercilessly croqueted Ardshiel, who was playing with 
 Miss Thornlegh. After the game we all sat in the veran- 
 dah and discussed cigars and pegs, in the short Indian 
 twilight. Somehow or other, by one of those unaccount- 
 able freaks of fate which so often seriously affect our 
 lives, the conversation fell on ghosts and ghost stories. 
 
 " ' India's not a bit ghostly or weird/ remarked Miss 
 Alice. * I don't believe there's such a thing as a real, 
 proper, blood-curdling ghost in all the country.' 
 
 "* Neither do I,' echoed Ardshiel, who would have 
 agreed with her if she had sworn black was white. ' I 
 never heard of an Indian ghost' 
 
 " ' O, but I have,' put in the Commissioner's wife, a 
 fat lady who considered herself of great local importance, 
 and had a many years' experience of the country. * Why 
 in this very station there's one.' 
 
 '' ' Indeed ? ' 
 
 *'* Where?' 
 
 ***What?' 
 
 " ' Do tell ! ' cried everybody at once. 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 213 
 
 " Mrs. Postlethwaite was only too delighted to air her 
 knowledge. She nodded sagely. 
 
 " ' Well, and indeed, I've always been told that that 
 big old bungalow, next to the Native Infantry lines, is 
 haunted.' 
 
 *'*What by? What kind of ghost? Black or 
 white ? ' 
 
 *'*OMrs. Postlethwaite, how awfully interesting!' 
 added Alice Thornlegh. 
 
 " ' Haunted by many ghosts,' pursued the great lady, 
 * I've always heard say, ever since my husband the Com- 
 missioner first came to this district. There was a mas- 
 sacre of European women and children there in the Mu- 
 tiny time. The rebels caught them and shut them up 
 there, and then slaughtered them. That is certain, any- 
 how. And the bungalow has never been lived in since, 
 and no natives will go near it after dark. They say it's 
 haunted.' 
 
 " * O dear, I feel quite frightened ! ' cried Miss Thorn- 
 legh. 
 
 " It was very dusk in the dim verandah, but I could 
 have sworn that Ardshiel caught her hand and held it 
 in his to reassure her. 
 
 " ' What nonsense ! ' he said. * I don't believe it 
 These niggers are such liars and such cowards.' 
 
 " * Not more superstitious than some of you Highland- 
 ers are,' sneered Chiverton. * With all your bragging, I 
 don't believe you'd spend the night there yourself, Ard- 
 shiel' 
 
 " The Scotchman's blood was up. 
 
214 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 "*If we Highlanders are superstitious, we are, any- 
 how, just as plucky as you cockneys, and more so, as I'll 
 soon show you. What do you lay me I don't sleep in 
 that bungalow to-night, Chiverton ? ' 
 
 " Chiverton laughed a low, unpleasant laugh. 
 
 " ' My dear fellow, I really don't want to rob you/ 
 
 " * Then I'll do it without any money on, as you're so 
 deuced certain about it. Bragging, indeed ! Do you 
 suppose I care a rap for a pack of natives' lies ? ' 
 
 " Chiverton got up and lit a cigar slowly. 
 
 " * Nothing easier than to prove you don't, my dear 
 fellow. In the meantime, I must say good evening, Mrs. 
 Thornlegh. I hear the *' dress " for mess sounding,' and 
 he walked off slowly. 
 
 " * Confound that fellow, with his irritating sneers and 
 cool ways ! ' said Ardshiel. ' But he'll crow in a differ- 
 ent key to-morrow morning, for I shall send my bed over 
 to the old bungalow to-night, and sleep there.' 
 
 " Alice looked imploringly into his face. 
 
 " * You wouldn't have that fellow Chiverton think me 
 a coward, would you ? ' he added. 
 
 " ' No ; certainly not,' I put in. * I'll go and sleep 
 there, too. He might be up to some larks, if you were 
 alone — who knows ? ' 
 
 "'But, Mr. Ardshiel,' Alice added piteously, * sup- 
 posing it's true — supposing there is something — those 
 poor creatures massacred — it's horrible ! ' 
 
 *' * It was horrible, you mean, Miss Thornlegh,' Ard - 
 shiel corrected in a softer tone. ' But don't be alarmed . 
 I beg of you. That frightens me much more than any 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 215 
 
 idea of ghosts. It's not very likely that we shall be 
 disturbed by anything but flying foxes and owls, or per- 
 haps a jackal or two ; and I think Rylstone and I are 
 a match for any other flesh-and-blood visitors. I'll 
 come over to chota hazaid to-morrow morning, after 
 your ride, and tell you all about it.' 
 
 " Thus we said good night and departed, with many a 
 gibe and jest flung back as we walked down the drive. 
 I can see Alice Thornlegh now, standing framed in the 
 creeper-covered arch of the verandah, and waving her 
 hand to us. 
 
 " Of course our adventure was an excuse for cham- 
 pagne at mess, and after dinner we were escorted to our 
 new quarters by quite a posse of Cuirassiers, with lan- 
 terns. Our bearers had carried our beds there in the 
 daylight, but nothing would induce a single native to 
 accompany us there that night. 
 
 " The haunted bungalow was at some distance from 
 the other European residences. It was all that was left 
 of the station after the rising. The other houses had 
 been fired and burnt to the ground. Only this one re- 
 mained intact, for the ghastly reason that it had served 
 as the prison and the slaughter-house of the helpless 
 European females. 
 
 " It stood back some way from the road ; the drive 
 was grass-grown and overhung with untended trees. 
 The roof was falling in in places, the verandah over- 
 grown with creepers. It certainly did not look inviting. 
 
 " * We are much more likely to be bitten by a 
 " krait than to De visited by ghosts ! ' cried Ardshiel. 
 
2l6 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Shoo ! shoo ! ' and with a cheery yell he chased out a 
 great white owl, which fled hooting. 
 
 " Our little camp-beds had been placed in the middle 
 of the huge centre room of the bungalow, a gaunt apart- 
 ment with the lofty ceiling supported on four large 
 pillars, which threw queer shadows about the room. 
 
 " One by one our escort departed, and we found our- 
 selves alone, the feeble flicker of a native oil-lamp alone 
 lighting up the apartment. Ardshiel threw himself on 
 to his bed. 
 
 " ' By Jove ! ' he cried, ' I swore I'd s/eep in this 
 haunted bungalow, and J s/ia/l do it too, for I never felt 
 more sleepy in my life ; the champagne went pretty 
 freely round at mess, and I was up at four this morning 
 walking till breakfast after the snipe out at Paniput 
 Jheel. So good night, old chap.' 
 
 " He pulled off his mess jacket, and in five minutes I 
 heard him snoring. Ardshiel always was such a fellow 
 to sleep. 
 
