There was some approach to a riot when Partab Singh's will was made known, appointing the Rani Gulab Kur regent for her son Kharrak Singh, and begging Gerrard to undertake the office of protector to both, and loud cries were raised for Sher Singh; but when it was announced that Sher Singh had consented to refer the question of his appointment as joint-regent to the arbitration of the Ranjitgarh Durbar, the popular wrath was turned against him also. Both he and the Rani were equally committed to what the Agpuris considered a traitorous and unpatriotic reliance on Ranjitgarh and the English, and the stern unbending advocates of independence were for getting rid of both. But at present the executive power lay in the hands of the army, and the army was being placated with gifts of rupees to the rank and file, and of jewellery, swords, shawls, and robes of honour to the officers. The army thereupon decided that the promises made in Kharrak Singh's name had been kept, and that it would be worth waiting to see if he had more largess to distribute before turning against him. The local Durbar, seeing the course things were taking, adapted itself to circumstances with great readiness, and paid its respects to the Rani Gulab Kur through her curtain, having purged itself of the irreconcilables who demanded an instant massacre and an open defiance of the English and of their allies at Ranjitgarh.

No sooner was this peaceful settlement reached, than Gerrard received peremptory orders to leave Charteris in charge at Agpur, and present himself at Ranjitgarh, with all documents and witnesses bearing on the case, that Sher Singh's claim and Partab Singh's testamentary dispositions might be inquired into. If he had been a little inclined to plume himself on the success he and Charteris had achieved, he was now to meet with a wholesome corrective, for Colonel Antony was much displeased with him, and showed it plainly. He had added infinitely to the already overwhelming cares of the Resident at Ranjitgarh, and had brought into close political union with the British power a province which would have been much better left to itself. He should have drawn back at once when Partab Singh showed signs of wishing to cultivate his personal rather than his political friendship, and left the rival heirs to settle things between themselves, instead of allowing himself to be made the tool of an ambitious woman and a doating old man.

So convinced was Colonel Antony of the righteousness of Sher Singh's cause that for once he overbore the opposition of his Durbar. The Durbar considered that Partab Singh's recorded disinheritance of his elder son, and the presumed reasons for it, which were known by hearsay to every story-teller in Granthistan, were sufficient to bar his recognition as regent and heir presumptive; but Colonel Antony thought that the secrecy with which the Prince had been condemned, and the absence of any documentary evidence, rendered it extremely probable that his father had been misled by false information, and condemned him unheard and innocent. Therefore the unwilling Durbar were impelled in the way which they were reluctant to take of their own accord, and Mr James Antony was despatched to Ranjitgarh to interview the Rani through the curtain, and inform her that she was thenceforth to regard her stepson as her coadjutor in the work of government. The envoy expected tears and lamentations, and pathetic attempts to induce the Resident to alter his decision, but the Rajput lady fought with other than women's weapons. In clear cold tones she issued her ultimatum. Sher Singh was to be absolutely debarred access to the palace, and was to make no attempt to communicate with her otherwise than by messenger, and Gerrard was to be appointed Resident at Agpur, with quarters in the fort, and the special task of watching over the safety of Kharrak Singh. Otherwise the Rani would poison herself and her son and every soul in the zenana, and then set fire to the building, that the ashes might remain for ever as a monument to the perfidy of the English.

James Antony tried reasoning and threats, but in vain. The only answer to his remonstrances was an intimation from the Rani that she declined to receive him again until he had referred the matter to Ranjitgarh and could bring her a definite answer. Not, perhaps, wholly unwilling to demonstrate the ill success of his brother's theories, he did as she desired, recommending that Gerrard should become acting-Resident, with the duty of keeping the peace between the two Regents, and serving as a means of communication between them. Colonel Antony was very angry, but Gerrard was so obviously the only possible person for such a post, in view of the confidence reposed in him by Partab Singh, that he gave way, telling him, as Charteris had done before, that the difficulties of the position would in all probability make it more of a punishment than promotion. With this cheering prophecy in his ears Gerrard departed for Agpur, and Charteris, riding out to meet him, saw at once that he was in low spirits. He gave no hint of his discovery, however, until the state entry into the city and the first formal visits were over, and the two were left to themselves at the Residency, which Charteris had employed the interval in fortifying, according to a plan drawn out by Gerrard before he left, so that it formed a kind of minor citadel inside the great palace enclosure. They were sitting on the broad verandah, with its tiled roof supported by solid pillars of masonry, which had served as frame to one of Gerrard's pictures of imaginary bliss, when Charteris broke the silence.

"Well, you are in the blues, my boy, and no mistake! What's the meaning of it? Here are you just returned from the giddy haunts of society and fashion, with a face as long as one of Padri Jardine's sermons, while I, who have seen no European countenance for a month but the rough-hewn phiz of our Mr James, am as cheerful as a cricket."

"Result of having got what I wanted, I suppose Antony would say. Did you indulge a sneaking hope of gaining a little credit on the score of our exploits here, Bob?"

"Hardly. There's a prejudice nowadays against subalterns annexing empires without orders, you know. Precious silly, of course, but one must take it into account."

"Well, I might have been an escaped convict from Botany Bay, by the way Antony jawed me. And other people took their tone from him, naturally, except—— By the way, I dined at the Cinnamonds' one night."

"And was our bright particular star visible?"

"She was. So was a young cub of a civilian—just gone into stick-ups, I should imagine."

"Dangerous?"

"I think not. Merely having his mind and morals improved, if I am any judge."

"Ah, we know all about that, don't we, old boy? Not that any beggarly civilian is going to join this noble fellowship, is he? The more he keeps his distance the better we shall be pleased. And the lady of our mutual adoration——?"

"She barely spoke to me. At least"—with an effort—"she did ask whether I sent to request your help or whether you came of your own accord. Of course I told her it was that."

"And then?"

"She said it was just what she would have expected of you."

Charteris burst into a roar of laughter. "Oh, poor old beggar! and he ain't jealous, not a bit! Never mind, Hal; when you have pulled me out of a hole, I shall have to praise you up to her, and won't it go against the grain! Ray-ther—just a few! But has the fair lady lent an ear to slander? You don't think she can have heard anything about the Rani?" cautiously.

"What do you know about the Rani?" cried Gerrard furiously.

"Simply that James Antony thought fit to tell me it had struck him that it would be very convenient for the transaction of public business, and very much for the safety of Kharrak Singh, if you or I married the lady. You were the favourite, as in a way marked out by her husband's will. One of our Mr James's witticisms, of course, and in vile taste, as usual."

"His taste is his own affair; what I mind are his abominable practical jokes. Do you know that he said this same thing to the Colonel, but put it as though I had approved, or even proposed, the arrangement?"

"The Colonel is a little apt to jump to conclusions, when they involve the depravity of other people," suggested Charteris. "It's just possible that he misunderstood his brother."

"Then I wish to goodness they would adopt some means of communication that left no room for misunderstanding. There Antony sent for me, and reviled me as if I had been a criminal of the deepest dye; said that Granthistan would stink in the nostrils of all India if these marriages with native women continued, and threatened to send me back to Bengal unless I gave up all thoughts of it at once."

"Alas, poor Hal! And what did you do?"

"Told him that I had got pretty well accustomed by this time to be reprimanded for everything I did, but when it came to being jawed for things I had no thought of doing, and wouldn't do for all the wealth of Delhi, I was hanged if I would stand it. Then I handed in my resignation on the spot."

"And what did he do?"

"Begged my pardon, like a man and a gentleman and a Christian as he is, dear old fellow! Asked me as a favour to withdraw my resignation, and shook hands."

"Well, you have got on his soft side, and no mistake! But what had riled him? Who were your predecessors in iniquity?"

"Oh, you haven't heard. Remember Horry Arbuthnot, big dashing fellow in the Cavalry? He has been and gone and married the daughter of old Murid-ud-din of Bala."

"You don't say so! How on earth did he manage it?"

