CHAPTER XVIII.
PROVING THAT THE DAYS OF MIRACLES ARE PAST.
_From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor._
Muxadavad, _April ye_ 29_th._
For more than two months, Amelia, I have been free from the oppression of Sinzaun’s presence, and have not taken up my pen, having nothing to record. Not that my persecutor’s errand to Mons. Bussy has occupied the whole of this period, for I am assured that he has visited the house more than once, and that Misery has spoken with him, but he has been so gracious as not to force himself upon me. I wish I could believe that this abstinence sprang from any desire to show me kindness, but I am convinced it is designed to make me sensible that I am in disgrace. Indeed, since even the steward has ceased to pay his weekly visits, and the women of the house refuse to permit me to speak to them--running away if I come near--I think Sinzaun must desire to force me into a compliance with his wishes through the mere dulness and emptyness of my lot. One poor black girl there was--a Hobshee or Habashy, as the inhabitants of Abyssinia are called here--in whose grotesque countenance I fancied I could detect the signs of a greater humanity than her fellows possessed, and endeavoured accordingly to awaken her compassion, although I got no further than to tell her I was a captive like herself. I fancied she sympathised with me, but when I looked for her next, hoping to advance in my purpose, she was not to be found, and Misery, on my asking what was become of her, would do nothing but laugh in the most horrid, unfeeling style. Since that time, also, the other women have avoided me with this extraordinary care, making off as soon as I approach them, as though fearing punishment if they listened to a word from me. Were the disgust I feel towards my gaoler less deeply rooted, I’ll own I think he would succeed in bringing me to compliance, for what could be more painful to a rational creature than to remain pent up between four walls, seeing and conversing with no one but Misery, and deprived of every semblance of occupation? But however calculated may be his designs, he shan’t induce Sylvia Freyne to entertain her father’s murderer as a suitor for her hand.
But perhaps you’ll say I am relinquishing hope too easily, in thus choosing deliberately to sink into imbecility (as appears but too likely to be my fate) instead of making some attempt to escape. Why, Amelia (I can’t help writing to my dear girl as though she were ever likely to receive this letter), where should I, in my present unhappy situation, take refuge, even if I were once outside these walls? Do you remember that there’s not a person in India would be willing to shelter me; or, if willing, would not be deterred by fear of Sinzaun and the Nabob? And how should an unhappy creature, that has already contributed to destroy her country’s settlements here, have the assurance to involve any other community, as that of the Armenians or the Prussians, in her misfortunes? But even to do this further mischief I must find means to leave this house, and how? Misery, the only creature I speak to, and that will speak to me, is impenetrable, incorruptible. Do I try to move her on the grounds of mercy or forbearance? “Beebee,” she cries, “you talk very fine language--too fine for your slave to understand.” While if I seek to appeal to her in the name of religion, she will shut her eyes and begin to chaunt, “There’s no God but _Alla_, and Mahomet is his prophet!” until I am gone away from her in disgust.
I have but one faint semblance of hope, and that’s very much akin to despair. Now and again I hear the servants talking of some enemy that’s invading Bengall, and seems to be driving the Soubah’s forces before him. This invading army they call by the name of the _loll addama_,[18.01] which means the red men, and speak of its leaders only by the titles of Saubut Jing and Dilleir Jing Bahadre, or the Tryed and the Courageous in Battles. From which side it comes I can’t say, for the only time I have heard anything certain of its advance was more than a month ago, when one of the other women called out to Misery that the red men had captured the city of Farashdanga, and made Zubdatook Toojah[18.02] and his army prisoners; but I don’t know where this city may be, and the name of the chief man I never heard before. Should these red men continue to succeed in their campaign, and go so far as to seize Muxadavad, I might perhaps find a chance of safety,--not that there’s any reason to anticipate a change of gaolers to be an improvement, but that in the confusion of the moment I might be able to elude the vigilance of Misery and the rest, and slip out of the house. But this is only foolishness, for so far from the red men’s taking Muxadavad, they seem to have retired, or at least made no further advance, since the capture of Farashdanga, and my hopes have sunk with their fortunes. And to-night, says Misery, Meer Sinzaun will attend me here.
_April ye_ 30_th._
Well, Amelia, I have received my last warning, and the next interview with which my gaoler favours me is to bring me my last chance. Oh, how I wish that all were over now, and that I had not this perpetual tormenting apprehension besetting me continually! For I don’t even now know the worst; I can but guess at it.
Yesterday evening Sinzaun presented himself at his usual hour, some time after sunset. Approaching me with an air of assurance he sought to kiss my hand, but this I was able to prevent, trusting the repulse might inform him of my temper towards him without entering upon a controversy. This hope appeared to be fulfilled, for he opened his discourse by apologizing for the length of time he had absented himself from my saloon, remarking that he had undertaken several journeys to Mons. Bussy and other French officers in the interval. But having finished his excuses, he changed his topic on a sudden.
