CHAPTER XXVIII

HYDER ALI’S GARDEN

My new acquaintances, Mr. and Mrs. Hodson, were both very kind to me; she frequently called to take me for a drive into the country (Hibbal way). Afterwards we sat in her delightful garden with its spreading grass plots, clumps of bamboo and loquat trees, and profusion of English flowers. The sole drawback to this Elysium was the presence of convicts, clanking to and fro, as they watered and worked among the vegetables; but I suppose in time one grows accustomed to anything--as it is said of poor eels, with respect to their skins!

Thanks to Mr. Hodson, I had several private interviews with Ronnie. I was permitted to give him cigarettes, and to supply him with papers. He no longer gave way to an unreasoning frenzy of despair, but was more like his former self; his eyes had their old boyish look, and had lost their dull, glazed appearance. I had now been four months at Bangalore; the time had crawled like centuries, and as I gazed into my glass I told myself that I was almost unrecognisable. Undoubtedly the shocks I had received since I left England had told upon my appearance. My face was white and very thin, and my hair, of which I had once been rather proud, looked lank and dead. After all, although I kept up a certain amount of cheerfulness with Mrs. de Castro and her friends, I sometimes wondered that I was still alive. No one but myself knew of the nights and nights when I lay awake for hours or paced about my room. The weather was hot and I would have much preferred to walk in the compound, but for my not unnatural fear of snakes and bandicoots. A want of sleep, want of appetite, and a want of hope were my three chief ailments. I had to bear up against not one, but _two_ heavy troubles. The overwhelming disgrace of my brother and the collapse of our little home; the cruelty of relations who had closed their ears to our appeals. Sometimes, with a sort of rage, I told myself that had Uncle cabled out the money to Ronnie, he would have saved him in time. Here was surely a sufficient load for one pair of shoulders. But besides all this, a grief that affected me even more acutely was the loss of my lover; this was a personal ache that nothing could deaden or alleviate. It had been my own fault that our correspondence had lapsed, but to what could it have tended after all? Brian and I could never be anything to one another. He was naturally the soul of generosity and chivalry, but we would have to face the Falkland family, public opinion and general discredit. How could Lady Louisa--said to be the incarnation of pride--receive a daughter-in-law whose brother was a convict, the subject of a notorious military scandal? Much as Brian might care for me, I could never be anything but a millstone round his neck.

Sometimes my feelings got the better of my convictions, and an intolerable longing surged up in my heart. At night I would sit down and pour out my soul in long letters. These letters gave me a wonderful amount of temporary relief, but when I read them over in the cool light of morning I invariably destroyed them. I had not had a line from Brian for more than six weeks, and such is the perversity of human nature, now that he had ceased to write to me I felt an almost irrepressible temptation to write to him! Nevertheless I did not yield to it, though I often debated the question--to write or not to write? Even if I wrote, and assured him, as before, that all was at an end between us, but that I was in Bangalore, and would be glad to hear from him occasionally--to what good would this tend? It was far better and wiser to drop entirely out of his life, but this resolve did not conduce to happiness or even consolation.

Kipper’s spirits were undoubtedly affected by my own condition of hopeless depression--it may have been the effect of a brain wave--but at any rate whenever we took our walks abroad he no longer bounded exuberantly in front of me, barking from purest _joie de vivre_, and challenging all creation from lizards to camels. Now he kept sedately to heel like a sober elderly dog, obviously on duty and in sole charge of an elderly mistress. When indoors he lay motionless beside my chair or bed, following my movements with anxious and adoring eyes, and occasionally heaving tremendous sighs.

He found his simple relaxation in killing bandicoots (a rat-like creature with a blunt repulsive face) and in the visits of the tall yellow and white pariah, who lived next door. I must confess that this intimacy filled me with amazement. At Beke, Kipper had kept coldly aloof from the society of his own kind, and had cruelly and even painfully snubbed the advances of second-rate dogs. If these could but behold him now!--abandoned to the fascination and blandishments of a hideous spotted alien, resembling a low class overgrown lurcher; rolling with him luxuriously in the dust, running mad puppy circles, and playing hide and seek among the shrubs and oleander bushes in Mrs. de Castro’s compound! I will say this for Kipper, he never returned the visits of his playfellow, and had still some lingering sense of _les convenances_ and etiquette for “Europe” terriers.

Once, when the “Pi” had the audacity to join us in our walk, and came prancing towards us with a “Hallo, well met!” expression on his cunning long face, Kipper realised that he must draw the line here, and after a word or two in nosy dog talk, the intruder accepted a hint, and disappeared.

One evening we had been for a constitutional far beyond the high ground and racecourse, and I returned to the de Castro bungalow dusty, thirsty and tired, looking forward, I confess, to a good cup of Neilgherry tea. As we entered the veranda, Kip stood for a second motionless, and then flew like a wild creature into the cave-like drawing-room, and I said to myself:

“The Pi is there, lying in wait for him! He must _not_ be allowed into the house.”