"Why, he was sent up to help Tika Singh in pacifying the hill tracts—or rather, to keep him from perpetrating a massacre and calling it pacification—and Murid-ud-din's widow and family had taken refuge there. I don't know how the trick was done, but I daresay Tika Singh had a finger in the pie. He had taken a fancy to Arbuthnot, and may have wished to get a hold over him—at any rate, the bold Horace made definite proposals. Then the thing came to Antony's ears—Tika Singh may have had a hand in that too—and the fat was in the fire. He sent up orders—to Tika Singh, mind you—to send Arbuthnot down under arrest forthwith, and so nip his matrimonial project in the bud. Now it so happened—the course of true love running smooth for once—that Antony's letter reached Tika Singh on the eve of a great festival, and of course he couldn't possibly open it. But he took a squint inside, or the messenger told him the drift of it, or something, and by some most regrettable leakage the contents got to Arbuthnot's ears. The fellow is like you, Bob; he don't let the grass grow under his feet. He married the lady that night by Mohammedan rites under the auspices of her mother, who was highly in favour of the match, and they set off post-haste for Gajnipur. Another remarkable coincidence—only the day before Tika Singh had given Arbuthnot a duplicate of his own signet, which would carry him anywhere in Bala. Antony's orders had been confidential, so that they got to Gajnipur and were married by the Padri there before the truth got out."

"I don't envy that Padri," said Charteris.

"Nor I. Antony would have declared himself Pope of Granthistan if that would have enabled him to invalidate the marriage, but the younger Begum is indubitably Mrs Arbuthnot, and means to remain so. So Antony has packed them both back to the hill tracts, with the intimation that Arbuthnot may consider himself permanently relegated to the society of his new relations and his kind friend Tika Singh."

"Which means utter and absolute ruin, of course. Well, I call it uncommon hard."

"I don't know. Suppose Antony had written, 'Return to your sorrowing chief, and all shall be forgiven,' and done the heavy father business when they turned up, and set both Mrs Antonys and Lady Cinnamond to call on the Begum Arbuthnot, what would it have been but an encouragement to other fellows to go and do likewise?"

"Will the fellow find it worth it, I wonder? Funny thing what a difference a woman can make in a man's life."

Gerrard assented with almost a groan. "She plays the very mischief sometimes. Bob, I can't help thinking that perhaps you were right when you suggested we had better agree to give up all thoughts of her, both of us."

The light-brown eyes, which gave a peculiar character to Charteris's red-tanned face, flamed suddenly. "I suggest such a thing?" he cried. "Hal, you are mad. What I said was that I would never, under any circumstances, enter into such an agreement. Give up if you like. I go on until I die or she marries me."

"Or me," said Gerrard, laughing mirthlessly.

Charteris struck his hand upon the table. "Are you trying to provoke me, Hal? I have stood a good deal from you, but there are limits. What's come over you?"

"Oh, forebodings—presentiments, that's all."

"You always were a superstitious sort of chap."

Charteris's passion had faded. "Had this sort of thing before?"

"Oh yes, often."

"And the presentiments always came true?"

"No-o, not always."

"I should think not!" shouted Charteris, with a mighty burst of laughter. "Never was anything like the presentiments I had before going into action the first time, and now I remember it, you were pretty much the same, but we both came out without a scratch. Cheer up, old boy. Who would think it was you that gave Sher Singh the lie to his face, and started calmly to march to certain death? Here, let me mix you a peg. I looks towards you, sir."

"I likewise bows," said Gerrard, with a perfunctory smile. "You don't think me altogether a coward, Bob? There is something evil about the atmosphere of this place. I felt it as I rode in at the gateway."

"I should recommend the estimable Moraes and a blue-pill," said Charteris, yawning. "Coward? nonsense! an overworked conscience sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought is more your number. And now, as I march at a commendably early hour in the morning——"

"I wish you were staying on with me, Bob."

"Oh no, you don't. Think of the evil atmosphere of the place getting hold of me too. Why, we should sit in corners and grind our teeth at one another. You forget the healthy rivalry between us. No, no, you will do bear-leader to the youngster, and keep Sher Singh and the Rani from scratching each other's eyes out, and I'll knock down some more robber castles in Darwan, and demand your help when I stir up a more vicious hornets' nest than ordinary. By the bye, when there was mortar and all kinds of mess about, I took the opportunity of bringing up a little more gold from the treasury—ten thousand rupees' worth or so, as nearly as I could guess—and building it into this wall here," he indicated the parapet of the terrace with his cheroot. "It is behind this bluish stone. You may be glad of it in an emergency."

"You think of everything, old boy. Sorry I haven't been a jollier companion to-night."

They parted the next morning, Charteris riding out to take up again the nomadic life and open-air work that he loved, while Gerrard remained to begin his irksome task of trying to induce the Regents, the Durbar, the army and the citizens to lay aside their differences and aim at the common good. The Rani's one idea was to safeguard her son's position by securing the loyalty of the army at all costs. The faintest sign of discontent among the troops threw her into a frenzy of terror, and brought orders for the instant granting of all demands and a distribution of rupees. As a natural result, the army speedily dominated the whole city, and kept the rest of the inhabitants in subjection, secure of the Rani's favour. The Durbar, composed largely of Partab Singh's old councillors, lifted up voices of protest and lamentation when there were no soldiers about, but maintained a discreet silence in their hearing. Which side Sher Singh took, Gerrard found it difficult to discover. He complained bitterly in private of the arrogance of the army, the supineness of the Durbar, and the unreasonable behaviour of his co-Regent, but he seemed not to be making any attempt to form a party of his own, that might work towards a healthier state of things. Gerrard himself was the butt for every one's ill-humour. The Rani and the troops alike execrated him when he declined to give his sanction to the distribution of a largess demanded without even a shadow of pretext, and Sher Singh and the Durbar sighed reproachfully over his inability to keep the army in its proper place.

The one spot of light in the gloom was the behaviour of little Kharrak Singh, who proclaimed and exercised his royal will in the matter of seeking the society of Jirad Sahib. That the Rani was intensely jealous of his influence Gerrard perceived by many indications, but she could not refuse to be guided by the directions left by her husband, and she was at any rate assured of the boy's safety while he was with him. Surrounded by a small army of guards, they would ride through the muttering streets out into the open country, and there cast off for a few delightful hours the restraints of state. But this happened very seldom, and Kharrak Singh was generally to be found on the Residency verandah, where Gerrard, immersed in business, had to answer his unceasing questions, instil such rudiments of useful information as he could, and generally endeavour to prepare the child for the great future before him. It was clear that the native tutors had no control whatever over their illustrious pupil, and every creature in and about the zenana was his submissive slave, so that Gerrard became seriously exercised as to the development of his character. At times he had visions of obtaining a European tutor for him—an absolutely revolutionary innovation for those days—but the impossibility of bringing the Durbar to see the wisdom of such a course, or of securing proper support for the unhappy man who might be appointed, deterred him. To remove the child from the city, into surroundings mentally more healthy, was of course impossible, and therefore Kharrak Singh continued to come each day to the Residency with his attendants, dismissing all but a favoured few with a regal wave of the hand at the foot of the steps, and climbing on the divan arranged for him, to sit there and talk under the pretence of looking at pictures. Gerrard had sent for his books from down-country by this time, and after long journeying on the heads of groaning coolies, and many vicissitudes by the way, they now graced his meagrely furnished rooms. In the daytime they were useful in teaching Kharrak Singh the bare beginnings of the English language, and in the long evenings they served to mitigate the loneliness of the house which had presented itself as an abode of bliss for two, but was sadly too large for one.



CHAPTER X.

THE DOOR IS SHUT.

Nearly a year had passed since Charteris and Gerrard had entered into the agreement which was to regulate their rivalry for the hand of Honour Cinnamond, but the end of the six months' armistice had arrived without any renewal of hostilities. It was tacitly recognised between them that it would be a mistake to conduct operations by letter, and neither of them was in a position to ask for leave. When Charteris returned to Darwan, he found that the Granthi subordinate left in charge had improved the shining hour by adding to the number of his wives a daughter of the principal robber-clan of the district. His official position gave him the means of doing many little kindnesses to his new relations, and with their concurrence he arranged to gladden Charteris's eye on his return by the spectacular destruction of an old disused fortress, the clan's headquarters being transferred to a larger post in a more sequestered district. Unfortunately, in following up a raid, Charteris tracked the raiders to their lair, and as they thought their kinsman-in-law had betrayed them, and retaliated by informing on him, the whole matter came out. Thereupon ensued a change of personnel in Charteris's staff, the destruction of another fortress, and the persistent harrying of such members of the clan as declined to come in and submit—all of which occupied time and thought so fully that matters of sentiment were forced to take a subordinate place in the ruler's mind.