“When Clarissa’s humble servant last had the satisfaction of beholding her, it may be that he approached with too much precipitation the subject which is nearest to his heart,” said he, “and that the passion which possesses him rendered him oblivious of the usual proprieties. But although he may adore Clarissa without asking to know more of her than that she returns his affection, it en’t reasonable to expect the same of her. Know then, madam, that the individual who is so happy as to find himself at your feet is a son of one of the highest families in France, and in that favoured country enjoys the style of Count of St Jean, which the pagans here corrupt into Sinzaun. Certain youthful excesses on my part, coupled, perhaps, with too ardent a love of political activity, induced my family to set before me the alternatives of the Indies or the Bastille. As a young person of spirit I chose the Indies, and at Pondicherry should have reaped, I don’t doubt, much fame and glory, had not adverse circumstances again conspired to drive me from my post there. Having had the misfortune to kill another officer in a duel, I was challenged afresh by his brother and father-in-law, of whom I killed one and wounded t’other. All three were persons of consideration in the place, and it appeared desirable that I should quit it. The cause of the duel it’s unnecessary for me to explain to a young lady of Clarissa’s penetration. Your charming sex, madam, are answerable for many miseries that afflict their adorers--but I don’t desire to cast blame on any one. I left Pondicherry somewhat hastily, and not finding it desirable to attempt to take service with any of our allies in the Decan, made my way to Bengall, where Ally Verdy Cawn was glad enough to engage my help in his struggle with the Morattoes, and I rose before long to a situation of confidence in his army. Perceiving, however, that the old Soubah had not long to live, I made my court to his grandson, and succeeded in establishing myself in the favour of Saradjot Dollah, to whom I was so happy as to render considerable service in the measures he took for assuring the throne to himself on Ally Verdy’s death. ’Twas in this employment that I fell in with the unlucky Genoese Menotti, who might still be alive and wealthy had not Clarissa’s virtuous example seduced him to leave off his evil ways and desire to marry and live honestly. But I won’t speak hardly of one to whom I owe the felicity of this moment----”
The wretch paused, and regarded me with his evil smile, as if expecting me to speak, but I have learned to endure a prodigious amount without contradicting him, and he went on--
“Of the consequences of this acquaintance I don’t need to speak, for the unhappy man contrived to oblige me in the most extraordinary manner while endeavouring only the opposite; but I desire to reassure my Clarissa, whose apprehensions I have observed with regret, as to the future. Some persons, madam, having rose to the position I now occupy in the Soubah’s favour, would bend their minds to the task of supplanting him and obtaining the Soubahship in his stead--nay, there are some plotting to do so at this moment. But such en’t Sinzaun’s ambition. His eyes are fixed on Paris, not on the Indies. To present this potentate as the ally and vassal of France is my aim, and in constituting myself at once his protector and his servant I perceive the means to attain it. By winning his battles for him----”
“Against the _loll addama_, sir?” I asked him, moved by I don’t know what impulse. To my surprise he gave a huge start.
“Pray, madam, what do you know of the _loll addama_?” he cried, with an oath.
“Why, sir, I have heard the servants talk of ’em, that’s all.”
“I’m glad it’s no more, madam. Their doings en’t for Clarissa’s ears. Yes, the _loll addama_ are among the enemies to be defeated, questionless. Well, then, having made myself a position here, I intend it shall serve me in Europe. You know something, madam, of the frequency of revolutions in these countries, and you’ll guess that any wealth I may possess en’t locked up in houses or lands. No, ’tis all invested in precious stones, such as neither kings nor great ladies can resist. When I make my appearance at Versailles as the embassador of the friendly Saradjot Dollah, bringing with me gifts that may well seem unsurpassable to those that don’t know the East, is there any fear that the amiable follies of my youth, whether in Paris or Pondicherry, will be remembered against me? No, the Court will be at my feet, grovelling there in the hope of picking up a diamond or two, and I shall be a greater man than the great Mons. John Laws himself. But to me the keenest delight will be the introduction of my little Puritan Clarissa into the great, the polite world.”
“Sir,” I said, my voice trembling, as he glanced at me with an odious air that was at once gallant and malevolent, “pray be so good as to leave me out of your designs. I am neither fitted nor eager to take part in them.”
“Why, that’s my great inducement, madam,” he cried. “So long as I have had the honour of Clarissa’s acquaintance, it has been my perpetual entertainment to perceive that she never thought with me on any single topic. Had she displayed an accommodating temper I might soon have wearied of her, but how can I tire of observing the pains that so agreeable a young lady takes to disoblige me? And if I find the diversion so much to my taste here, what will it be when my charmer becomes acquainted with the life of Paris? Her frequent blushes and her ready tears, and the speaking eyes in which I can read every thought of her innocent heart as in a book, will all be so many additions to my delight in returning to my ancient home.”
Oh, Amelia, if you knew how I hated the man as he said this! It makes me writhe (there’s no other word for it), to be forced to submit to the degradation of listening to such words from him. You’ll wonder, perhaps, to hear me say that I could wish he did indeed cherish for me the affection he pretends. But then, my dear, I might have some hope of moving him by my entreaties--for true love, they say, will take part with the beloved object in opposition even to its own desires; but how can I hope to make any effect upon a wretch that owns he seeks but to divert himself by tormenting me?
