The Daughter of Brahma by I. A. R. Wylie (to read list txt) 📕

"You have read enough," Mrs. Hurst said. "I am tired, and the light troubles me. Put it out -- it will seem cooler in the darkness."

"Very well -- or shall I screen it? Then if you should want anything--"

Mrs. Hurst turned a little and measured her companion from head to foot.

"You are afraid," she said, a faint note of amusement creeping into her tired voice. "I wonder why. Do you expect that a cobra will take the opportunity to do away with you, or that there is a Thug under the bed? Pray look and see. You will perhaps feel easier in your mind."

The English nurse bit her lip.

"I am not afraid, Mrs. Hurst," she said resentfully. "I only thought it would be more convenient. But of course--"

She made a movement as though to turn out the small lamp which stood by the bedside, but her mistress stretched out a detaining hand.

"Wait!" she said. "I thought I heard something--horses' hoofs--listen!"

The invalid half lifted herself on her elbow, her head raised in an attitude of tense concentration, her brows contracted with the effort. The nurse turned towards the open window sharply, as one expecting a sudden attack.

"It was nothing," she said in a dry voice. "I heard nothing."

Mrs. Hurst smiled. She let herself sink back, and her hair hung about her face like a black curtain.

"He will be here in five minutes," she said decidedly. "You have not learnt to distinguish sounds." Then she raised her tired eyes again to the nurse's face. "Why are you so afraid?" she asked.

Nurse Campden shrugged her shoulders. The movement was rude, and in her own country she had been noted for the suavity of her manners; but her nerve was gone, and the offspring of a cheap London suburb broke through the hard layer of acquired polish. She looked back fearfully at the window.

"I should think there was cause enough, Mrs. Hurst," she said, almost in a whisper. "Last week a house was broken into and the owner murdered. And only yesterday poor Mr. Harris--who knows whose turn it will be next!"

The smile deepened about Mrs. Hurst's firm mouth.

"You have been listening to the ayahs," she said. "There is nothing to fear--" a subtle change of expression passed over her young face, which seemed to make it old and hard "--and if there were, we should not be afraid," she finished quietly.

Nurse Campden said nothing. She was gazing about her with wide-open, straining eyes, trying to penetrate the shadows that shifted noiselessly in the farthest corners of the room. The silence oppressed her. Whilst she had read aloud her own voice, breaking in upon the absolute hush, had sounded strangely threatening, but this silence was more terrible. It was full of inaudible movement. If she looked towards the open window she knew that, every now and again, something white would flit across the darkness. It should have comforted, but instead it added to her terror. She knew that it was one of the Commissioner's levies on his way round the compound, but he too seemed unreal a ghostly, intangible something which was all part of the shadows and movements.

She tried to concentrate her attention on familiar objects. Everything was in its place. The silver ornaments blinked at her from the dressing-table; close at hand a small pile of white, delicate linen lay in readiness; a general atmosphere of refinement, almost of luxury, pervaded the low-built room. On the surface quiet; and beneath, the constant noiseless activity. Nurse Campden had little imagination, but she heard it. Suddenly she cried out, with that sharpness which betokens long self-repression. Mrs. Hurst turned her head.

"Who is there?" she asked quietly. The curtains hanging over the doorway parted. A woman's dark face peered through the opening.

"Tea for the Mem-Sahib--Mem-Sahib like tea?"

"It is well, Sita. Bring it here. I am thirsty." Nurse Campden drew back. The native woman glided over the uncarpeted floor and placed the tray on the table by the bedside. There was a soft, musical jingle of silver ornaments.

"Pour out for Mem-Sahib?"

"Yes, pour out."

The brown, shapely hands performed their task. Nurse Campden watched them, and her trembling lips were drawn back in uncontrollable abhorrence. The ayah caught the expression, and for an instant her eyes narrowed, then flashed back to the pale face against the pillow.

"Mem-Sahib better soon--little Sahib come," she said softly, and withdrew, the curtains falling with a faint rustle behind her.

Nurse Campden shuddered.

"I hate these black creatures," she said unsteadily. "They frighten me to death with their stealthy ways. You have nerve, Mrs. Hurst--and you so young, too."

"My grandfather was one of the men who made India," was the quiet, almost indifferent answer. "My father was born out here, and is buried in Lucknow. My son will be born, and will die out here, as I shall do. It is in the blood." Then, with a swift yet smooth movement, she drew herself upright and held out her arms. "Walter!" she said, joyfully.

The man who had been standing hesitating on the threshold of the room came quickly forward. The movements of the slight, agile figure seemed to betoken youth, yet, as he removed his pith helmet the pale light revealed the face of a man who had seen more than youth recks of anxiety, responsibility, perhaps fear. He bent over her and touched her hand.

"I was afraid of startling you," he said, in a low voice, "but I had to have a look in and see how you were getting on. Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, quite all right. You have had news?"

He nodded.