As for Gerrard, he was beginning to hope that Agpur was inclined to settle down under the Regents. Each month that passed without an insurrection was so much to the good, and brought nearer the day when Kharrak Singh would rule in safety in his own name. State affairs followed a well-defined course—almost a stereotyped one. When Sher Singh proposed any measure, the Rani objected to it, and if Gerrard thought that it ought to be passed, it fell to him to argue her into acquiescence. If the Rani originated a scheme, Sher Singh was the obstruction, and had to be coaxed into good humour before the project could be laid before the Durbar, who would have squabbled placidly to all eternity had they been admitted to an open share in the differences of their betters. Still, Gerrard was learning by this time how to handle his unruly team, and was not without a sanguine belief that the Rani would soon know something about the use of money and the management of an army, and that Sher Singh was really settling down in his subordinate place with something like contentment. Their mutual opposition, he thought, was becoming rather formal than actual, and might even die down in time. But Gerrard was no more omniscient in estimating the future yield of his poultry-yard than other people, and it took little to set the two protagonists, whom he had looked upon as reformed characters, thirsting for each other's blood again.

Sher Singh's father-in-law died, leaving no son, and it was the natural thing that his fief of Adamkot should descend to his daughter's husband. The Prince pointed out, very reasonably, that it was hardly suitable for one of the Regents to possess no stake in the country beyond a rented house in Agpur, while the other enjoyed the revenues of several wealthy villages. With Adamkot secured to him, he would be well provided for when his allowance as Regent ceased in time to come, instead of being obliged to linger on as a pensioner at his younger brother's court. The Rani objected strongly to the proposal, and flung herself into the struggle tooth and nail. The only hope of keeping Sher Singh loyal was to make him strictly dependent upon his allowance, she declared. With Adamkot in his hands, he would be above the reach of want, and could withdraw thither if anything displeased him, and make it a centre of intrigue against the state. It was the bulwark of Agpur against the most unruly part of Darwan, and he was quite capable of betraying his country, and leading an army of Darwanis against the capital.

The Rani's patriotic anxiety would have appealed to Gerrard more strongly than it did had there not penetrated to him, among the bits of palace gossip which Munshi Somwar Mal contrived to pick up for his employer's benefit, the news that she was determined to secure the fief for the brother of one of her favourite attendants, and had gone so far as to promise it to him secretly. This she had no right whatever to do, and Gerrard prepared for a contest. Sher Singh must have Adamkot, but his possession of it should be tempered by the condition that he was not to reside there for more than ten days without the Rajah's permission.

The struggle between the Regents became known in the city almost as soon as at the Residency, and the army took advantage of the tension to demand an increase of pay, holding riotous assemblies at a spot where their menacing shouts were distinctly audible from the Rani's apartments. Before Gerrard could get the Durbar's consent to use the guard to disperse them, the Rani had sent out her scribe to inquire into their grievances, and the poor old man, set upon and bullied by the leading spirits, promised them in his mistress's name all they wanted, before he was allowed to escape with torn clothes and trailing turban. But this again was a matter in which the Rani had no power to act. Gerrard was firmly fixed in his resolve not to increase the pay of the swashbucklers who swaggered about the city girt with costly shawls and decked with jewelled necklaces, as though they were fresh from a profitable campaign. "Every Sepoy is a Sirdar at least, and every Sowar a Rajah!" was the envious comment of the peaceable citizens who endured their insolence, and before this last palace-squabble, it had been a bright dream of Gerrard's to embody the civil inhabitants into some kind of militia, and with their help and that of the guard to reduce the army sternly to its proper place. Accordingly, he devoted an interview of considerable length to explaining to the Rani that Partab Singh's treasure, now much reduced in amount, must no longer be drawn upon in minor emergencies, but kept for the tug of war which might be expected when Kharrak Singh came of age. The Rani listened with apparent submission, and he was beginning to congratulate himself on her meekness, when she posed him by suddenly suggesting a bargain. Let the troops have their increase of pay, and Sher Singh might have Adamkot. It needed another long argument to prove to her that there was no question of a compromise, and when she had been forced to realise, with a very bad grace, that the increased pay would not be granted, she still remained obstinate on the matter of Sher Singh's fief. Gerrard was worried by the delay, since it had been intended to invest the Prince formally on the occasion of Kharrak Singh's birthday, which was close at hand, but he resigned himself to the prospect of a succession of further interviews, destined, of course, to end in the collapse of the Rani's opposition.

The reception in honour of Kharrak Singh's birthday, a very brilliant affair, was held in a pavilion erected for the purpose in the courtyard of the palace, since Sher Singh was still debarred entrance to the building itself. On the dais at the upper end was a silver-gilt arm-chair for the little Rajah, flanked by plain silver chairs for Gerrard and Sher Singh, and behind the three chairs was a curtain, which shielded the Rani and her attendants from the public gaze. Gerrard was conscious of an unusual amount of whispering and excitement behind the curtain, but it did not occur to him that this had any special significance until the speeches were over, and those present came up to offer their congratulations and their nazars. First of all came Sher Singh, as the foremost subject of the realm, with an offering of gold coins, which it was Kharrak Singh's duty graciously to accept and retain. But to Gerrard's dismay, and the horror of all the spectators, the boy drew back as his brother approached, and folding his arms across his chest, sat like a little cross-legged image of obstinacy, mutely declining to notice either the offering or the offerer. Whispered remonstrances were useless, and Sher Singh, after waiting for a moment in vain, cast the nazar contemptuously on the gold-worked carpet, and turned away with a face convulsed with rage. "The child has been put up to this!" he muttered angrily, and stalked down the gangway, between the rows of Sirdars and notables. Gerrard beckoned hastily to the next man, mentally resolving to get the durbar over as quickly as possible, and then hurry after Sher Singh and try to placate him, but to his horror, Kharrak Singh remained immovable, and declined to notice the offering now held forth to him. Remonstrances came from behind the curtain at this, and Gerrard gathered that the boy had improved on his mother's instructions; but as if an evil spirit had taken possession of him, he sat hugging himself tightly, finding, apparently, a malicious pleasure in the perturbation he was causing. It was highly probable that the Rani had desired him to be specially gracious to the military officers who would bring up their swords to be touched when the old councillors had passed, but Gerrard was not minded to let matters go further. The durbar was hastily broken up, with the excuse that the Rajah must be ill, and the Rani and her crowd of chattering excited women conducted back, with all the usual paraphernalia of sheets held before and behind and on either side of them, to their own apartments. Gerrard allowed them barely time to get back there before demanding an audience, but in that brief interval he heard that the Rani had that morning distributed to the army the monthly allowance which had just been paid to her, and the jewels in which she had invested her savings since her widowhood. It might be considered a valiant effort to compensate them for the breaking of her promise, but Gerrard knew that her tradesmen's bills would have to be settled by the Durbar in consequence. The lady was clearly incorrigible, and he braced himself for the struggle.

The Rani displayed no penitence when, after much delay, and many complaints as to the unreasonableness of the request, she consented to receive Gerrard, but he detected a trace of alarm in her voice when she referred to Kharrak Singh's treatment of the councillors. Evidently her son had gone further than she wished, for it was no part of her plan to drive the Durbar into making common cause with Sher Singh. Gerrard seized upon the opening thus afforded him, and made skilful use of it. The harm done must be instantly repaired, and the offended notables placated with suitable gifts and assurances, if Kharrak Singh's rule was to endure. The Rani assented to this, though with reluctance; but when Gerrard proceeded to say that the first person approached must be Sher Singh, and that the Rani's peace-offering to him must be the fief of Adamkot, she refused to hear another word, and when he persisted, intimated that the audience was at an end. He took out his watch.

"Maharaj," he said, sending his voice loudly in the direction in which, as the rustling behind the curtain informed him, she was withdrawing in disdain, "I give you five minutes. If by that time you have not put your seal to the sanad,[1] and given it to the Rajah to bring to me, that we may ride together to Kunwar Sher Singh's house with it, I leave Agpur, and tell Colonel Antony Sahib that it is impossible for me to fulfil my duties here."

The rustling ceased, and it was clear that the Rani had paused. Then there broke out a tumult among her women, some evidently entreating her to yield, and others advising that she should let the insolent Feringhee go, and take the reins of power into her own hands, secure of the support of the army.

"Two minutes gone!" said Gerrard.

The Rani tried to temporise. "Let not Jirad Sahib fit the shoes of impatience to the feet of offence," she said blandly. "Is he not ruler here? But the wise ruler is he who acts with the dwellers behind the curtain on his side."