 '' But I was more wakeful. A bat would keep skim- 
 ming past my face ; an owl hooted at regular intervals 
 in a mango tree outside. I had an uneasy feeling that 
 the place was full of noxious insects and reptiles, if of 
 nothing worse. The jackal chorus in a corner of the 
 deserted compound sounded weird and eerie. But a^ 
 last I dozed, and then, it seemed to me, I had a dream. 
 I dreamt Chiverton stole into the room — Chiverton, 
 who had not come with the rest to see us installed in 
 our ghostly quarters. I dreamt I saw him bending for 
 a long time over the bed on which Ardshiel lay sleeping 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 21/ 
 
 peacefully — the sleep of the light-hearted and happy. 
 It was a fearfully vivid dream — could it have been 
 reality ? 
 
 " After that I must have slept soundly, for when I 
 woke again I awoke sharp and alert, startled into sud- 
 den and complete consciousness by the most appalling 
 sound mind can conceive. It was a wild shriek as of 
 some creature in mortal peril — it was the heart-rending 
 cry of a child in agony. 
 
 " I sprang out of bed in a second, and as I did so my 
 foot touched something on the floor — something cold 
 and clammy — not a toad or a snake — but, O horror ! 
 clearly visible by the flickering lamp, a child's foot, cut 
 off and gory, but still encased in its little shoe ; and all 
 around the floor was covered with splashes of blood. 
 
 '' I stood a few seconds struck still with horror. Then, 
 again, the horrible cry of torture sounded, close behind 
 me this time, and, impelled by an irresistible terror — 
 the like of which I had never felt before, and pray Heav- 
 en I may never feel again — I fled into the verandah, 
 out into the night, down the drive. On the high-road I 
 stumbled and fell ; my overtaxed nerves gave way, and 
 I fainted. 
 
 " The dawn was breaking in the east when a coolie 
 going to work found me, and gave the alarm to the 
 guard. I only felt thoroughly myself again when I 
 found myself on a bed in the guard-room, with wet 
 cloths on my head. 
 
 " Then only did the cowardice of my flight break 
 upon me in all its enormity. 
 
2l8 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 *'* Ardshiel !' I cried. ' For God's sake go and look 
 for Mr. Ardshiel ! He's still in that awful room ! ' 
 
 "They went to look for him, and they found — " (here 
 Colonel Rylstone's voice broke, and he was a moment 
 or two before he could proceed,) " they found ' the thing ' 
 you saw in the bath-chair to-day, with blanched hair and 
 vacant grin and chatter, and palsied features. What he 
 saw, what passed in that room, no one will ever know 
 this side of eternity, for that shattered wreck was all 
 that was left of my cheery, sunny, happy chum." 
 
 " But why on earth didn't he make a bolt for it, as 
 you did ? " I asked. 
 
 "Why?" repeated Rylstone, and he sat bolt upright 
 in his chair and glared at me. " Why ? Because w/iejt 
 they found him he was bound hand and foot^ and tied 
 down into his bed ! " 
 
 There was a silence, and Rylstone took another peg, 
 a pretty strong one. 
 
 " And what became of Chiverton ? " I asked, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " That is not his real name. If I were to tell it you 
 you would recognise a man well-known in the service, 
 an able soldier, who has climbed to the top rungs of the 
 ladder. Such is life ! " 
 
 I hesitated a moment, and then I asked — "And 
 Alice ? " 
 
 Rylstone's voice changed from a bitter tone to a soft 
 one. 
 
THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 219 
 
 " That autumn the cholera swooped down on Punkah- 
 pore. We ' Crimsons ' were sent out hurriedly into 
 cholera camp in small detachments. When I got back 
 to the station after some weeks, Alice was lying be- 
 tween the four mud whitewashed walls of an Indian 
 cemetery." 
 
CHRISTRIAS WITxH THE CRIMSON 
 CUIRASSIERS, 
 
 It was the last night of the voyage. With to-morrow's 
 dawn the look-out on the maintop would spy the mighty 
 Ghauts, the ramparts of India, fringing the eastern sky. 
 It was a perfectly still, warm, tropical night, dark as 
 Erebus, save for the light of the star-strewn heavens. 
 Two young people leant over the side of the vessel 
 watching the white phosphorescent pathway which 
 stretched behind her stern. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry the voyage is over," quoth he. '' I 
 wish it would last for ever." 
 
 The girl's face clouded. 
 
 " I am too ; it has been great fun, and I don't quite 
 know what is coming next. You are going back to 
 your regiment, your friends, your horses " 
 
 " And you to your father ? " 
 
 ** Who is only a name to me. I have not seen him 
 since my mother died, when I was only three. And 
 then I'm told he's very difficult to get on with, though 
 perhaps I ought not to say so. But they call him the 
 Iron Colonel, you know, and then a father is not like a 
 mother ; and I've no mother, I've nobody." 
 
 Her voice was so sad, though it was too dark for him to 
 see her face well, close as he was to her, that Jack Harrage 
 would hardly have been human if he had not been tempt- 
 ed, more strongly than he had been all the voyage, to 
 say something very foolish and very irrevocable. 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 221 
 
 But fortunately at this juncture the tea-bell rang, and 
 a clatter of tea-cups, enough to drown any sentiment, 
 came up through the skylight. In addition, Cramwell, 
 the young competition-wallah, who didn't like Jack and 
 did like Nina, came up and asked the latter if she was 
 not going to have any tea. So all Harrage could 
 whisper, as they all moved down the deck, was — 
 
 " Don't say you've no friends. You know you have 
 devoted ones. Perhaps some of them will come and 
 look you up at Dustypore, if they may. " 
 
 All the answer he got was a look, but that seemed to 
 satisfy him. 
 
 Surely some one or other was very much to blame for 
 having, in the twenty-eight days during which they had 
 been cooped up together on the P. & O., allowed this girl of 
 eighteen, fresh from school, and this penniless subaltern 
 in an infantry regiment, to fall thus irretrievably in love 
 with each other. But, anyhow, the mischief was done. 
 
 The Crimson Cuirassiers were not much married, or 
 much addicted to ladies' society. But they happened 
 this Christmas to find themselves stationed at that ex- 
 tremely solitary little place, Dustypore, which, in the 
 native mind, is associated with the birth of Krishna ; in 
 the European, with the death of wild boars. There was 
 no other regiment, and only three ladies in the place. 
 One was the Police-officer's wife, " touched with the 
 tar brush," as the saying is, and who had never been out 
 of India ; the second was the Quartermaster's wife, whose 
 mind centred in her kitchen ; and the third was the Col- 
 lector's wife, with no mind at all, only a giggle. 
 
222 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Such being the state of affairs, it is to this day involv- 
 ed in mystery as to who started the idea of a ladies* 
 dinner at mess on Christmas Day, I am inclined to 
 think it was Dolly, the youngest sub., freshest from 
 home, and with a hidden love for feminine society still 
 lurking under his stable jacket, and not yet entirely sup- 
 pressed by that of polo-ponies, Rigbys, and squadron 
 movements. I rather fancy, too, he was actuated solely 
 by a wish to spend a pleasant evening with Miss Nina, 
 the Colonel's daughter, just out from home. 
 