“So, then,” the odious creature proceeded, “when Clarissa consents to make her Sinzaun happy, she need not fear a life of perpetual seclusion here. While we remain in Bengall, ’twill, alas! be necessary for her to conform when abroad to the usages of the country, but within the walls of her house she shall enjoy the most complete freedom, and when we reach France, the more liberty she demands the better shall I be pleased.”
“Oh, sir!” I cried, and, unable to bear more, threw myself at his feet, choking with sobs, “pray don’t mock me in this cruel manner. I have done you no harm. If this poor face has catched your fancy, it en’t by my good will; but if you have any kindness for the unhappy creature you say you love, let me go--suffer me to return unharmed to England.”
“Won’t my dear unreasonable one understand,” said the audacious, catching my hand and seeking to draw me towards him, but this I resisted, “that if I had designed to let her depart to England, all the trouble and pains I have been at would have been thrown away? Don’t she perceive that for all I have done and spent for her I must have a return? Must I be so harsh as to inform her that if I mayn’t attain my ambition _for_ her, it must be _through_ her?”
“I don’t take your meaning, sir,” I faltered. Could the man intend to sell me for a slave? “I have friends in England who en’t wealthy, but would impoverish themselves without a murmur to reimburse you any expenses to which you may have been put, if that’s your condition.”
“Oh, no, madam, Sinzaun en’t a trader. Nothing could please him better than to have the happiness of winning your affections, but he has a foolish prejudice against using force to compel ’em, and piques himself upon his genteel treatment of you. But there’s others that don’t share this prejudice, and he might find himself forced, in his own interest, to resign his concern in you to them. Pray don’t suspect him of the vulgarity of employing menaces. He seeks no bride but one that comes to him of her own free will, for he don’t desire that either here or in Europe his Clarissa should proclaim herself his only upon compulsion.”
“At least, sir, let me know what I have to fear,” I groaned.
He smiled. “Why, no, madam; that’s my affair. You don’t choose to give me a favourable answer to-night, perhaps? No? then we’ll leave the matter until our next meeting. I can’t advise you to continue to resist me, for I have so much interest in you as makes me deplore the notion of putting you to any inconvenience, and i’ faith, I see no hope for you if you persist in your present frame of mind. You have, I believe, learned something of my disposition since coming to Muxadavad, and you won’t suspect me of going beyond my intentions when I say that in justice to myself I must soon abandon this struggle in favour of a more certain good. Believe me, I can’t but pity your obstinacy, and you’ll remember this too late.”
_May ye_ 17_th._
Sinzaun is departed again upon an embassy to Mons. Bussy, carrying with him, so Misery tells me, a gift of two _lacks_ of rupees from the Soubah to the French leader. So long as he is absent I may hope for a respite, but he can’t now be away much longer. For some days I have had the thought of seeking to discover from Misery the fate that he designs for me, but this morning it chanced that she approached the matter herself, by asking me whether I would give her my hussy when I left this place.
“Why, Misery, you can’t sew,” I said. “What will you do with scissors and needles?”
“Oh, they’ll be useful in other ways, Beebee. Europe goods are stronger and more delicate than country-made, and your slave has served you faithfully for close upon a year.”
“But I’ve no thought of leaving this place,” I said. “Whither should I go?”
“Why, Beebee, to the Killa. Meer Sinzaun destines you for the Nabob.”
I shivered, for the same thought had come to me several days before. “How do you know this, Misery? Has Meer Sinzaun told you?”
“How should Meer Sinzaun tell his doings to his slave, Beebee? I have guessed it a long time, and I’m making ready to go my own way.”
“Then you purpose to forsake me, Misery?”
“Indeed, Beebee, if I saw any signs that you’d accept your lot, and be content to win the favour of his Highness, I would never be separated from you, but since you seem to be as obstinate as ever, I won’t risk my head. I have provided for my escape, and now that Calcutta is built up again, I shall return to my old trade and seek customers among the ladies there.”
“But is Calcutta built up again? By whom?”
“Why, by the Moors, of course, Beebee,” very hastily. “Do you think the Moorish ladies don’t value the services of the Mother of Cosmetiques as much as the English Beebees?”
“Oho, so you was the Mother of Cosmetiques, Madam Misery?” I cried, remembering the part the woman had played in my former history.
“Yes, Beebee, your slave is she,” with a sort of proud humility. “If you would have suffered it, she could make you so beautiful! Even now, if you’ll invite her to attend you to the palace, she’ll engage that there shan’t be a lady to compare with you. His Highness----” she saw my angry gesture of silence, and dropped her fawning tone. “Well, I have neglected my trade for a year to attend on you, Beebee, and now I must return and take it up again. I only hope you won’t be sorry that you’ve so often spurned the counsel of your poor Misery.”