"Three minutes gone!" said Gerrard.

"I have set Jirad Sahib's foot on my head because it was the will of my son's father," cried the Rani passionately; "but to that of Sher Singh I will not bow."

An approving chorus from the attendants answered her, interrupted by Gerrard's reminder that four minutes had passed.

"What is it you command me to do?" she demanded desperately.

"To seal the sanad and send the Rajah to accompany me with it to Kunwar Sher Singh's house at once, that he may invest him without delay—then to summon another durbar, so that men's minds may be set at ease. The five minutes are over." Gerrard pushed back his chair with a harsh grating on the marble pavement, and rose impressively. "I leave Agpur in half an hour, and I trust your Highness and the Prince will be able to settle matters peaceably."

He took two or three steps, and then her voice called him back. "I will ratify the sanad, but let Jirad Sahib carry it himself to him who is to enjoy it."

"The Rajah takes it or no one," said Gerrard. The women broke out into cries of indignation at his brutality, but their mistress knew how far she could go.

"The seal is affixed," she said, her voice trembling with anger; "and Jirad Sahib has leave to depart, for which he did not see fit to wait just now."

The last word was undeniably hers, and Gerrard hoped that the recollection of his breach of etiquette might support her in her consciousness of defeat. Kharrak Singh came pouting out from behind the curtain, carrying the document as if it had been a snake or a scorpion, and after running his eye over it, Gerrard hurried him out. He had given his orders before the interview, and in a very short time the procession was in motion, and what was even better, Kharrak Singh in a good temper. He was riding his father's great state elephant, with its very finest jewelled trappings, and Gerrard accompanied him on another elephant of less magnificence, while a third carried the patent of investiture in a gilt box, and the khilat or dress of honour which was to be conferred on Sher Singh at the same time. It would have been beyond the power of the boy to continue to pout in such circumstances, and as he mounted, Kharrak Singh shrilly promised his pet troop of the guard new coats of yellow satin. The procession wound gallantly through the narrow streets to Sher Singh's house, but before the door was reached, the officials who had been sent forward to announce to the Prince the honour that his sovereign intended to confer upon him came back with long faces. Sher Singh was not at home. In fact, he had hurried back after his humiliation at the durbar, called for his horse, and ridden forth on a journey with a handful of attendants—to Adamkot, so the servants believed. The blow was so heavy that Gerrard refused at first to believe in its reality, and sent messengers to the city gates. The news they brought served only to confirm the first report. The Regent and his band had passed through two hours before, bound for Adamkot in hot haste. Gerrard ordered the procession to return, and it retraced its steps slowly, while he laid his plans for saving the situation. There were innumerable things to be arranged when he returned to the palace, and he summoned the Rani's scribe, and desired him to acquaint his mistress with what was being done, in order to avoid the loss of time which would be caused by another personal interview.

"I leave early to-morrow for Adamkot to bring Sher Singh back," he said. "He must come, but I hope he will yield to entreaty and come peaceably. I take with me three of the state elephants, with sufficient troops to form an imposing escort, and at the same time to make opposition useless. A letter couched in terms of the utmost friendliness, conferring upon the Prince the title of Prop-of-the-Kingdom, will be ready in a short time for her Highness's signature, and I shall present it with the patent of investiture and the khilat. Other khilats are being prepared in readiness for a durbar to-night, at which the Rajah will confer them upon the councillors offended this morning. If her Highness objects to these arrangements, you have my authority to point out to her that unless Sher Singh is placated immediately, the very gravest consequences are certain to ensue."

"Does his Highness accompany your honour upon this journey?" asked the old man.

Gerrard shook his head. Kharrak Singh's presence was highly desirable as an act of atonement, but if he came, the Rani and all her women must come too, and the journey would require a week instead of two days. "No," he said, "I trust Kunwar Sher Singh will return with me, and we will then arrange a feast and a special reception in his honour."

The scribe salaamed and departed, and Gerrard gave a few moments to reviewing his plans. He was taking with him the most persistently disaffected of the troops, so that the Rani would be well able to hold the palace with the guard should there be any outbreak on the part of the remainder during his absence. The councillors would be mollified by the honours conferred upon them, and also by the Rani's submission in the matter of Sher Singh's fief, and as no contentious business could be transacted while he was away, they ought to be able to keep the peace. It seemed as though all dangers had been provided against, and Gerrard's spirits rose insensibly. Seizing a sheet of paper, he scribbled a hasty note to Charteris.

"If you are anywhere in the Adamkot direction, infringe our frontier and look me up," he concluded, after sketching roughly the state of affairs. "I have always heard of it as the most tiger-ish spot in the country, and Shere Sing may well stand us a hunt in return for all the trouble he has given me. Among the hotties[2] I am taking with me for purposes of display, I have included old Pertaub Sing's trained hunter, so we ought to see some sport. By the bye, when is your appeal for my help coming? Just wait till this little business is off my hands, and I'll be with you in a jiffey."

This sent off, and the Rani's consent to his arrangements received and acknowledged, there was the durbar to attend, at which Kharrak Singh conferred his khilats and received his nazars in the most angelic manner, and it was zealously whispered about that Sher Singh had left the city under a complete misconception of the love and affection entertained for him by his brother, which would be proved by the honourable embassy sent to command his return, and the gifts that it would carry. One of these was to be the store of gold hidden by Charteris in the Residency precincts, which Gerrard had to disinter and pack for transport when he was left alone at night, so that a very small amount of sleep was all that he enjoyed before it was time to start in the morning. Kharrak Singh appeared on the chief state elephant to ride with him out of the city, and insisted on his coming up into the howdah. Late hours, early rising, grief at parting from Gerrard, and remorse for his own share in bringing this about, had combined to make the boy's frame of mind very far from ideal, and he alternated between threatening to behead Gerrard if he went, and hanging round his neck entreating to be taken with him. When the moment of parting came, his hands had to be forcibly unclasped, and he subsided on his cushions a limp and sobbing little bundle, only restrained from screams of passion by receiving leave to open the wrappers of any illustrated papers if Gerrard's mail came in during his absence.

The journey to Adamkot was not eventful. The two highly ornamented guns which accompanied the troops stuck once or twice in crossing rivers, and had to be hauled out by the elephants, and there was continuous murmuring among the soldiers against the speed of the march and the prohibition of plundering, but Gerrard did not trouble himself. Sher Singh was travelling light and fast, and it was natural that he should gain upon them, as inquiries at the various villages on the route assured them he was doing, but if the troops could do in three days what the fugitive had accomplished in two, it would be proof positive that no time had been lost in repairing the injury done him. When they camped on the second night, it was certain that this would be achieved, and Gerrard went to bed in good spirits after making the round of his outposts. The next day would see, he hoped, a grave difficulty settled by prompt grappling with it, and would bring him the breezy company of Charteris, and possibly the promise of good sport. His sleep was dreamless until an overmastering impression that tidings of disaster were arriving hotfoot awoke him. The sound of distant horses' feet was in his ears as he raised his head from the pillow, but when he sat up and listened he could hear nothing. His servant and the orderly sleeping close at hand protested in injured tones when he called to them that he had been dreaming, and so did the sentries supposed to be keeping watch on the outskirts of the camp, to whom he sent an inquiry without much hope of success.

"If any messenger arrives from Agpur, wake me and bring him here at once," he said as he lay down again. "Why, what a fool I am! The sound was coming the opposite way, I am sure. It must have been a dream."

No messenger arrived, and the rest of the march to Adamkot was made the next day. It was almost sunset when Gerrard drew rein and looked up at the great fort of reddish brick towering above him. He was riding in the bed of the river Tindar, here more than a mile wide, and now dry save for one small channel. When the river was in flood, Adamkot must stand on its very brink, but at present its sheer cliff rose from an expanse of sand and mud. It occupied the point of a tongue of high land formed by the river and a ravine, also dry, and a deep ditch guarded it at the only side on which level ground approached the walls. He wondered whether it would be necessary to make a toilsome march up the side ravine to reach the entrance, but Badan Hazari, pointing to a gateway at the top of the cliff, reached by a winding ascent from the foot, told him that this was the usual means of approach when the river was low. When it was high, a drawbridge was lowered over the ditch at the back. Gerrard sent off, therefore, his selected embassy, bearing a friendly letter from himself as well as that signed by the Rani, and inviting Sher Singh to receive him, that he might deliver the gracious gifts of the Rajah.