 Be it how it may, the scheme received very general 
 approval. Fellows felt they ought to give some sort of 
 entertainment to the station, and those who were averse 
 to it took three days^' leave and went out shooting. 
 
 Stern and hard as his nickname implied, the Iron 
 Colonel would have been less than human if he could 
 have resisted his little daughter's sparkle of delight as 
 he casually remarked, over a cigar — 
 
 "The fellows are talking of a ladies' dinner at mess 
 on Christmas Day. I suppose you don't want to go ? " 
 
 He himself had hardly dined at mess if he could help 
 
 it since he commanded the regiment. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Christmas Day felt very strange to Nina when she 
 awoke to find the sunlight streaming in through the 
 deep verandah and open door ; the black ayah 
 crouching by her bed ; the room huge, bare, and whiter 
 washed. The only sign of rejoicing was in the decora- 
 tions put up by the servants, and which took the form 
 of garlands of marigolds strung by their stalks a(Jross 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 223 
 
 the portico and the gateway. Outside, the crows 
 cawed incessantly, and the trumpets rang across from 
 the barracks. 
 
 Nina's mind wandered back to former English Christ- 
 mases, and she came to the conclusion India was unsatis- 
 factory, and not half as nice as the voyage out had been. 
 
 ** Will you come to church with me, father ? " she 
 asked timidly, as he entered the drawing-room, the bear- 
 er fastening his gold lines round his neck and putting 
 the finishing touches to the magnificence of his full dress. 
 
 '' Nonsense, child ! I must go with the regiment." 
 
 Nina sighed. She had now been three months with 
 her father, and they did not seem to understand each 
 other any better. She knew him to be a fine soldier, 
 and that the regiment was proud of their Iron Colonel 
 as a commanding officer. But underneath that hard, 
 cold exterior she did so long to find a loving, tender 
 parent. Her life was very dull at Dustypore, and some- 
 how her thoughts constantly went back to the P. and O 
 and Jack Harrage. 
 
 The sound of the band playing " Church Bells " over 
 on the parade ground warned her it was time for service. 
 As she drove past Dolly's bungalow she saw that young 
 officer getting on his pony to canter off' to parade. 
 Watching him in the gloom of the verandah, she fancied 
 she descried a familiar figure, cigar in mouth. A thrill 
 of delight passed over her, and I fancy she hardly 
 attended as much to the service as she should have 
 done. Anyhow, as she watched the " Crimsons " swing 
 away from the church portico to the inspiriting strains 
 
224 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 of the band, her heart sang for joy that Christmas 
 m'orning. 
 
 The anteroom of the Crimson Cuirassiers was as 
 comfortable as it could be made by a varied collection 
 of cretonne-covered wicker chairs, periodically smash- 
 ed up on "big" nights. But it seemed paradise to 
 Nina as she sat there before dinner, making conver- 
 sation with the giggling wife of the Collector, and saw 
 a scarlet-clad infantry officer enter with Dolly. The 
 next minute, with her head in a whirl, she was being 
 introduced to " My school chum, Captain Harrage." 
 
 A rush for dinner followed. The Colonel, with any- 
 thing but an amiable expression, took in the Collec- 
 tor's wife, whose husband followed with Nina. He 
 was a naturally dull little man, whose mind had become 
 fossilised with twenty-five years of India. He devoted 
 himself to the "Crimsons'" menu, leaving Nina plenty of 
 leisure to listen to the chaff and laughter which emanated 
 from either end of the long table, groaning under racing 
 and presentation plate, where congregated the junior 
 officers, and to catch constantly Jack Harrage's eye. 
 
 After dinner an awful interval of penance followed 
 for Nina when alone with the ladies. Finally, she left 
 them alone to discuss the maladies of infants and the 
 petty larceny of domestics, and turned over a paper to 
 collect her thoughts. 
 
 After what seemed an age, some of the younger 
 men slipped in, leaving their seniors to smoke and talk. 
 
 " Let's have a ladies' pool," suggested some one, '^ love 
 game." 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 22$ 
 
 " Come along, now, Mrs. Smith, darlinV' quoth the 
 Vet., who had dined well, if not wisely, to the Quarter- 
 master's wife, " it's a poor heart that never rejoices, and 
 shure isn't it Christmas night ? " 
 
 " Lor, Mr. McCartney," returned the lady, bridling, 
 " but I never 'andled a cue in my life." 
 
 '•' Do come. Miss Heytesbury," whispered Dolly to 
 Nina, " don't you see we must do something?^' 
 
 They trooped into the billiard-room, where Nina was 
 given a ball, and played in her turn after two or three 
 times of asking, for she was deep in conversation with 
 Jack Harrage by the open window. 
 
 " You seemed surprised to see me to-night." 
 
 " I fancied I saw you in Mr. Gray's verandah this 
 morning. But I wasn't sure." 
 
 ^'Didn't I tell you I'd turn up? I couldn't get 
 leave before. Do you mean tq say you didn't trust 
 me?" 
 
 " Green or blue, brown's your player." gabbled the 
 native marker. Nina went up to the table and made a 
 miss. 
 
 " There, Miss Heytesbury," remarked the major ; 
 *• that's your last life. I regret to say you're defunct," 
 
 "I'm so glad," whispered Jack. ''Come into the 
 verandah ; it's such a lovely night." 
 
 '' Yes," said she, hardly knowing what she said 
 *' only much colder than those moonlight nights at sea. 
 How moonlight disguises the place and makes it 
 pretty!" 
 
 Harrage turned and looked her full in the face. 
 C, M. G. 15 
 
226 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Miss Heytesbury — Nina, you do remember those 
 nights at sea ? Oh ! so often, especially that last even- 
 ing, I was so nearly speaking to you, but it wouldn't 
 have done. Now please listen, don't turn away, Nii]a ! 
 It's all altered, it's all right now ; I've got my com- 
 pany ; and more than that, my cousin's been killed — an 
 accident — and I'm my uncle's heir. And I've come 
 
 here to ask you — to tell you " 
 
 He never finished, for he got his arm round her 
 waist, and the next minute her head was on his shoul- 
 der, and he was kissing her. 
 
 " Miss Heytesbury ! Miss Heytesbury ! " said a voice 
 at the window. " Mr. and Mrs. Brown want to say 
 good night to you." 
 
 And Nina escaped back into the glaring room. 
 ^' I shall come and see the Colonel to-morrow morn- 
 ing," whispered Harrage, later, as he put on her 
 cloak. 
 
 An hour or so after, Dolly and Jack were walking 
 down the moonlit road to the former's bungalow. 
 
 " I say, old chappie," cried Dolly, breaking silence, 
 ** you needn't walk such a trot, it's close by. By-the- 
 by," he added, " I hope you've not been awfully bored. 
 But it being Christmas night, and women about, made 
 it rather deadly." 
 
 " Deadly ? My dear boy," cried Jack, throwing away 
 
 the end of his cigar, " it's the jolliest " 
 
 The jubilant expression of his friend's face and tone 
 made Dolly stare. Then a sudden light seemed ^o 
 break in upon him. 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 227 
 
 ** Well, now I come to think of it, you have had 
 rather the best of it with Miss Heytesbury. She 's 
 awfully pretty, but she's always down on me somehow,'' 
 he added rather mournfully. 
 