“For that you must blame the badness of the counsel,” said I, pretty coolly, for I disliked the woman’s assurance in presuming to advise me; but she leaned forward as she sat at my feet, and raised her eyes to mine in the most entreating style imaginable.
“Oh, Beebee, suffer your slave to say a word. If you have indeed been resolved all these months to repulse Meer Sinzaun in the hope of finding yourself presented to the Nabob, let your slave share in your triumph. This is what Meer Sinzaun believes of you, for how else could you have resisted his constant assiduities? and ’tis this makes him so angry, and well it may, for he’s dying for love of you.”
“If you can’t speak truth, my good woman, at least try to talk sense,” said I, and tearing my gown from her hold, left her, for I was prodigiously vexed to find that she had devised all this scene in Sinzaun’s interest, and was seeking to bend me to his will lest, forsooth, he should misconceive my motives! You’ll agree with me, Amelia, that Sinzaun’s opinion would be the last in the world to weigh with me in considering any matter of right or wrong.
_June ye_ 5_th._
I have a strange thing to tell my dear girl this evening. Happening to be in the house for greater coolness during the heat of the day, I found myself not far from the small barred window of which I have spoken before, and hearing a great uproar and noise of voices in the street, went to look out. Below me was a palanqueen attended with several servants. One of the bearers had chanced to fall, and received some hurt, and the rest were scolding and consoling him by turns, while the palanqueen rested on the ground. As I watched, one of the _checks_ was withdrawn a little way, and a face looked out. It was the face of a European, Amelia, an Englishman, if I don’t mistake--an elderly person of respectable appearance. That was all I could see, for the servant that seemed the chief over the rest--a Moorman, but with a turbant such as the Tartars wear, having the _puckery_ twisted round a high pointed cap instead of a small round one--pulled back the _check_ with an extreme haste and violence, and rebuking the bearers for their confusion, bade them take up the palanqueen again. Hearing Misery approaching, I durst not remain at the window, but at least I had gained something on which to meditate. There’s one Englishman, then, left in India--a prisoner, questionless, from the secrecy and severity with which he was secluded, but not used apparently with any great harshness. Sure he might help me in some way, if only I could get speech of him. But how to reach him, since I am secluded at least as rigorously as he? I have passed my time to-day devising a thousand plans, all suggested by this extraordinary event, for opening communications with my fellow-captive, but since he don’t know of my existence, nor I of his place of confinement, and since I can neither leave this house nor find a trusty messenger, I have been forced to reject my designs one by one, as each more wild and extravagant than the last. And to-night, as Misery is just come to tell me, Sinzaun purposes to do himself the honour of paying me a visit. Oh, Amelia, this unfinished sheet may prove to contain my last farewell to you.
_June ye_ 7_th._
My sentence is pronounced, Amelia, and your poor friend is now like no one so much as the criminal in Newgate, who knows that the day is his last. I was still writing the words with which my letter of yesterday closed, when I became sensible that there were eyes regarding me, and looking up, I found Sinzaun standing in the doorway. The start I gave on seeing him there almost overturned the smoky native lamp by the light of which I was writing, but I saved it in time to prevent the destruction of my papers, while he complimented me on the assiduity I showed in keeping up a correspondence with my friend. I put up my writing implements hastily, my sole anxiety being to bring the hateful interview to a close, and for this once Sinzaun appeared inclined to second my efforts.
“May I take it that Clarissa has done me the honour to turn over in her mind the proposition I submitted to her at our last meeting?” he asked.
“I have considered of the matter carefully, sir.”
“And may I hope she’ll condescend to make me the happiest of men?”
“I’m sure, sir, I wish you happiness, but I won’t marry you.”
“No, madam? and yet I offer you such advantages of wealth, situation, dress, and jewellery, as would tempt the gross of women.”
“None of these, sir, can break down the barrier caused by the measures you thought fit to take to get me into your power.”
“You take a vastly high tone with me, madam. I could almost fancy I had been so unfortunate as to lay siege to a heart already occupied by some happier rival.” He looked curiously into my face, but I summoned resolution enough to appear unmoved, not knowing to what further trial he might be about to subject me. “Can it be that the fortress had surrendered before my arrival to one of those gay young gentlemen that fluttered about Clarissa at Calcutta?”
“Sir,” I said, “all this is beside the mark. Pray believe that I must refuse to marry you were you the only man in the world.”
“And that’s final?” he cried, springing up and seeming to tower above me. “Then on your knees, madam! Unsay those words, and ask my pardon for ’em, or”--and he swore a horrid oath--“by this time to-morrow you’ll be in the hands of a man that will take no refusal from you. I saved you from the Nabob once, but not for this. Unless you’ll pleasure me, you shall pleasure him.”
“I am a weak woman, sir, and if you deliver me by force to the Nabob I can’t hope to resist. But yield to you by my own will I won’t.”
“What!” he cried, sneering, “you’d have me employ force, as a salve to your conscience? But I won’t gratify you, madam. You’ll marry me of your own free will, or go to the Killa.”