The embassy wound up the long path, entered the gateway, and returned, without Sher Singh, but with an elderly fakir, who was introduced as the Prince's private physician. With many apologies and compliments, he informed Gerrard that his master, cut to the heart by the Rajah's behaviour, had taken to his bed as soon as he reached home, and was too ill to be disturbed. He had turned his face to the wall, said the old man dramatically, and though he had laid the letters on his brow and eyes in token of gratitude, he had not even strength to read them at present. Would his beloved friend Jirad Sahib pardon his seeming discourtesy, and return to the capital, whither he would follow as soon as the life-giving influences of his sovereign's kindness had renewed his spirit? Gerrard expressed his sorrow at the Prince's illness, but offered to visit him and read the letters aloud, at the same time investing him with the khilat. But this was refused. Sher Singh's wounded spirit could not endure the sight of a stranger at present, it seemed, and he could only express his deep regret that for so unworthy an object Jirad Sahib should have interrupted his important labours, and entreat him to waste no more of his valuable time. There was not even a word said of lodging him and his escort in the fort for the night. Gerrard's anger rose.

"I came to see Sher Singh, and here I stay till I have seen him," he said. "We will pitch here, below the gateway, and see which of us will tire first."



[1] Grant, patent.

[2] Hathis, elephants.



CHAPTER XI.

MURDER MOST FOUL.

However unwelcome might be the presence of Gerrard and his force, Sher Singh could not, for very shame's sake, show his feelings, and a host of servants came down from the fort to point out the best camping-ground, and to bring the rasad, or free rations, necessarily provided for guests. It was evidently hoped, however, that Gerrard might change his mind after a night's rest for in the morning the fakir appeared again with fresh entreaties that he would depart, and not add to the Prince's self-reproach the burden of feeling that he was detaining him here. Gerrard replied by another demand for a personal interview, which was refused in horror, the fakir declaring that three days and nights of mental agony had reduced Sher Singh to such a wreck that it was unendurable to him to be seen until he had recovered a little. Gerrard offered suitable condolences, remarked that the sooner the Prince recovered the sooner would he himself be able to depart, and as a fairly clear sign of his intentions, devoted some hours to the improvement of his camp, to the ill-concealed disgust of his soldiers, who thought themselves entitled to a long rest after the hardships of the march. In the evening Charteris rode in, lean and tanned to an even deeper pink than before, attended by a new bodyguard he was raising from among his reformed robbers, who looked by no means reformed, and were Mohammedans to a man. The arrangements of the camp had to be altered again, to allow these children of nature to encamp close to their commander's tent, for the double purpose of keeping the Granthis from interfering with them, and preventing them from attacking the Granthis. Badan Hazari was highly contemptuous of this new departure on Charteris's part, and ostentatiously pitched his men's tents in similar fashion near Gerrard's, to protect him, as he said, in case those rascally thieves should try to murder him in the night. Their own Sahib might be able to trust them, since he had nothing they would care to steal, but the acting-Resident of Agpur was a person of importance, and his life was valuable.

Having seen their followers bestowed as well as might be, Charteris and Gerrard settled down to a good talk, in which the present situation, as was natural, bulked largely. At first Charteris was inclined to think that things need not have gone so far.

"You'll laugh me to scorn," he said, "but I give you my word I'd have rode after Sher Singh, just as I was, the moment I heard he had levanted, and caught him up on the road."

"Or been caught by him, and held as a hostage."

"No, I would have done it before he got to cover here, and brought him back dead or alive."

"To find that the army and the Durbar had made common cause against the Rani—perhaps even that she and Kharrak Singh had been judiciously removed."

"That's what it is to have a mind that sees both sides of a question," said Charteris good-humouredly. "Now I should only have thought of securing Sher Singh, and I'd have done it if I died for it. Whereas you have left everything in inspection order, and can sit dharna[1] on his doorstep for just as long as he can stand seeing you there."

"My patience has its limits," said Gerrard, smiling. "If the illness refused to yield to the fakir's treatment, it might become necessary to send for a European physician from Ranjitgarh, and to blow in the gates that he might be able to visit his patient. But I hope Sher Singh will see fit to recover without our using such drastic remedies."

"Oh, you have him in the hollow of your hand—I don't presume to doubt it. When your letter came, I had a lurking suspicion that it might be a veiled call for co-operation again, but I see I was wrong."

"You forget it's your turn to call upon me. But I'll tell you where you can help me, Bob. I want to give these precious troops of mine a little active work in the way of war-manoeuvres, as the Prussians call them. The lazy beggars have got abominably soft since Partab Singh's death, with nothing to do but exhibit their lovely selves in the streets, and mutiny for increased pay to settle their tavern-scores. There's plenty of room here, and good scope, and besides, the sight will be interesting and cheering for Sher Singh. Let's take 'em in hand."

"I'm your man. But," with a wry face, "what about the tiger-hunting?"

"Oh, we'll get that in. Sher Singh sent word this afternoon that he hoped I would show my forgiving disposition by deigning to allow him to provide me with a little sport, and I had his head shikari here just before you came. He said that owing to Sher Singh's prowess as a shot on his visits to his father-in-law, tigers are much rarer round here than I thought, and wanted me to go a day's journey to find a likely spot, but I told him he must produce one within a decent distance or be for ever disgraced. So it's a bandobast,[2] and the beast is to be forthcoming to-morrow or the day after."

The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the Agpuris if they were left together. The tiger was duly killed, to the intense admiration—almost adoration—of the shikari, who entreated even with tears that the sahibs would allow him to guide them further, to the spot already mentioned to Gerrard, where, to judge from his description, tigers were popping in and out of a particular patch of jungle like rabbits. Charteris was strongly tempted, and urged that they could make the journey in the night by pressing the elephant a little, shoot a few tigers before breakfast, and return during the day, but Gerrard was firm. He did not intend to allow Sher Singh such an opportunity for tampering with the troops, innocent as he might seem to be of any desire to do so. They rode back, therefore, squabbling amicably as to whose bullet had really given the coup de grace, and discussing whether the skin should be mounted as a rug or merely cured.

Their elephant was descending into the river-bed, and the walls and towers of Adamkot were dominating in dusky red the landscape to their right, when Gerrard uttered an exclamation, and pointed out a small body of mounted men surrounding an elephant, who were approaching their camp from the opposite side.

"From Agpur!" he said. "Who can be coming? A woman's howdah, too! Why, it looks to me like Bijli, the best hotty in the stables. I would have brought her with me if I hadn't known that the others couldn't keep pace with her. Bob, I'm afraid there's something up."

"You underrate your own importance, old boy. They can't do without you in the city, and the Rani has come in person to fetch you back."

"Oh, stop your chaff! No, but I daresay Kharrak Singh has insisted on coming, and she has sent him in a closed howdah, so as to be safer. He was uncommon set on coming with me. I wouldn't hear of it, but he may have teased her into giving her consent."

They entered the camp, and descended from their elephant in the space before their tents, just as the other elephant and its escort were challenged at the outskirts. Charteris and Gerrard both saw the curtains of the howdah put aside, and a head, apparently that of a woman, thrust forth. They could not hear what was said, but the newcomers were instantly allowed to pass, and staring soldiers began to gather and follow behind them. All eyes were turned on the two Englishmen as they went forward, but no one said anything, though it seemed to Gerrard that there was a feeling of awe in the air.

"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris. "And Rukn-ud-din in command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops! What is this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer.

"It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance. It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend.

"Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly.

"How should I know? I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently. "I shall know when she speaks, I suppose. But look at her cloth, half brown and half white! Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops in this way? No pardah, no sheets!"

"Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of violation of etiquette. The veiled figure stood solitary against the gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering. The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one end of her veil? Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the passage. He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived. Is it an order that she be conducted thither?"

"No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face. "Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer pardah, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her. Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!"

"But when was this? What has happened?" gasped Gerrard.

"Two days ago at this time. I waited only to burn the body of my son, and hastened hither for my vengeance."

"But it is impossible, Maharaj. Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed since he arrived here."

"Has he?" The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible. "It is easy to deceive some men. Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see if he comes."

Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes. "Why are you here?" he demanded of them.

"Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting. Seeing you return so early, he feared the sport had been poor."

"Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard brusquely.