 Just then the canter of a horse's hoof sounded behind 
 them on the dusty side of the road, accompanied with 
 shouts and chaff. 
 
 ^* It's only the omnibus," explained Dolly. 
 
 The " omnibus " was Benham's old grey Arab, which 
 he rode to mess to save the polish of his boots, and 
 which as many others as could sic behind habitually 
 assisted him in riding back from mess. 
 
 The friends did not speak again till they found them- 
 selves in Dolly's room. It was very bare ; its owner had 
 about fifteen hundred a year of his own, but might only 
 have had one to judge by its furniture, which consisted 
 chiefly of boxes and saddles, rows of boots, and bunch- 
 es of polo-sticks, with a small camp-bed in the centre. 
 
 As the only easy-chair was occupied by a sleeping 
 terrier, Harrage sat down on the edge of the bed, and 
 Dolly yelled to a slumbering bearer in the verandah 
 till the latter produced some soda-water and tumblers. 
 Dolly measured out the whisky, and then advanced, 
 glass in hand, to his friend. But he paused, 
 
 '' What's up, old chap ? You look as if you'd turned 
 up trumps ! " 
 
 Jack jumped up and slapped his friend so vehement- 
 ly on the back that he nearly made him spill the drink. 
 
 *'And so I have, Doll, old man! Congratulate me! 
 She is the-^ — " 
 
228 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 Dolly's mouth opened, and the drink had another 
 narrow escape. 
 
 '^She? What? Who? Miss Heytesbury? Oh, 
 Gemini ! what an ass I've been ! Of course that's why 
 you wanted to come and put up with me." 
 
 And he sat down dejeqtedly on the bed, and tossed 
 off the potion himself to hide his mortification. 
 
 "I'm going to tackle the old un to-morrow morning," 
 were Jack's last words as he turned in. 
 . '• Well, you'll find him a tough nut to crack," rejoin- 
 ed Dolly from his pillows. ^' No one has ever yet got 
 to the soft side of him. Evep she ha3 not improved 
 him as we thought shq would." 
 
 'F ^ >!» <)? ^ 
 
 After a late breakfast the Colqnel sat next morninn- 
 in the verandah smoking, in plain clothes. There was 
 no parade or orderly-room, and he was not going near 
 barracks ; for even in si^ch an adniirable regiment as the 
 Crimson Cuirassiers, Christmas comes but once a year, 
 and the officers were so lavish in their troop dinners 
 that the men needed a day to get oyer them. 
 
 Nina flitted aboye the verandah singing for very 
 blitheness of heart, watering her plants, feeding her 
 parrots. As he watched her, the Iron Colonel's face 
 softened ever so little. Was she at last stealinof into 
 his long-frozen heart ? 
 
 A horse came up the drive. Probably an orderly with 
 papers to sign. But the old bearer brought a card on a 
 waiter. 
 
 " Captain John Harrage." 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 22^ 
 
 All the softness instantly faded out of the Iron Colo- 
 nel's face, giving place to a look of strong hatred as he 
 glared blankly at th^ cafd. Then he looked up, and it^ 
 owner stood before hinii. 
 
 Tall and handsome, but rather embarrassed, wishing 
 the whole thing well over that he might go and look on 
 Nina, Harrage could not for the life of him understand 
 why the Colonel should look at him so alafmitigly. But 
 he knew he was a good match, he felt sure of Nina, and, 
 not being naturally deficient in pluck, went boldly to 
 work, 
 
 '' I must apologise for comirtg so early, Colonel," he 
 began, his uneasiness incireasing, '' but 1 couldn't rest 
 any longer \Vithout speaking to you. IVe come to tell 
 you — to ask you — fact is, iVe proposed to your daughter 
 and I hope — -^*' 
 
 The Colonel looked down again at the card, and thert 
 aorain at the young fellow. He rose slowly and stood 
 back a few paces, and looked him all over from the top 
 of his sun-helmet to the last button of his gaiter. 
 Harrage returned the stare, thinking the Colonel indeed 
 more difficult to get on with than he had anticipated 
 for he was doubtkss mad. 
 
 " Good God," faltered the elder man at last, *' I could 
 swear it was the same twenty years after !" 
 
 Jack thought he had better play his trump card. 
 
 " Perhaps you are unaware that recently, through the 
 death of my cousin, I am, in position and prospects, no 
 unworthy " 
 
 The Colonel turned sharply upon him. 
 
230 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Not another word ! The less you say the less you'll 
 have to regret. Listen ! '* 
 
 The look of hate was gone. He had resumed his 
 habitual icy manner, but was evidently repressing 
 violent emotions with a mighty effort. 
 
 " Listen ! " he said, sitting down and motioning to Jack- 
 to do the same, but speaking with knitted brow and 
 averted face, looking out into the compound. 
 
 " Twenty years ago I was in another regiment, the 
 Scarlet Lancers." 
 
 '' My father was a short time in them," murmured 
 Jack. 
 
 Without, apparently, noticing the interruption the 
 Colonel continued — 
 
 " I had not been married long. Nina was only two. 
 I sent her and her mother up to the hills out of the 
 heat. I did it for the best ; I know I was not always 
 tender to her, that I often neglected her ; I blame 
 myself for much ; but this 1 did for the best. She was 
 very young and inexperienced, and I asked a man in 
 the regiment, a married man, with a wife and boy at 
 home, my friend whom I trusted, to look after her, and, 
 by God ! he did. There was a great deal of talk ; it 
 came to my ears. I rushed up to the hill-station, madly 
 jealous; I struck her ! Then she left me, with him of 
 course. He left the army ; I exchanged. It was all 
 over India at the time. Did you never hear of it ? " 
 
 " Never," replied Jack, interested and astonished. "An 
 awful business ! But if it makes you afraid of marriage, 
 for Nina, rest assured nothing of the kind shall ever ' 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 23 1 
 
 The Colonel rose from his chair, and looked fixedly 
 at Harrage. 
 
 " Young man/' he said, " the man who wrecked my 
 life, who made me the hopeless, faithless wretch you see 
 me, was your father ! " 
 
 With that he turned on his heel and strode into the 
 
 drawing-room to meet the white face of his child, who 
 
 had overheard all and fell senseless at his feet. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "He's ad — d brute!" said Dolly to himself, as he 
 came out of the Colonel's bungalow, nearly twelve months 
 later, where Nina was lying on the sofa so weak and 
 white after another attack of fever, that it made Dolly 
 miserable to see her. " He's a d — d brute, and she's 
 just breaking her heart about Harrage." 
 
 Of course Dolly was au fait with the unhappy termi- 
 nation of his friend's love-affair, though without knowing 
 the reasons which led to it. A week later he met Jack 
 Harrage at a down-country race meeting. The latter 
 looked seedy. 
 