"Lai Pandra has confessed. There is to be a big meeting to-night at some place outside the village. He is to act as guide. All the ringleaders will be there among them the Chitpaven Brahman, Nana Balagi. That is proof enough that there is more in it all than mere dacoity. It will be a big haul for us--if we are successful."

"There will be no danger?"

"I hope to get off with a few priestly curses."

"Is Lai Pandra to be trusted?"

"That's what none of us know. I am taking thirty Sikhs with me."

They looked at each other steadily. Mrs. Hurst had sunk back again, but her eyes had never left her husband's face.

"Is there any chance that you will be back in time?"

Hurst glanced at the nurse.

"In three or four hours if all goes well."

Nurse Campden nodded. She had recovered something of her self-possession.

"We can expect no change before then," she said.

"And if things don't go well?"

He held out his thin, brown hand and his wife took it and pressed it.

"In that case there isn't much to be said. I should like him to be called David after your grandfather, you know. It would be a good omen. There are no famous names on my side."

She smiled faintly.

"There is yours."

"I am one of hundreds."

"Not after to-night. And supposing it isn't a 'he'?"

He laughed.

"We've both made so sure, haven't we? Well, I leave it to you. Anyhow, you will act for the best. Good-bye, dear."

He bent and kissed her, and she put her arms round his neck and drew him close to her. A sudden exclamation broke from him.

"Jean!"

But she pushed him gently away.

"You must lose no time," she said. "Come back with glory."

He nodded, his eyes shining at her from under the straight brows.

"You're splendid!" he said. "Jean you're more made for this sort of thing than I am."

"That's not true." There was a vague impatience in her tone. "You ought not to have bothered about me. A wife is always a nuisance. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Jean!"

He made no attempt to kiss her again, but went to the window. Nurse Campden followed him. His back was turned to the light, but in the part darkness she saw enough of his face to startle even her blunted susceptibilities. The rigid stoicism was gone. His fine, almost too delicate features were working as though in an agony; the perspiration stood out in great beads on his forehead.

"Mr. Hurst," she said in a rapid undertone, "couldn't you get some one to take your place? I feel it my duty to tell you that it would be better if you did not leave the house to-night. Any excitement or agitation might have serious results for your wife or the child."

He looked at her. The mask had slipped back instantly to its place.

"I have spoken to my wife," he said. "She perfectly understands. She will be neither agitated nor excited. I leave her in good hands. Good night!"

He went down the two steps which led into the compound. Once Nurse Campden fancied he hesitated and looked back at the lighted room, but she could not be sure, and the next instant the darkness had engulf ecj him. In the absolute quiet the two women could hear the sentry's challenge, the answer, a word of command, and then the steady tramp of marching feet on the high-road. Nurse Campden shivered and came back from the window.

"You must not allow yourself to be frightened, Mrs. Hurst," she said, with a weak attempt at professionalism. "You must think of your responsibility."

Mrs. Hurst smiled, and the smile had become scornful.

"I am not frightened, but I am rather tired. As you do not like to sit in the dark, take the light into the next room. I will call you when I want you."

Nurse Campden glanced back over her shoulder. Then she took up the lamp. There was panic in the wide-open, colourless eyes.

"Very well, Mrs. Hurst as you wish it."

She went quickly towards the door and passed out. The room was now in darkness, save for the light which filtered through the thin curtain. It was a red curtain, and the reflection on the opposite wall was red too, like a luminous smear of blood. Mrs. Hurst looked at it and then out into the silent compound. Then her eyes closed. But she did not sleep. She was listening, and her trained ears heard sounds which the nurse had only suspected, steady footfalls, the rustle of some lithe animal through the long grasses, and the sigh of a sudden, short-lived breeze. Though she saw nothing, she knew when the sentry passed her window on his round and when at length he ceased from his vigilance. Of what use? The Sahib was gone. The Mem-Sahib slept, and the night was long. The scornful smile flickered once more about the compressed lips. She stretched out her hand and felt for the revolver on the table beside her. Her fingers glided almost caressingly over the smooth barrel. Then she drew a quiet sigh of satisfaction and lay still.

Thus the hours passed. The red, luminous smear faded from the wall; the unseen and soundless movement sank into a hush that was full of a dread expectancy. In breathless, holy silence, the world awaited the first signal of the dawn. Mrs. Hurst opened her eyes suddenly. She had slept a little, but in her sleep she had heard something which her waking ears could not have heard. Beneath the veil of silence there was again sound, and this time it was not the fall of a footstep, not the movement of some animal in the long grasses, nor the sighing of a breeze. Mrs. Hurst lifted herself on her elbow.

"Walter!" she said aloud.

No answer. But it was as though her voice had torn the veil asunder. In the unreality of things one reality stood out a reality which had brushed against the curtains by the window and then slid slowly, gently to the ground. Mrs. Hurst rose up from her bed. She did not take the revolver or call out. She felt her way across the room towards the grey patch of light which was brightening rapidly along the horizon. At