"But your honour knows he is laid upon his bed, and cannot rise."

"Then bring him on his bed. His life depends upon it. If he is not here in half an hour, I will blow in the gates and come and fetch him myself."

"It is an order!" said Sher Singh's servants in chorus, and withdrew. Gerrard turned back to the Rani.

"Your Highness has proof of what you say?"

"This much of proof. Two days ago Sarfaraz Khan—may an evil ghost haunt him from henceforth!—came to me with a tale that the guards were discontented by reason of the favour shown to the rest of the army. I promised to do what I could, and went into the room where my jewels are kept, to see if I had anything left that might satisfy them. Kneeling before a coffer, I heard my son shriek without, but when I ran to see what ailed him, certain of my women—daughters of shame, whose end is even as they deserved—pushed me back into the room, and held the door against me. I heard my son fleeing and calling to me for succour, and the clash of the weapons of those that pursued him in silence. I heard him cry, 'O brother, slay me not!' and I heard his moans as they struck. And though I tore at the door until my hands ran down with blood, I could not move it, until the murderers were safely departed. Then the door yielded suddenly, and I came out, to find my son lying dead in his blood. I called my own servants and swore them to vengeance, dipping in the blood their swords and this cloth of mine, which I will wear until the innocent blood is washed out in the blood of him that shed it, and first I bade them slay the women that had befooled me and held me back from dying with my son. Then I gave orders for the burning of my son's body, for fear the murderers should be minded to add insult to their crime, and I called together the Durbar and the heads of the army, and bade them search the city for Sher Singh, and offer a reward for him, dead or alive. But they refused, and mocked me, saying that Sher Singh was now Rajah, and their obedience was his. Then I reviled them to their faces—speaking unveiled, as one minded to mount the pyre and be consumed with the body of my son, could I but be assured of vengeance—and called upon those who remained faithful to follow me. This man Rukn-ud-din and these few sowars were all that came, and when we had burnt the body of my son, we took up his ashes and departed—many desiring to stop us, but no man caring to strike the first blow—to ride hither and demand justice on Sher Singh. And this, O Jirad Sahib, was Kharrak Singh, my son."

She swept aside the discoloured veil, and showed a brazen vessel filled with ashes, which she carried clasped to her breast. "This was my son, Jirad Sahib and soldiers of Partab Singh. Foully has he been cut off, before he could raise up a posterity to perform his funeral rites. By the innocent blood and the dishonoured ashes, I call upon you for vengeance."

"If it can be shown that Sher Singh has committed this murder, justice shall indeed be done upon him, Maharaj," said Gerrard. "But I think you will find that he has not left this place."

"Then to whom did my son call out 'Brother'?" she demanded fiercely. "You will not find him."

"The Prince!" burst from the surrounding soldiers, and all turned towards the gateway of the fort, where a little group of men could be seen. A palanquin was brought out, and the bearers carried it swiftly down the winding path. Almost unconsciously the crowd below pressed forward to the foot of the cliff. The palanquin reached the bottom and stopped, and the fakir, who had followed it, opened the curtains and helped out a bent figure—unmistakably Sher Singh. A shriek broke from the Rani.

"He has outridden me and reached this place first!" she cried. "See his weakness, his deathly aspect. What but four days and nights of riding could account for it?"

Disregarding her words, Sher Singh turned with dignity to Gerrard. "What does my friend Jirad Sahib require of me?" he asked mildly. "At his command I have risen from my bed, weak and faint with illness though I am. My servants tell me that my brother is dead. Is my blood desired also?"

"Your brother died calling upon you to spare him," said Gerrard.

"And is the life of a man to hang upon the cry of a terrified child?" asked Sher Singh, with the same dignified meekness. "Nay, if he cried out 'Brother!' would he not say the same to any man of Granthi stock? Jirad Sahib knows our customs, and that it is our wont to speak thus to one another."

"The matter must be properly tried," said Gerrard. "Your Highness sees"—he turned to the Rani—"that there is no proof against the brother of your son. Let me entreat you to retire to the tent prepared for you, and rest."

The Rani waved him back with a contemptuous gesture. "I have asked for no trial," she cried; "I demand justice. Here to his face I accuse Sher Singh of having ridden secretly to Agpur and murdered my son, his brother, and then returned hither in haste that he might give the lie to my words. Who is on my side? Who will slay this wretch for me? Jirad Sahib?"

"Maharaj, I can do nothing until the whole matter has been inquired into and fairly decided."

"Oh, words, words! such as the English ever speak, and do nothing until it is too late! You then, soldiers of Partab Singh Rajah! Will you see your king's son murdered unavenged? Avenge me on his murderer!"

No one moved, but from the back of the crowd a murmur arose which swelled into a cry, "Sher Singh Rajah! Sher Singh Rajah!" The Rani started as if she had been stung.

"Will you set this wretch before my eyes on the gaddi from which he has swept his father and his brother?" she shrieked. "Can the heavens look down on such a sight of shame, and not grow black?"

The soldiers cowered before her, but a short thick-set man pushed his way to the front. "I am not wise," he said, and a laugh answered him, "but a plain man may ask questions that the learned cannot answer. Her Highness desires us to slay Sher Singh. For whose benefit? say I. She says he is a murderer, but even if it were so—which I see no cause to believe—he is the last of Partab Singh's house. To whom should the kingdom fall, if he were slain? To her Highness herself—who might then be less desirous of death? To her friends the English? perhaps to Jirad Sahib—who would not be the first to owe a throne to a woman's favour. Not one of these has any cause to desire the death of Sher Singh, of course—I lay my hand upon my mouth for having even uttered the thought—but who then does desire it? Not the soldiers of Partab Singh, say I."

"And thou sayest well, brother!" burst from the soldiers. "Sher Singh Rajah! We will set him on the gaddi, and by the might of the Guru! if the English interfere, we will fight them." Out of the tumult in the ranks a high thin voice rose above the rest. "Back to the zenana, shameless one! Wilt thou disgrace thy lord, as she of Ranjitgarh doth daily?"

The two Englishmen and their followers moved towards the Rani to protect her, but she waved them back with measureless contempt, then turned upon the jeering soldiers with eyes glowing like live coals.

"Truly Jirad Sahib spoke well when he warned me that you, for whom I have stripped myself of the very jewels of my marriage-portion, designed only to play me false. Ai Guru! what a lot is mine, to dwell in a land where the men are as women, even as those that sell themselves for gain! Hear then the curse of the widow, the childless one. Behold the unavenged ashes of my son!" she thrust forth the brazen urn. "As I cover them from your unworthy sight with the cloth stained with his innocent blood"—sweeping her veil over it—"so shall the blood of Agpur extinguish the burning embers of her houses. As you have cried shame upon me, seeking to avenge my dead, so shall your childless mothers and your widowed wives find shame in seeking to avenge you, and the death of honour shall be denied them. For innocent blood shall the doom come, though my eyes shall not behold it, and through these two Feringhees"—she indicated Gerrard and Charteris—"who shall execute justice on the murderer in the day when they shall make a road for a corpse through the great wall of Agpur."

"The doom is easily averted, if only by slaying the two Feringhees and the woman here and now," said the short man who had stood forth as Sher Singh's champion, but this time his words did not meet with the former ready response.

"Aye, do so," said the Rani coolly, "and bring the English down upon you to fulfil the curse as soon as it is uttered."

She faced the ready weapons defiantly, but Sher Singh, who had been sitting drooping upon the edge of the palanquin, apparently too weak either to defend himself or to interfere to prevent a massacre, now summoned strength again and interposed.

"The army has spoken truth," he said. "I am Rajah, grievous as is the cause that brings me to the gaddi, and evil as shall be the fate of the murderers of my brother. Against Jirad Sahib I bear no malice for his doubts of me, for he has been led astray by the bitter tongue of a woman crazed with grief. She demands vengeance; I will be her avenger, as is fitting, since my father was her husband. In my house she will receive due honour as his widow, and it will fare ill with any man who speaks of shame in connection with this day. Let her Highness be conducted back to her elephant and carried into the fort, where a suitable reception awaits her."

"Not unless she wills it," said Gerrard firmly. "Where does your Highness choose to dwell?" he asked of the Rani, who stood waiting impassively.

"I have no desire to live save for vengeance, but my life would last but an hour or two within those walls," she said calmly.

"Where would your Highness prefer to go?"