 "I'm just going to cut it all," he said. "My uncle 
 wants me at home to look after things, and I'm sick of 
 the service ! " 
 
 Dolly opened his ^y^s, for he knew Jack used to 
 consider soldiering the only thing worth living for. 
 
 Then Jack asked — 
 
 " Any news ? " 
 
 Dolly knew what that meant, and told him Nina had 
 been ill again, and added that she was leaving Dustypore 
 
232 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 for a week's change at Sirdhana, an old native palace 
 hard by. • 
 
 Knowing this, imagine Jack Harrage's horror, on 
 returning to his regiment, to read in the first paper he 
 took up : — 
 
 ' "Fatal Accident at Sirdhana. — An alarming 
 carriage accident took place on Thursday at Sirdhana, 
 where Miss Heytesbury, daughter of Colonel Heytesbury, 
 of the Crimson Cuirassiers, had gone for change of air. 
 The horses bolted in the carriage, the groom thrown 
 out and killed, and the vehicle upset opposite the 
 Roman Catholic convent, whither Miss Heytesbury was 
 conveyed, and found to be suffering from concussion of 
 the brain." 
 
 Jack went straight to his Colonel and asked for a few 
 days' leave, looking so upset that it was granted without 
 a word. 
 
 When Nina recovered consciousness twenty - four 
 hours after her accident, she found herself lying in the 
 room she had been occupying in the Sirdhana palace. 
 
 This was a large double-storied building, standing in 
 a garden, which had been erected some hundred years 
 before by a European adventurer who had married a 
 powerful begtnn of those parts. She was a woman of 
 strong character, who, being converted to Christianity, 
 had built the Roman Catholic cathedral, convent, and' 
 schools close by. The Sirdhana palace, with its green 
 groves and terrace, was a favourite resort with the 
 European officers from Dustypore. 
 
 The room was large and lofty and fairly furnishedi 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 233 
 
 Portraits of the grim begum and her French husband 
 looked down upon Nina from the walls. The cathedral 
 bells were ringing for vespers, and a European sister 
 of mercy, in her conventional garb, sat by Nina's bed. 
 She was a tall, thin, wan-lookin<]r woman, whose as- 
 cetic face, in its fearful gfave-clothes headdress, looked 
 probably older than it really was. But her expression 
 was kind though sad, and it became almost transfigured 
 with delight when she perceived that Nina was herself 
 again. Kneeling down she covered the girl's hand 
 with kisses, and then, closing her eyes, offered prayers 
 of thanksgiving, while great tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Then the doctors came itl, and she disappeared. 
 When Nina asked for her later, she was told that 
 Sister Magdalen had overdone herself with penance 
 and prayers, and had had one of her heart attacks. 
 
 However, next day she came back to Nina^s bed- 
 side, and at the latter's earnest request took up her 
 post there permanently. Something seemed to draw 
 the poor heart-broken child to this sad woman, who 
 seemed to have suffered too. In her, at last, she found 
 the sympathy she so longed for. 
 
 Before the day was out, Nina was lying with her 
 hand clasped in Sister Magdalen's, pouring into her 
 sympathising ear all her sad story about Jack Harrage. 
 
 "I can't forget him, though I've tried to," she con- 
 cluded. " And it does seem so terribly hard we should 
 be separated like this through no fault of our own." 
 , Sister Magdalen caught her breath sharply, , 
 
234 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 " Surely if my mother had ever thought of the 
 misery her conduct would inflict on her child, she 
 would have paused ere it was too late. But she could 
 not have been good and loving as you are, sister," 
 she added, looking up. " But why do you cry, dear 
 sister ? " 
 
 And she tried to draw down the wan face to her 
 lips. 
 
 But Sister Magdalen quietly put her aside, and 
 sinking on her knees by the bed covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 " No, no, child, not that ! I am not worthy, I am 
 not good ; no one is good. I am the most miserable 
 of sinners ! " And her lips moved in silent prayer. 
 Then she hurriedly left the room. 
 
 A carriage drove up to the broad flight of steps, and 
 a young man jumped out hastily and advanced eagerly 
 towards Sister Magdalen with inquiries after Nina. 
 She answered him at length, allaying the terrible 
 anxiety which had devoured him on his journey ever 
 since he had heard of the accident. Then she added — 
 
 " I fancy you must be Captain Harrage. To-morrow 
 is Christmas Day ; come over here again, and perhaps 
 I may have good news for you." 
 
 The Colonel arrived late on Christmas Eve. He had 
 been away on a distant court-martial at the time of his 
 daughter's accident, and had now come as fast as duty 
 and the train would allow him. 
 
 Till he heard how near he had been to losing her, 
 I fancy he had hardly realised how much she was to him, 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 235 
 
 and there was very little of the Iron Colonel left about 
 him as he elapsed her in his arm with his eyes full of 
 tears. 
 
 The first thing on Christmas morning Nina begged 
 him to go and look for the kind sister who had nursed 
 her, and thank her himself. 
 
 He sought her in the cathedral — a white-washed 
 building in pseudo-Gothic style, with a thin Italian 
 campanile. The interior boasted a tawdry altar and the 
 elaborate tombs of the beg2iin*di\'\d her husband. 
 
 High mass was being celebrated. A choir of native 
 Christian boys were singing the " Gloria in Excelsis,'* 
 while the sisters knelt around. The music was inferior, 
 the surroundings tawdry, yet the Colonel felt strangely 
 moved and softened as the divine Christmas greeting 
 of " Peace on earth, good-will towards men," rang 
 through the building. 
 
 Suddenly one of the sisters rose from her knees and 
 came towards him standing at the door. Something in 
 her walk and figure seemed to him like a memory of long 
 ago, but her conventual dress was a complete disguise. 
 
 " You are Colonel Heytesbury," said the voice, which 
 sounded strangely familiar. *' Your child has been 
 given back to you out of the very jaws of death. Do 
 not stand between her and the man she loves. Make 
 her happy." 
 
 The Colonel stared at her coldly and proudly. Then 
 he recollected himself 
 
 " If you are Sister Magdalen, I have come specially 
 to thank you most heartily for all your kindness to my 
 
236 INDIAN IDYLLS. ^ 
 
 daughter. But I am really at a loss to understand why 
 you should interfere in her private affairs," he added 
 haughtily. 
 
 The sister laid her hand on his arm and looked up into 
 his face. 
 
 " Why ? Because I am her mother ! " 
 
 Then she continued hurriedly, with downcast eyes — 
 
 " I know I have forfeited all my rights over her ; I 
 know I am not worthy that she should even guess who 
 I am ! I do not seek to palliate my crime, which, God 
 knows, I have repented of with tears and penances 
 these many years ; I do not ask yoii to forgive me. 
 But, Harold Heytesbury," she continued, sinking on her 
 knees at his feet and pointing towards the altar, " as 
 you hope for mercy above, I ask you to be merciful to 
 those who have done you no harrtl ! " 
 
 The Colonel walked into the chUrch and sat down on 
 the nearest seat to gain time; There was a fearful 
 struggle ill the man's heart between pride and love. 
 But the choif sang out again that angelic message of 
 forgiveness, aild the woman Waiting in the porch watch- 
 ed his face. 
 