“Then Heaven’s will be done, sir.”
“What--you expect deliverance from this dilemma that I’ve set before you? What friend have you in the world that can assist you now?”
“None, sir--except God.”
“And you have never appealed to God until this moment? He has not left any prayer of yours unanswered? You anticipate seriously a miracle of deliverance after a whole year in which your God has done nothing for you? Fie, madam! the days of miracles are past--even if you believe they ever existed.”
“My duty remains the same, sir.”
“Very well, madam. To-morrow night--no, the night after. To-morrow the Nabob has ordered a great fight of wild beasts for the diversion of the Court--two nights hence, I’ll offer the Nabob an entertainment at this house, and Clarissa will assist me in providing it. That is, unless I should receive a message from her to-morrow. After that, ’twill be too late.”
Oh, how I prayed last night, Amelia, that it would please Heaven to give the lie to this man’s jeers by permitting me to expire before morning! But morning is come, and I still live.
_June ye_ 8_th._
I can’t tell how the hot hours of yesterday passed, my dear friend. I was too wretched to write, even had I found anything to make known to you. I roamed restless through the apartments here, or sat crouched in a corner, murmuring that God had cast me off and left me helpless before the cruelty of my enemies. At night, as I tossed upon my bed unable to sleep, there came to me a thought, but whether from a good or evil source I can’t pretend to guess. Does my Amelia remember a sentence that our good Rector at home once cited in describing the character of the excellent and devout Athanasius? It pleased us so much that when we were writing out our recollections of the sermon the next day we were so bold as to ask the Rector to give it to us exactly, that we might copy it into our commonplace-books, and he told us it was wrote by the Judicious Hooker. Comparing the situation of Athanasius with that of his adversaries, this learned author spoke of the uncertainty that existed “which of the two in the end would prevail; the side which had all, or else the part which had no friend but God and death, the one a defender of his innocency, the other a finisher of his troubles.”
“Alas!” I cried, as the words returned into my mind, “but what of me, since God will neither defend my innocency, nor permit death to finish my troubles?”
“Why,” said a voice in my mind, “seek death, since death won’t come to you.”
The notion was plausible enough, and I had soon formed a plan. From a certain spot on the varanda I had often observed that ’twould not be difficult to climb upon the roof of the garden-house, which is fantastically ornamented with a cupola and many small towers. There, I determined, would I conceal myself before the Nabob’s arrival, and perhaps it might please Heaven to keep my persecutors from looking for me in that place. If so, well; but if not, there was the tank, washing the very walls of the pavilion, and to plunge myself into the water from such a height could scarce fail to bring me the death I sought. Do you blame me, Amelia? Then I hope you may always continue to do so, for that will show that my dear girl has never found herself in my desperate situation.
This frightful resolution taken, I fell asleep, and (such is the effect of coming to a decision, however shocking) was able in the morning to contemplate my affairs with something more of coolness and composure than yesterday. Misery and I were banished early from the pavilion into the house, for the _mollies_ were busy setting rows of small earthen lamps everywhere in the gardens, in readiness to illuminate them at night in the Indian style, while other men were preparing a feast in the garden-house--all seeming as though they made ready for my execution. This was the thought in my mind when, passing up the stairs with Misery, I catched sight through the window of the man in a Tartar dress whom I saw two days ago in attendance upon the English prisoner. He had some fruit in his hand that he seemed to have bought from a street-hawker, and entering into the house facing this one, he shut the door upon himself. Oh, how this sight rekindled the hopes that I had persuaded myself were all extinct! How I blamed myself that I had not kept watch at the window more constantly, and so discovered that the man frequented, or perhaps inhabited, that house, or even, it might be, that ’twas there the prisoner was confined, for then I might have prepared some means to catch their attention. A written paper might not tell anything of my history to the Tartar, but finding strange characters upon it he would questionless take it and inquire of the prisoner what they could signify. Then I remembered that although the man was gone into the house, ’twas not necessary he should remain there always. He might come out at any moment. Misery had left me, and I ran to my writing materials, intending to prepare a small billet that I might push through the grating. But even as I laid hands on the pen and ink, I recollected the promise I had made to Sinzaun not to use in endeavouring to escape the writing implements with which he had furnished me. Here was a dilemma indeed. “Sinzaun has proved himself unworthy of credit and of the remorse you experienced towards him,” said that voice which had spoken to me in the night. “Nay, but that makes no difference in my duty,” said I. “But sure you never thought to prevent yourself escaping when you gave the promise,” said the voice. “If promises were to be kept only when they were easy, and broke whenever we found them press hardly upon us, they would be fine things!” said I. “Will you perish on a point of honour?” says the voice. “Not if I can be saved otherwise,” said I, taking the handkerchief from my pocket. In my hussy I had a needle threaded with the purple silk I had used for sewing at my petticoat, and before Misery returned I had worked roughly on the cambrick, close to my cypher in the corner, the words “Save. Quick.” If Sinzaun’s words were true, and my history as well known as he declared, I thought the prisoner would be at no loss to perceive who it was that demanded his aid. How he was to help me I did not know, but at least this one hope of safety should not be lost.