"I would fain entrust my son's ashes to Mother Ganga, and visit Kashi in pilgrimage. That is my desire."

"It shall be done. Will your Highness permit Lieutenant Charteris to escort you to Ranjitgarh?" He looked round for Charteris, intending to present him, but he had slipped away a moment before. "At Ranjitgarh the Resident will charge himself with your safety."

"What Jirad Sahib suggests is impossible," said Sher Singh with determination. "My izzat"—a convenient term, covering most things from self-esteem to family honour—"would be destroyed if my father's wife wandered away from my house."

"The choice lies with her Highness," said Gerrard. "Let her servants decide whether they will serve her or Sher Singh Rajah."

The Rajputs stepped over to their mistress's side at once, and so did Rukn-ud-din and most of his troopers, but some even of these who had accompanied the Rani from Agpur preferred to worship the riding [Transcriber's note: rising?] sun. Sher Singh smiled unpleasantly.

"Since I am so many, and he so few, Jirad Sahib will not force me to defend my izzat with the sword?"

"I begin to think that it needs a good deal of defending," said Gerrard meaningly, "but that will not be done by attacking me. I shall attend the Rani Sahiba to Ranjitgarh myself."



[1] Starving oneself to force a debtor to pay.

[2] Fixture.



CHAPTER XII.

THE ONE WHO WAS TAKEN.

"Have you cleared out a tent for the Rani, Bob? I was going to ask you to do it, but when I looked for you, you had disappeared."

"Yes, she and her women are safely secluded. But what I really made myself scarce for was to secure the guns."

"Old boy, you are a genius! They won't dare to try and stop us now."

"Us? That sounds good. I hoped you would see the folly of ramming your head into the lion's mouth by going back to Agpur with Sher Singh."

"He's uncommon anxious that I should—been trying to persuade me all this time. First he followed me himself, and then he sent the fakir, and then Ibrahim Khan."

"I'm not surprised. You would be a particularly welcome guest at Agpur just now, but whether the visit would be quite as agreeable to you as to your entertainers, I take leave to doubt. Have you forgot that you know the secret of the treasury, and Sher Singh don't?"

"I had forgotten. As a matter of fact, I have promised to go back as soon as I have seen the Rani to Ranjitgarh."

"I believe you, my boy! But I wonder whether Sher Singh does. By the way, what becomes of our oaths, and the treasure, now that Kharrak Singh, whom it was intended to benefit, is no more?"

"I really don't know. The question did not arise."

"Well, my base material mind would have asked it first thing. Can hardly go to the Rani, I suppose, can it? or be divided between two deserving young officers in the Company's army? Perhaps in time to come Sher Singh may leave a descendant to whom we can honourably confide the secret. But meanwhile, Sher Singh has his accomplices to pay, and the treasure would come in very handy. I suppose you ain't labouring under any romantic delusion as to his innocence?"

"It would be hopeless, I fear. If he had merely planned the murder from here, he would certainly have accorded me the interview I asked for, so as to secure an unassailable alibi. But I can't help seeing that unless one of the accomplices confesses, which is highly unlikely, it will be next to impossible to bring it home to him. Poor little Kharrak Singh! I give you my word, Bob, I really was most uncommon fond of that little chap. He used to sit opposite me like little Dombey—I showed him the picture when last mail came in, and he laughed like anything—and say the most old-fashioned things. I'm glad Antony ain't likely to send me back to Agpur. I should be thinking that I saw him all about the place."

"I'm jolly glad you don't feel yourself pledged to return."

"Sort of nineteenth-century Regulus? Well, that'll depend upon my orders, of course, and I don't take 'em from Sher Singh. Not that we have had any rupture. I told him quite politely that I could hold no further communication with him until the Rani was safe at Ranjitgarh, and that we start to-morrow morning."

"Quite so. Hal, a minute or two ago you paid me a very handsome compliment. Hang compliments! says I, and show a little confidence. Will you take my advice, and while making elaborate, even ostentatious, preparations for starting to-morrow morning, set off tonight instead?"

"My dear fellow, have you gone quite mad?"

"There's a prodigious deal of method in my madness. Say that Sher Singh, in confab with his friends, or his own uneasy conscience, begins to perceive the extreme improbability of your returning quietly into the lion's mouth once you are safely out of it. Do you think he won't harden his heart like Pharaoh, and refuse to let you go?"

"It's possible, of course. But I fail to see how you would conduct a moonlight flitting from the heart of his camp."

"That's my artfulness, my dear Hal. We can't hope to slip away unnoticed, I grant you. But I do believe we can take 'em by surprise, and walk out before they can combine to stop us. We have the guns, and the hotties, which would be useful in breaking a path, and those two facts may even induce them to let us go without a fuss. Otherwise I should have proposed spiking the guns, which are in a state of rottenness calculated to do more harm to us than to the enemy, and leaving the hotties, taking the women behind us on our horses. But if by making an awe-inspiring impression we can get away without a fight, it's just as well under the circumstances—especially as the Rani has promised us our fill of gore later on. I should say, start as soon as the moon rises, in two hours or so. We can't go at once, because the Rani's hotty and the one we have been using all day will require a little rest, or I should have advised that."

"But Sher Singh will simply follow and attack us on the march, and he has the big battalions."

"Now look here, Hal. You'll allow that I know something of the country through which I came two days ago? Two marches will take us well into Darwan, where Sher Singh don't dare follow us, or he will have the Darwanis up round him like a hive of bees. The place where he will try to stop us is a rough jungly bit about half-way—one of the disputed boundary districts. We must get through it by daylight. Six hours' forced march to-night will bring us nearly to it. We halt for another two hours' rest, and then press on at once. Once through that bit we are practically safe. Marching morning and afternoon we should not reach it till evening, and during the night Sher Singh would have ample time to lay an ambush for us. If we take him by surprise, any thoughtful preparations on his part must be fairly sketchy in character."

"I see your point. But no one can help knowing we are starting at once when they see the tents being struck."

"Then leave 'em standing. You can take your clothes and your papers and your hair-brushes, and sacrifice the rest. Oh, I know you are still dragging about with you the chest of drawers you got for the cabin when we came out, and the long chair you bought at Madeira——"

"Nonsense!" said Gerrard, rather vexed. "But I like my own things about me, I confess."

"The very reason why you should be deprived of 'em! You won't know the proper wilderness spirit till you are. What's a chair? Something to sit on when the ground's dirty or swampy. A table? Something to eat off or write at when there ain't a flat rock handy. Not friends—not pieces of yourself—which is what you make of 'em. Release yourself from this tyranny of material things—as your pater used to quote Socrates or some other old codger as saying. We don't want tents, and the women must do with the howdah."

"All right; have it your own way. We'll start to-night."

"Give your secret orders to that effect to Badan Hazari, then. You'll find that my Darwanis have been already tipped the wink, and the women too, and the fires are being kept low so as not to shed too much light upon our movements."

"I am much honoured in placing myself at the disposal of so far-sighted a commander," said Gerrard, a little stiffly, as he saluted. Charteris laughed, and clapped him on the back with a friendly force no stiffness could survive.

"Ain't we too old friends to stand on our dignity with each other, Hal? I have taken a lot upon myself, I confess it, but you are in command here, and I know it as well as you do. Jolly cheeky of me to offer you advice, of course, but I couldn't see you rushing into destruction without hinting at the fact."

"I know. It's all right, old boy. Well now, will you lead the advance, as a favour to me?"

"Hal, you're a brick. No, I won't. You go first, with your own Granthis, whom you have well in hand, I suppose? at any rate, they won't fire unless you give the word. Then Rukn-ud-din, with the guns and hotties—and incidentally the women—and then your humble servant with the Darwanis. If they led, they would fire right and left for pure devilry, but being in the rear, I think I can make them see the necessity of waiting till they are attacked."