 At last he rose and came slowly out. As he did so 
 he ran against Jack Harrage coming up the steps. 
 ' The latter drew back, the Colonel hesitated a moment, 
 and then held out his hand. 
 
 : " Will you come Out with me ? I want to speak to 
 you." 
 
 Sister Magdalen watched them moving together 
 across the hot, glaring road to the palace, and^ then she 
 
CHRISTMAS WITH THE CRIMSON CUIRASSIERS. 237 
 
 slipped in by a back way and went to Nina's room. 
 
 *' Have you seen my father ? asked the latter. " He 
 wanted to see you to thank you." 
 
 " He has done so amply," replied Sister Magdalen, 
 coming up to Nina'S sofa. Then she added — 
 
 " I think I have provided for you as happy a Christ- 
 mas Day as you ever had." 
 
 " Happier than last year?" asked Nina, with a sigh. 
 
 " Far, as you will see. But kiss me first." 
 
 She knelt down, and Nina's fair young face kissed 
 the worn one, which was Ut up with a smile of deepest 
 peace. 
 
 Then yoices were heard approaching, and almost 
 before Sister Magdalen had time to escape the Colonel 
 led Jack Harrage into the room. 
 
 An hour later Nina was saying to thp latter — 
 
 'f Before you gq back to-night. Jack, I must show you 
 to the kind sister who nursed me, and who has heard 
 all about you. Father, send and fetch her." 
 
 She was found kneeling as in prayer before the 
 cathedral altar ; but when they who came to fetch 
 her touched her, they found the poqr, suffering heart 
 had stopped beating for ever. 
 
IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED. 
 
 This was how it happened. In the very beginning 
 it was all the fault of that sou'-west gale in the Channel 
 and the Bay of Biscay which compelled her chaperon 
 to take to her berth and stop there. Thus Beatrice 
 Brundon, at the first few meals on board the good ship 
 Bimderbust, had to chaperon herself ; and he, Gregory 
 Ayshford, subaltern of artillery, sat nearly opposite to 
 her the first day at dinner. To eat with your plate in 
 a fiddle, holding on the while with the other hand to the 
 edge of the table, requires some adroitness. Overhead, 
 in a swinging rack repose wine-glasses and bottles, which 
 would otherwise infallibly start toboggan races up and 
 down the table He handed her the water; she looked up 
 and thanked him with a smile, at the same time spilling 
 half in her endeavour to fill her glass. This misadven- 
 ture she attributed later, not entirely to a lurch the ship 
 gave — Gregory's eyes fixed on her made her nervous. 
 
 By next day at dinner-time, the former had tipped 
 the chief-steward, and managed that his place at table 
 was shifted from the vicinity of a frowsy High Court 
 Judge to Beatrice's side. When the chaperon recovered 
 her appetite, and emerged once more into the outer world 
 of the saloon, she found the pair chatting and laughing 
 as if they had known each other all their lives. 
 
 But they were not entirely idle and frivolous on board 
 ship, these two. By the time they reached Malta she 
 
IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED. 239 
 
 had instructed liim in the mysteries of reversis; and had, 
 
 in return, been taught by him how to throw a rope quoit 
 
 into a bucket with considerable precision. On balmy, 
 
 starlit evenings on deck, when the sea was like oil, and 
 
 the piano jingled under the awning, they discovered 
 
 their waltz steps agreed admirably ; while their delight 
 
 in the long phosphorescent streak in the wake of the 
 
 Bunderbiist (to be seen best from a quiet corner behind 
 
 the wheel-house) was mutual and intense. They bought 
 
 lace together at Malta, and ostrich-feathers at Aden, and 
 
 in both their peregrinations ashore at these places, 
 
 unaccountably lost their chaperon. 
 
 What wonder that when the Bunderbust dropped 
 
 anchor off the Apollo Bunder, in Bombay Harbour, each 
 
 felt that the best part of their lives had come to an end, 
 
 India loomed before them wide and vast Should they 
 
 ever meet again ? 
 
 * * * ♦ * 
 
 Mrs. Brundon sat in dim indolence in her bungalow, 
 and wove matrimonial webs for the daughter she had 
 not seen since she was six years old. Herself the wife 
 of a great civilian functionary, ruling hundreds of 
 thousands of dusky fellow-subjects in a district as large 
 as an English county, and rolling in rupees and honours, 
 Mrs. Brundon dreamed of a like position for her 
 daughter. And when Beatrice made her appearance, 
 almost a stranger, but as fair a specimen of Anglo-Saxon 
 maidenhood as could be found between Peshawur and 
 Galle, Mrs. Brundon promised to herself that she should 
 make a great match. 
 
240 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 The beautiful, but all too short, cold weather of India 
 deepened into a fierce glaring spring, and the steady 
 rise of the thermometer warned all who were able to do 
 so to betake themselves to fresh woods and pastures 
 new ere the merry month of May burst in all its fmy 
 over the sup-baked plains. Up among the ilexes and 
 rhododendrons of Nynee Tal, where the giant crags of 
 Cheena mirror themselves in the green willow-girdled 
 lake, all was fresh, and cool, and bracing. Ferns carpet- 
 ed ravine and dell, and fringed the gnarled trunks of 
 the evergreen oaks. Rhododendrons dyed crimson 
 patches on the mountain sides, and the notes of the 
 koel — a fair imitation of the cuckoo— rang from the 
 forest depths. But Beatrice's htart sighed with the 
 poet — 
 
 Ah, when in other plinies we meet, 
 
 Some vale or isle enchanting, 
 Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet, 
 
 And naught save love is wanting ; 
 We think how great had been 011^ bliss 
 
 If heaven had but assigned us 
 To live and die in scenes like this 
 
 With some we've left behind us. 
 
 Not, however, that love was conspicuous by its ab- 
 sence at Nynee Tal. Au contraire, the naughty little 
 god revels in such an earthly paradise. But it was not 
 the sort of love Beatrice sighed for. Girls are so un- 
 reasonable ! There was Mr. Cramwell, a rising young 
 secretary to Government ; Mr. Brydges, the clever 
 engineer just appointed to a coveted post ; Mr. Judge, 
 the magistrate of Cutcheriabad ; all literally pestering 
 her with attentions. They would fain have filled her 
 programme at dances with their united autographs ; 
 
IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED. 241 
 
 they squabbled and sulked as to who should be her 
 partner at tennis, her companion in her mountain rides. 
 But she would have nothing to say to them. She could 
 not forget the Bimderbiist and Gregory Ayshford. 
 
 Mrs. Brundon first marvelled and then remonstrated 
 when one after another eligible parti was dismissed. 
 But she made no effort to understand the character or 
 to elicit the confidence of the child so long parted from 
 her by the cruel exigencies of an Indian life, and 
 brought up among strangers. There are as good fish 
 in the sea as ever came out of it ; the child is young 
 and can afford to wait, quoth the mother. 
 