I was about to follow and eject the intruder, when Mrs. de Castro came forward in a state of unusual excitement and with much nodding and gesticulation informed me in a mysterious whisper:

“A lame gentleman has called to see you. He came in a motor. I told him that you were out, but he said he would wait; and he has been sitting in the drawing-room for more than an hour.”

“Unfortunate wretch!” I thought to myself, “who can it be?”

Well, there was no use in speculating, I would soon see. Perhaps some friend of Ronnie’s? As I entered the drawing-room--which was dim even at noonday--a tall man, leaning on a stick, came hobbling towards me, and as he approached the door I saw, to my stupefaction, that it was _Brian_!

“Eva,” he exclaimed, “so I have found you!”

I was so overwhelmed with astonishment and joy that I was obliged to sit down, and then, like the poor, weak fool that I was, I immediately began to cry. Brian drew up a chair beside me, seated himself, and gripped my nearest hand.

“You did not suppose,” he said, “that I was going to allow you to slip out of my life like that, did you? I told you once upon a time that I was tenacious. I did not tell you then, but I say to you now, that the day we met on Slackland’s Flats--looking into your eyes, I beheld my destiny--and to my destiny I hold fast. I would have been here six weeks ago or less, but I was smashed up in a motor accident--concussion and a broken leg--simple fracture--and so they kept me in a nursing home, whether I liked it or not. As soon as I could stand I escaped and came out by the mail--and here I am!”

“How did you find me?” I faltered.

“Tell me first, are you glad to see me--as glad as Kipper?”

“Yes,” I answered, “so very, very glad--though your coming can make no difference in one way. Do tell me how you found that I was in Bangalore?”

“It was through that little brick, Sally Payne. She is as sharp as they make ’em, and she had an idea that, instead of burying yourself in a hill station, or going home, you had followed your brother down to Bangalore. She said it would be so like you--and she was right. Sally saw you on her way to the Neilgherries; she stayed here for a few days looking about. She heard from her maid, who heard from her ayah, who heard it in the bazaar, that ‘a tall young English lady lodging in Infantry Lines had apparently no friends--and there was something mysterious about her.’ Then one Sunday she caught sight of you in church, and cabled to me at once; and now, Eva, I suppose you understand that I have come out on purpose to take you home?”

“No, no!” I protested; “I cannot desert Ronnie. Think of it--how could I!”

“From what I know of Ronnie he will never agree to such an unnecessary sacrifice. How is he getting on?”

“At first he wanted to kill himself, but since he has seen me he has recovered a little. The superintendent is as lenient and thoughtful as he dare venture; and, after all, a European prisoner, especially if he is well behaved and gives no trouble, may have a little more margin than, say, a murderer from the West Coast. Ronnie is now a convict warder. I saw him three days ago, and he seemed to be in better spirits.”

“I wonder if I may be allowed to visit him?”

“Oh, yes, I am sure you may.”

“I am also sure, from what I know of your brother, that he has no wish for you to remain in this country. Come now, answer me--tell me the truth--what does he say?”

“He urges me to return to England, but I know I am a comfort to him. Even if I would go Torrington is closed to me. They gave me my choice of remaining here, or having a home with them. Aunt Mina wrote that if I stayed in India on Ronnie’s account they washed their hands of me for ever and ever.”

“But, my dear Eva, Torrington is not the _only_ home that is open to you in England. What about mine?”

“And your people, and your mother?” I asked.

“My mother sees eye to eye with me in this. I have brought you a letter from her. She knows all about you, and admires your devotion, as you will see. Now, my dear Eva, I should like to see _you_. This room is nearly pitch dark, and, by Jove!--what a room it is! But apparently your old landlady thinks no end of it; she has been sitting here part of the time to keep me company, and has told me the price of every single piece of furniture. She also told me, what interests me far more, that she is very fond of you, and what was a shock--that she does not think you are long for this world! Now call a fellow to bring lamps; I should like to be able to judge for myself!”

In two or three minutes our factotum staggered in with a lamp in each hand. As soon as he had hung one on the wall, placed the other on the round table, and enjoyed a thoroughly exhaustive stare at Brian, he withdrew.

“Now,” said my companion, “take off your hat.”

As I removed it unquestioningly and faced him in silence, I saw his eyes open, his lips close tightly; there was not the slightest doubt that the awful change in my appearance had administered a shock! I was painfully conscious that of my former prettiness not a trace remained. Brian rose, stick in hand, turned his back upon me, and limped towards the door. Yes, I was a wreck--apparently the sight had been too overwhelming; but surely he was not about to leave me like _that_? I hurried after him, and discovered that it was merely a manœuvre to conceal his emotion.

“My poor little girl,” he murmured in a broken voice, “every word of the whole terrible story is written in your face.”

He gathered me into his arms, and for once I shed tears of happiness.