Misery departing again before very long, I broke off a loose piece of stone from the wall, and tied it in the handkerchief, lest it should flutter in the air as I threw it out, and then flying to the window tried to thrust the little bundle through the grating, intending to hold it by one corner until the Tartar appeared again. But the holes were too small to permit it to pass through, and as I tried in turn to break the stone smaller and to force the grating aside, I saw the man come out of the opposite house and begin to lock the door behind him. The sight drove me to desperation. With my scissors I began to chip out the mortar that held the grating in its place, and when both the points broke off I picked at it with my nails. The blood ran down my fingers as I worked, but just as the Tartar was turning away from his door the edge of the grating moved. I had not thought I was so strong, but I twisted it aside far enough to thrust the handkerchief through. It rolled down the window-ledge, then struck against some inequality or projection, and stopped. I thought I should have screamed, for the man was now out of sight, having crossed the street to gain the shade cast by our wall, but I forced my hand through the gap I had made, and succeeded in giving the tiresome missive a push that sent it safely over the edge. I could not tell whether it had reached the proper person, but I had enough to do to pull the grating back to its place and hide the traces of my doings before Misery came back. I was bathed in sweat and trembling with fright, and my wounded hands alone would have betrayed me had my Abigail’s sharp eyes catched sight of ’em, but I was able to huddle them up in my gown, pretending that I was tired after my wakeful night, and desired to rest, and so threw myself upon my couch and waited.
Misery sat down opposite to me, and smoked her water-pipe very contentedly for I don’t know how many hours, until one of the other women came to tell her there was that _boxwaller_ again at the door, that had visited the house before, and called her to come and see his wares. None of these Indians can ever resist the delight of chaffering over a bargain, and away went Misery, her anklets clattering. No sooner was she out of sight than I, who had been enduring her presence in a tumult of eagerness and impatience that I can’t attempt to describe, nor would my Amelia appreciate it if I did, sprang up from my bed, and catching up a piece of rag, began to bind up my hands, standing at the window as I did so. Opposite me was a similar window in the other house, and as I threw a glance across the street it seemed to me that there was something white behind it. Looking more intently, I perceived that this was the white wrapper of a Moor-woman, who was lifting her hand and making vehement signs to me to go up to the roof. My dear girl will judge that I did not delay, but as I reached the top of the stairs I saw something thrown, which struck the stones with a hard sound. Running to it, I picked it up, to find that ’twas only a piece of plaster from a wall, to my great disappointment. The parapet was too high to permit me a view over it, but I was doing my utmost to raise myself so as to peer over its edge, when something soft came over it and struck me in the face. Astonished, I seized it, believing it at first to be nothing but a common ball of worsted, but soon perceived an edge of white paper peeping out. In an instant I had the worsted unwound, and was reading the billet, which runs thus:--
“Be at this same spot as soon as it’s dark this evening, and watch for a second ball of yarn, which wind up gently until you find a piece of twine in your hands. Pull that in also, and there will be a rope at the end of it. Make this fast securely to some solid body, and wait for your friends. Be secret and speedy, but feel no alarm. You will yet be saved.”
I had only time to glance at this delightful message when I heard Misery returning, and thrust it into my bosom with the yarn as the old woman came up the steps to look for me. Her discourse on the folly of exposing myself to the sun at such an hour I endured with becoming meekness, and laid myself down again, with my face turned away from Misery. A new thought was come to me. The writing of the billet, though hasty and careless, appeared familiar. Scarce daring to credit the notion, I compared it, on the first opportunity, with the precious post-scriptum belonging to Mr Fraser’s letter, which has never left me night or day, and I could not doubt but the same hand had wrote both. Picture my feelings, Amelia! So far from finding myself alone in India, there was close at hand, and at large, the very person I would have chose to be there! You’ll wonder to find me calm enough to write this, but indeed, if I had not my writing to occupy me, I believe I should go mad with joy, or at least arouse Misery’s suspicions by my transports. My smarting fingers are stiff, but my heart is so light that the pen fairly flies over the paper. Misery believes I am making my will, or so she told me just now. My will, Amelia! But oh, my dear, think--if Heaven had answered my impious and undutiful prayers last night, I should have lost this happiness. I was repining against the prospect of the most charming day that has ever opened to me! And moreover, while I have been murmuring that God wrought no huge and signal miracle to save me, I have overlooked the constant succession of miracles that has preserved me thus far--my being brought out alive from the dungeon at Fort William, the plot of Misery and Sinzaun, my fever even, and all those exactions of the Nabob that have kept Sinzaun perpetually occupied in going to and fro with messages for Mons. Bussy, instead of remaining here to torment me, not to speak of the extraordinary crowning mercies of to-day!