 But the end of the season brought other fish to her 
 net than Mrs. Brundon intended. Full of memories of 
 the Bunderbust and the jolly voyage out, came Gregory 
 Ayshford to Nynee Tal. The rains were over and gone ; 
 the monsoon of Beatrice's discontent was passed ; and 
 the world smiled once more green and fresh in the 
 September sunshine. Fate, in the shape of an attack 
 of fever, which opportunely prostrated Mrs. Brundon, 
 favoured the lovers. 
 
 They rowed about the lake in the cool of the evenings, 
 when the Tiger's Hill cast long shadows across the 
 green water. They scaled together the mountain top 
 in early morning on active hill ponies, and gazed on 
 the wonderful white world of snow and ice, ere it 
 became veiled in the rising haze of heat. Together 
 they watched from Snow Seat a veritable transformation 
 scene, repeated each evening when a wondrous sunset 
 cast rosy reflections on the snow giants opposite. 
 C, M. G. 16 
 
242 INDIAN IDYLLS. 
 
 And this was the end of it all — only this : A stiff, 
 cold English lady seated in her verandah drawing-room, 
 and calmly crushing the dearest hopes of the young 
 man who stood appealingly before her. A young girl 
 sobbing on her bed, while her lover rides away broken- 
 hearted down the hill. Only this. But it was enough. 
 
 As if in pity at their fate, the heavens began to weep 
 again. For three long days the monsoon burst out 
 afresh, lashing the lake into fury, scarring the mountain 
 side with watercourses, and goading the torrents into 
 mad cascades. The world, the while, lay wrapped in fog, 
 and the patter of rain on roof and tree ceased not. 
 
 When the skies lifted somewhat, a vague rumour of 
 alarm spread through Nynee Tal. Undermined by rain 
 and torrent, part of the steep hill-side had fallen, burying 
 a house and some natives. A panic spread, and the 
 news went round that the whole mountain side was 
 unsafe. 
 
 Mrs. Brundon was out when Gregory galloped wildly 
 up to the verandah whence he had been so ruthlessly 
 expelled, and calling, all unmindful of the past, to 
 Beatrice, by name, rushed into the house. 
 
 But, even as she came towards him, there was a 
 cracking of joists and timbers and the structure reeled 
 and shook. Instinctively Gregory caught Beatrice in 
 his arms. 
 
 No human eye saw, no one this side of eternity will ever 
 know, what happened next. A great cloud of dust, like 
 that which of old veiled the destruction of Gomorrah, arose 
 from the mountain side and mercifully hid the scene. 
 
IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED. 243 
 
 When it cleared away there was a great scar on the 
 hill-side, and a vast pile of debris filled up the head of 
 the valley. Beneath lay buried houses, temples, shops, 
 soldiers, priests, natives, and, under that great funeral 
 pile, lies to this day the nameless grave of Gregory and 
 Beatrice. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
Se^ptemher, 1890. 
 
 SELECTED LIST 
 
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 Illustrated and General Publications 
 
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 THACKEE, SPINK & CO., CALCUTTA. 
 
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INDEX TO GENERAL PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Ali, Critical Exposition of "Jihad" 
 
 Amateur Gardener in the Hills 
 
 Anderson, Mandalay to Momien 
 Baillie, Kurrachee 
 
 Barker, Tea Planter's Life in Assam ... 
 
 Batiushka, Bombardment of Calcutta . . . ' 
 
 Beddome, Ferns of India, Ceylon, &c 
 
 Behind the Bungalow 
 
 Bell, Laws of Wealth 
 
 Beveridge, Emperor Akbar 
 
 Beveridge, Trial of Nanda Kumar , 
 
 Blgnold, Leviora 
 
 Birch, Management of Children in India 
 
 Bona via, Date Palm in India 
 
 Bose, The Hindoos as they are 
 
 Boutflower, Statics and Dynamics 
 
 Busteed, Echoes from old Calcutta 
 
 C , Major, Indian Horse Notes 
 
 , Major, Indian Notes about Dogs 
 
 Caesar de Souza 
 
 Calcutta Turf Club Calendar 
 
 Calcutta Turf Club Rules 
 
 Coldstream, Grasses of the Punjab 
 
 Ceylon Tea Estates 
 
 City of Palaces to Ultima Thule 
 
 Captain's Daughter, from the Russian, bv Godfrey 
 
 Cunningham, Indian Eras 
 
 Duke, Banting in India 
 
 Duke. Queries at a Mess Table 
 
 Dutt, Civilization in Ancient India 
 
 Field, Landholding 
 
 Firminger, Gardening for India 
 
 Fletcher, Poppied Sleep. - 
 
 Forbes, British Burma 
 
 Fauna of British India 
 
 Government of India, Primer 
 
 Gregg, Text-Book of Indian Botany 
 
 Harrington, Ashes for Bread 
 
 Harris, Bengal Medical Service 
 
 Hayes, Riding on the Flat and Across Country 
 
 Hayes, Veterinary Notes for Horse Owners 
 
 Hayes, Points of the Horse • 
 
 Hayes, The Horsewoman 
 
 Hayes, Sporting News 
 
 PAGE 
 
 16 
 
 9 
 
 16 
 
 5 
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 19 
 
 8 
 
 19 
 
 12 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 13 
 
 18 
 
 9 
 
 9 
 
 8 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 11 
 
 10 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 17 
 
 14 
 
 16 
 
 12 
 
 15 
 
 21 
 
 17 
 
 16 
 
 11 
 
 12 
 
 15 
 
 15 
 
 17 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
INDEX TO GENERAL PUBLICATIONS— coTiei/iMCc^. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hayes, Indian Racing Reminiscences 8 
 