Moidapore, _June ye_ 10_th._
Oh, my dearest friend, I have the strangest, the most charming and perplexing news to tell you. You can’t be more surprised to hear than I am to write it. I give you my word, I scarce credit it myself. But how my pen is running away with me! I _will_ be orderly; I won’t, after my usual fashion, impart to my Amelia the end of the history first and then proceed to turn back to the beginning.
Well, then, my dear, where was I? Oh, yes; I was writing to my sweet girl in Sinzaun’s house in Muxadavad, with my hands all swathed up in rags, and it was only two days ago. Only two days! But I am wandering again. Back to your proper course, Miss Sylvia Fr--ah, well, I mean my good Sylvia--and recount your tale in a methodical style from its earliest original. That day of anticipation came at last to an end, Amelia, and at sunset Misery went as usual to gossip with the rest of the servants at supper, and also, questionless, to watch for the coming of the Nabob and Sinzaun. She had done her best to induce me to put on the Persian dress she had brought me long before, alleging that ’twould render the Nabob more kindly disposed towards me; but when I told her roundly that was the very last thing I desired, she gave up her attempts, and was so good as to leave me alone. My Amelia will find no difficulty in picturing with what delight I gathered my papers together, and tying them into a pacquet, with two or three garments (all the baggage I possessed!), hastened up the stairs to the roof, and waited there while darkness came on. Never, it seemed to me, had night been so long in falling--never had the people in the streets been so late in seeking the decent shelter of their abodes. At last I heard the Cotwal, who is the head of the city watch, pass with his constables, and knew that he was clearing the streets of belated passengers, so rendering them all the safer for my escape!
As soon as the watch were fairly passed out of the vicinity, I heard something soft fall close beside me, and on picking it up, found it to be the promised ball of worsted, which I began to wind up very gently and delicately, in the most horrid fear lest I should break it. But ’twas not long before I felt a knot, and the twine came to my fingers instead of worsted, and when I had wound that for a little, I found the hard end of a stout rope in my hands. You won’t be surprised, my dear, to hear that I found no little difficulty in securing this rope, having no experience in such matters; but I twisted it round and round the stone pillar that stood at the head of the stairs, and fastened it with as many and as tight knots as I could devise. Then, guessing that my friends on t’other side would look for some signal from me, I pulled the rope smartly three times, and waited, breathless. Presently the rope began to creak and strain, as though it felt the weight of some heavy body, and almost at the same moment I observed that my knots appeared to be slipping. In a frightful agony of fear I threw myself on the rope, kneeling upon it and gripping it with all my strength, scarce able to believe that it was not sliding through my fingers. I heard more creaking, and then all on a sudden there stood on the parapet a huge tall figure in the dress of a Moorman, and I’ll assure you I had screamed if I could have uttered a sound.
“Are you there, madam?” says a voice that I knew, though it was but a whisper.
“Here, sir!” I answered; “but I fear this rope en’t safe.”
The man let himself down softly from the parapet, and undoing my knots, fastened the rope again in the twinkling of an eye, with so much art that the harder he pulled the firmer the knot became. Then, leaving the rope, he dropped down at my feet, and seizing my two hands covered them with his kisses, in which, as I can’t help fancying, there was mingled not a few tears.
“Oh, dearest madam, do I behold you at last?” he said.
“Dear, dear sir,” I murmured, shaking from head to foot, for his warmth deprived me of all my self-command, “pray--oh, pray--this kind, this obliging behaviour--indeed I can’t support it--I had given up all hope--I fear I shall swoon.”
“No, that you must not do,” said Mr Fraser, rising and supporting me in his arms. “Forgive me, dear madam, for agitating you to such a degree with my transports of joy. But I know my dear Miss Freyne won’t endanger the lives of those that are come to save her by yielding to a feminine weakness at this moment. Compose yourself, madam, and let me bring you across the gulf.”
Drawing me to the parapet as he spoke, he clambered up it with an extraordinary agility, and having seated himself at the top, turned and held out his hands to me. I don’t know whether I climbed or whether the gentleman pulled me up, but I reached the ledge of the parapet in some way, only to shrink aghast from the next stage of the journey. The means of accomplishing this was nothing more nor less than a basket, Amelia--a shallow sort of car made of wickerwork, hung on the rope by its handles, and swinging at the side of the house over the black chasm of the street. Do you wonder that I shuddered?
“Oh, dear sir, I can’t,” I cried; if it be possible to cry out in a whisper.
“Oh, pardon me, madam, you must,” says Mr Fraser. “Only permit me to lower you into the basket, and if you remain perfectly still you’ll be drawn across in absolute safety. I worked myself across with my hands on the rope.”
Was this said to remind me what danger he was braving for my sake? I don’t know, but if it was so I had deserved the rebuke. I thought of Sinzaun and of my desperate resolves of the night before, and took shame to myself for my cowardice. Mr Fraser was holding the basket steady with his left hand, and, extending the right to me, I found myself somehow or other in the machine, but how I don’t know, for I was not sensible of having moved--indeed I felt powerless to do so.
“Keep quite still,” says Mr Fraser with a cheerful air, perceiving, perhaps, that my trembling imparted a rocking motion to the basket; and making a low hissing sound, I found myself drawn along the rope by a cord attached to one of the sides, while Mr Fraser moderated the speed by means of one that he held. I suppose I was not left swinging in this way between heaven and earth for more than a minute, but it might have been a life-time, and when I reached the parapet of the house opposite, the Tartar who stood there was forced to lift me out of the basket as though I had been an infant, before he sent it spinning along the rope back to Mr Fraser.
“Why don’t the young Saeb come?” I heard him murmur to himself in Moors, when he had placed me safely on the roof itself, and stood waiting, as I guessed, for the signal to pull the basket across again. Still he waited, and still no signal came, and in a prodigious agitation I clutched at the man’s foot.
“Why does he delay? Have they killed him?” I gasped out.
“They won’t kill the young Saeb so easy as that,” he growled, without looking at me, his eyes still fixed on the house I had just left.
“Oh, if they have taken him, let me go back and give myself up instead!” I cried; but the man shook me off, and bade me roughly be silent.
“Here he is!” he muttered at last, and almost as he spoke Mr Fraser appeared on the parapet, having crossed as before, without giving the signal.
“I fear I alarmed you, madam,” he said, breathlessly; “but at the moment when I was about to leave the roof, I heard a slight jingle of ornaments, and, glancing towards the stair, saw a woman creeping away. To allow her to give the alarm would have been fatal to our hopes, and I sprang upon her like a wild cat. She was old, but she fought fiercely enough, and ’twas more than a minute before I could get her gagged and bound with strips of her own cloth. She was more frightened than hurt, I fancy; but I trust I han’t inconvenienced any friend of yours?”
“Oh, sir, ’twas my woman Misery, the second worst of my enemies,” I said, almost sobbing, as Mr Fraser paused in unfastening the basket from the rope, and looked at me.
“Why, then, save that she’s a woman, I could wish I had used her worse,” said he, cutting the rope, and so leaving it to hang down from the side of Sinzaun’s house. “Is she likely to be soon discovered, do you fancy, madam?”
“When Sinzaun brings the Nabob to the feast he has prepared, which may be at any moment. Oh, dear sir, take me away,--save me; don’t let me be dragged back to slavery after enjoying this one taste of liberty!”
“Why, no, madam; we’ll carry you to the Agency at once, and there you’re on British ground. Put this on over your clothes,” and he handed me just such a white wrapper as the woman had worn who had directed me through the window at noon, and who I now perceived must have been himself in disguise, “and we’ll set out.”
While speaking, he and the Tartar had been excessively busy in hacking to pieces the basket and other traces of their occupation that lay about; then Mr Fraser took up my pacquet of papers, and the Tartar led the way down the stairs and so through a passage and two doors into the street. Do you realise, Amelia, that I had not stood in a street for near a year? ’Twas that time, also, since I had walked any distance, and the Moorish slippers I wore were not the easiest of foot-gear to walk in. Seeing my difficulty, Mr Fraser offered me his hand, and though the Tartar grumbled at the civility, as being inconsistent with our disguise, we held each the other’s hand for the whole distance, to my great comfort, under the cover of my veil. Stealing along thus in the darkness, with the Tartar going first to watch for any danger, and choosing out the narrowest and darkest by-ways for us to pass through, we saw at a distance a glare of lights, and heard the sound of music and shouting.
“Sure his Highness is on his nightly rounds,” says the Tartar.
“The Nabob? Then he’s going to Sinzaun’s house--for me!” I murmured, and would have fallen, had not Mr Fraser supported me.
“Courage, madam! We’ll reach the Agency before he can discover your evasion. Which way, Mirza Shaw?”
“This way,” said the Tartar, and led us down a lane and into an open doorway, where we stood and trembled, for although our party might have hoped to pass the Cotwal, with the help of a suitable present, as two respectable Moormen guarding some relative to her abode, we knew that the Nabob and his loose companions were accustomed to maltreat any unoffending person they met, and only to release such an one, after loading him with shocking insults and the most degrading injuries, with the loss of all the property he might have about him. But the riotous rabble passed the end of our lane without discovering us, though they turned their lights into most corners in the hope of catching sight of some crouching wretch, and when they were gone we left our concealment and hastened on, Mr Fraser cheering me with the assurance that we had not now far to go. The words had scarce left his mouth, when the music, which had been dying away, became on a sudden louder again in our ears.
“Some one from the house has met ’em and given the alarm,” says Mr Fraser.
“Pray leave me, sir, and save yourselves,” said I. “You have done your utmost.”
“Pray, madam, what do you take me for?” he asked.
“Here’s the door,” said the Tartar, who had been groping with his hands along a wall, and Mr Fraser whistled softly. The door opened, and I was hurried inside, and into a sort of closed shed filled with packages.
“Pray, madam, be so good as to rest here for a moment, while we acquaint Mr Watts of your arrival,” says Mr Fraser, and I was left alone in the dark.
(_Miss Freyne’s next letter appears unfortunately to have been lost._)