 Hayes, Training and Horse Management 7 
 
 Hayes, On Tactics 7 
 
 Hayes, Soundness in Horses ... ... ... ... ... ... 7 
 
 Hayes, Illustrated Horse Breaking ... 7 
 
 Humfrey, Horse Breeding in India 9 
 
 Ince, Guide to Kashmir 18 
 
 India in 1983 12 
 
 Indian Tea Gardens, &c., A Complete List 10 
 
 Jackson, Statistics of Hydraulic Works, &c 13 
 
 Keene, Handbook to Agra 18 
 
 Keene, Handbook to Allahabad 18 
 
 Keene, Handbook to Delhi 18 
 
 Keshub Chunder Sen, Life and Teaching 9 
 
 Kinloch, Large Game Shooting.., 20 
 
 Kinloch, Russian Conversation- Grammar 21 
 
 Kipling, Departmental Ditties 4 
 
 Kipling, Plain Tales from the Hills .. .. .. .. ... 8 
 
 Kuropatkin, (Gowan) Kashfijaria ... 16 
 
 Lays of Ind, by Aliph Cheem 4 
 
 Le Messurier, Game, Shore and Water Birds of India 13 
 
 Lyon, Medical Jurisprudence for India 8 
 
 Map of Civil Divisions of India 17 
 
 Maude's Invasion and Defence of England 20 
 
 McCrindle, Ancient India 17 
 
 Meerza, Mohammadan Social Reform ... 14 
 
 Military Hand Book, Drill in Extended Order 21 
 
 „ Articles of War ... ... Hudson ... ... 21 
 
 „ Musketry Instruction..., ... Dumoulin 21 
 
 „ Musketry Made Easy ... Taylor 20 
 
 „ Sepoy Officers' Manual ... Barrow 19 
 
 „ Reconnoitrer's Guide ... King-Harman 11 
 
 „ Tactics and Organization ... Maude 21 
 
 „ On Garrison Instruction ... Lloyd ... 21 
 
 Miller, The Teeth 21 
 
 Mookerjee, Memoir of Onoocool Chunder Mookerjee 13 
 
 Murray- Aynsley, Hills beyond Simla ... 18 
 
 Norman, Calcutta to Liverpool 18 
 
 Northam, Guide to Masuri, &c 18 
 
 O'Connell, Ague 17 
 
 O'Donoghue, Riding for Ladies 3 
 
 Peal, Lunar Surfacing by Glaciation 19 
 
 Phillips, Our Administration of India 11 
 
 Pogson, Agriculture for India 16 
 
INDEX TO GENERA^L PUBLICATIONS— co/iiinwecZ. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pollard, Indian Tribute and the Loss by Exchange 19 
 
 Pollard, Gold and Silver weighed in the Balance ... ... ... 19 
 
 Pool, Queen Victoria 17 
 
 Protestant Missions ... 17 
 
 Quartermaster's Almanac ... 21 
 
 Ranking, Guide to Hindustani... ... ... ... ... ... 14 
 
 Ranking, Hidyat al Hukuma 14 
 
 Reid, Indigo Culture and Manufacture 12 
 
 Reminiscences of Behar 19 
 
 Richards, Landmarks of Snake Poison Literature ... 17 
 
 Romance of Thakote ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 15 
 
 Rowe, Key to Entrance Course, 1888 ... ... ... 19 
 
 Ro we and Webb, Hints on the Study of English 14 
 
 Rowe and Webb, Companion Reader to the Study of English ... 14 
 
 Roxburgh's Elora Indica 16 
 
 Sedgwick, Life ... ... ... 18 
 
 Sherring, Hindu Tribes and Castes 20 
 
 Sherring, Light and Shade ... ... ... ... ... .. 15 
 
 Son Gruel 18 
 
 Sterndale, Mammalia of India .. . ... ... ... ... ... 6 
 
 Sterndale, Denizens of the Jungles ... 6 
 
 Sterndale, Seonee 19 
 
 Sterndale, Calcutta CoUectorate 18 
 
 Tagore, Bombay Sketches 12 
 
 Thacker's Guide to Calcutta 18 
 
 Thacker's Indian Directory 28 
 
 Thuillier, Manual of Surveying for India 13 
 
 Tribes on my Frontier ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 2 
 
 Tsaya (Powell) Myam-Ma 16 
 
 Tweedie, Hindustani as Spoken 14 
 
 Underwood, Indian-English and Indian Character ... ... ... 19 
 
 Useful Hints to Young Shikaris 5 
 
 Walker, Fishing in Kumaun Lakes 14 
 
 Webb, Indian Medical Service 21 
 
 Webb, Key to Entrance Course 19 
 
 Webb, English Etiquette for Indian Gentlemen ., 21 
 
 Webb, Indian Lyrics ... 14 
 
 Wheeler, Tales from Indian History 12 
 
 Wilkins, Hindu Mythology 8 
 
 Wilkins, Modern Hinduism ... ... 19 
 
 Wood, Fifty Graduated Papers in Arithmetic, &c. ... 14 
 
 Wyvern, Culinary Jottings 15 
 
 Wyvem, Sweet Dishes 15 
 
INDEX TO LAW BOOKS 
 
 Al Sirdjiy yah (Mahommedan Inheritance) ... Rumsey 
 Bengal Code, Introduction to Regulations . . . Field ... 
 Bengal Local Self-Government ... ... Collier ... 
 
 Bengal Tenancy Act Rampini and Finucane . 
 
 Criminal Jurisprudence, Comparative Phillips ... 
 
 Criminal Law ... ... ... ... ... do. 
 
 Criminal Procedure ... ... ... ... Prinsep... 
 
 Criminal Procedure ... Agnew and Henderson 
 
 Civil Procedure, Evidence, &c. ("The Pocket") 
 
 Civil Procedure O'Kinealy 
 
 Contract Act 
 Contract Act 
 Courts and Legislative Authorities ... 
 
 Chaukidari Manual 
 
 Emigration Act, Inland ... 
 
 Evidence, Law in British India 
 
 Examination Manual ... 
 
 Gifts, Trusts and Testamentary, Mahomedan . 
 
 Hindu Law 
 
 Cunningham and Shephard 
 
 Macrae 
 Cowell . 
 Toynbee 
 
 Hindu Widows ... 
 Income Tax Manual 
 Inheritance, &c., Hindu 
 Inheritance, &c. „ ... ... 
 
 Inheritance, &c. „ 
 Insolvent Debtors Act ... 
 Land Tenures, Bengal 
 Law Examination Manual 
 
 Legisl ati ve Acts 
 
 Limitation and Prescription ... 
 
 Limitation 
 
 Magistrates, Duties of ... 
 
 Medical and Medico-legal Terms 
 
 Municipal Act, Bengal 
 
 Mahomedan Law 
 
 Minors 
 
 Marriage and Stridhana 
 
 Mortgage 
 
 Negotiable Instruments ... 
 
 Penal Code (" The Pocket ") 
 
 Penal Code 
 
 Possession in the Civil Law 
 
 Rent Act (N.W.P.) 
 
 Revenue and CoUectorate Law 
 Revenue Sale and Certificate ... 
 Stamp Law 
 Small Cause Court Act, Presidency ... 
 
 Specific Relief 
 
 Specific Performance and Mistake 
 Succession, Intestate and Testamentary- 
 Trusts 
 
 Tagore Law Lectures 
 
 Field ... 
 Currie . . . 
 Ameer Ali 
 Cowell .. 
 Mittra ... 
 Grimley 
 Siromani 
 Jolly ... 
 Sarvadhicari 
 
 Phillips 
 
 Currie 
 
 " Annual " 
 
 Mitter ... 
 
 Rivaz . . . 
 
 Maxwell 
 
 Hutchinson 
 
 Collier ... 
 
 Sircar . . . 
 
 Trevelyan 
 
 Banerjee 
 
 Ghose . . . 
 
 Chalmers 
 
 O'Kinealy 
 Kelleher 
 Reynolds 
 Phillips... 
 Grimley 
 Donogh... 
 McEwen 
 Collett ... 
 Kelleher 
 Henderson 
 Agnew... 
 Various 
 
 W. I. Richardson, Printer, 4 & 5, Great Queen St., Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, W.C. 
 
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