The evening meal had been hurriedly despatched during the course of this conversation, and Gerrard now went out to summon Badan Hazari and give him his orders, while Charteris saw to the packing of such of their joint possessions as were not too heavy to impede a hasty flight. The moon had barely risen when the column formed up for the march, Gerrard and his men leading, the Agpuris, with the women, elephants, guns and baggage in the centre, and Charteris with his Darwanis bringing up the rear. He had taken the precaution to warn the sentries round the tents to turn back any coolie who might try to creep out and carry information to the main camp, while any outsider dropping in for a little friendly conversation was to be gently but firmly detained, and this, with the ruse of leaving the tents standing, kept Sher Singh's men completely in the dark. There was a wild scene of confusion when they realised what was happening, tomtoms beating, trumpets sounding, and men rushing together, but the compact body of matchlockmen with their matches lighted, and troopers with drawn swords, looked so formidable that beyond firing a stray shot or two, the army made no opposition to their progress. The Darwanis were wildly desirous to reply to the random shots with a volley, but Charteris succeeded in keeping them in hand, and the column ploughed its way steadily across the sand of the river-bed, and up the bank on the opposite side. The country was fairly open here, but Gerrard sent out scouts in front and flanking-parties on either side, to guard against a determined rush, which might be deadly in its result if Sher Singh were less easily hoodwinked than he seemed. Two of the Darwanis who knew the country well from past raids, and had guided Charteris as he came, rode ahead to show the way, and the column tramped on doggedly in the moonlight, the great lurching forms of the elephants casting strange shadows by the way.

After a long day's hunting, and an evening so full of excitement, Gerrard found it difficult not to sleep as he rode. In fact, his mind was asleep, though his eyes were open and keenly surveying the landmarks, which persisted in assuming the form of advancing masses of troops, or exhibiting lights where no lights were. He found relief occasionally in riding back a little to whip up stragglers, but it gave him unfeigned pleasure when, after what seemed untold hours of marching, Charteris pricked forward to tell him that they were now within a mile of the "bad bit," and had better halt where they were until dawn. But Gerrard had no mind to give in too soon.

"You don't think it would be well to press on and push through at one go, Bob? The men don't seem at all done up," he felt it his duty to say.

Charteris hesitated a moment. "No, I don't," he said. "If Sher Singh is occupying the bad bit at all, his men are there already—sent off probably while he kept you in talk after the big flare-up—for it would be no good despatching them after we had started. Don't it strike you as queer that they have made no motion to harass our rear? I imagine they are holding back till they can catch us between two fires. If you agree with me, let us give the beasts a rest and a feed here, and send two or three of my beggars scouting ahead."

Gerrard consented, and they saw that the horses were picketed so as to provide a barrier against a sudden rush, made the men lie down with their weapons beside them, posted sentries all round the bivouac, and agreed to keep watch for an hour each, to ensure the sentries not going calmly to sleep. Gerrard, who felt wide-awake again now after talking and walking about, insisted on taking the first watch, which passed uneventfully. Then he called Charteris, and dropping into the hollow which the latter had scooped for himself in the sand, was asleep in a moment, only to be waked, as it seemed, in another moment, by his friend's shaking him vigorously.

"Time to get up, Hal! No shaving-water, so don't look round in that bewildered way. You'd arrive at Ranjitgarh with a beard—a fine, flowing, patriarchal, even prophetic beard, like what Ronaldson has taken to sport—if this sort of thing went on long. He paid me a visit when he was passing through to his district, and I assure you I was immensely taken with his new adornment. It would be perfectly killing among the ladies, I'm sure—throw our poor whiskers and moustaches horribly into the shade. Talk of owls! I never saw any one stare like you. This, my young friend, is a cup of tea, and this is a hard-boiled egg—the best choti haziri our chaps can manage—and the animal beside you, looking astonished at your laziness, is your horse, vulgarly termed a quad. But give me your hand, old boy, and let me haul you up to take part in this epicurean meal."

"You're in spirits to-day, Bob," observed Gerrard, with a mighty yawn, as he accepted the tin cup.

"Ray-ther, just a few! There's a rare good fight in front of us, Hal—or else a very fine piece of strategy, which is almost as satisfactory when you have women to look after. Sher Singh's fellows are in occupation of the bad bit, as I suspected—posted on both sides of the track. But—and here comes in the possibility of strategy—there's another path besides that one, and I told my scouts to investigate its practicability. They report that it's passable for hotties, which is what I was inclined to doubt, but they don't think we shall ever get the guns up there. Here's your problem, then, my budding Wellington. Do we fight our way through by the ordinary track—in view of the condition of our guns I omit the alternative of shelling the enemy out of their hiding-places first—or do we take up position with the guns before the mouth of the defile and make a feint there, while the hotties are going round the other way? We might even fire the guns once or twice with reduced charges before spiking them and leaving them there to cumber the ground, while we make ourselves scarce and overtake the rest."

"You know which it must be before asking me," said Gerrard mournfully. "We daren't risk taking the women through a running fight in the defile, especially if, as you said last night, Sher Singh is hanging on our heels as well. I'll take the guns and my Granthis and look after the feigned attack, while you get the women through behind the enemy's back, and are ready to support us with the Darwanis if Sher Singh turns up."

"All right," said Charteris shortly.

"You want the fight, I know. But would you be satisfied with a feint so long as the guns didn't burst? Not you, old boy; I know you. You would hang on to that defile, or more probably get half-way through it, until Sher Singh came up behind you and your retreat was cut off. You shall do rear-guard again when we rejoin, and as that is when the real fight will probably come, I can't do better for you."

It was still only twilight when Gerrard and his men, with the two field-pieces drawn by bullocks, left the bivouac for the mouth of the defile, with one of the Darwani guides to pioneer for them. Another of these men was to remain on the hillock where the halt had been made, to watch for any sign of pursuit from the Adamkot direction, and bring the news instantly if any appeared. Charteris and the main body, with the elephants, struck to the right of Gerrard's line of march to gain the other path, and that their intention might not become apparent to the liers-in-wait, Gerrard halted his guns as soon as he was within possible range of the mouth of the defile, and with fear and trembling discharged them both, by way of giving the enemy something to think about. The guns did not burst, and though the shot fell far short, in consequence of the reduced charges, they drew an excited matchlock fire from the men in ambush, which did no harm, but showed their positions. The guns moved on, and Gerrard found excellent places for them in some rocky ground thick with thorny bushes, while his matchlockmen exchanged long shots with the concealed enemy. The fire of the field-pieces seemed to have an impressive moral effect, preventing any desire of coming out into the open on the enemy's part, but was unsuccessful in turning them out of their hiding-places, which were in the cliffs overlooking the track. Gerrard advanced his sharp-shooters and changed the position of the guns from time to time, but the sun was growing hot, his men were grumbling loudly because he would not allow them to charge the defenders, and he was glad to see that the time he had fixed with Charteris for his withdrawal was approaching. His men were recalled from the front two or three at a time, the remainder keeping up a brisk fire to delude the enemy and divert their minds, and when all were withdrawn, the two cannon were spiked, and a start made across the rocky ground towards the right. Before they had gone far, the scout left at the bivouac came riding in hot haste to say that he had seen a great cloud of dust advancing from the direction of Adamkot, and evidently concealing a large force of horsemen hastening towards the sound of the firing. This was vexatious, as they would probably arrive at the spiked field-pieces and divine the truth long before the ambush in the defile would be emboldened by the silence to creep down and see what had happened, and Gerrard hurried his men on. It was difficult to hasten, however, over the rough ground and through the thorny bushes, while it was inadvisable to venture out upon the plain lest they should be seen, and the horsemen sweep down upon them. The cloud of dust was quite visible now, whenever a break in the jungle gave a view of the plain, and Gerrard found himself wondering whether the pursuers had a man of Charteris's type or of his own in command of them. He could not help hoping it might prove to be his own.

Before it seemed possible that the deserted guns could have been found, examined, and the correct deductions drawn, the shouts of the pursuing horsemen could be heard as they raced along the level ground of the plain, seeking for their prey. It was impossible that they should not discern the movements of Gerrard's men, but they could not charge through the jungle, and when they came near enough, he halted and gave them a volley. The sight of horses and men rolling over checked them for a moment, but he wondered how long it would be before they thought of pushing forward a party to intercept him in front. Almost as the idea crossed his mind, a dropping fire broke out from among the bushes in advance, and he realised that Charteris was waiting for him. The horsemen drew off when they saw they were opposed by a larger body than they expected, and Charteris emerged from a lair in the bushes and came up to his friend.

"On with you, Hal!" he cried cheerily. "Rukn-ud-din and the hotties are halted till you come up, for fear the enemy should be waiting for them at the other end of the defile. I'll retreat upon you gradually, and keep these beggars back."

"All right!" and Gerrard and his men, now on more open ground, were able to urge their horses to something beyond a walk. The so-called path was very rugged, and he wondered how they had been able to get the elephants along it at all. Indeed, when he reached them, the mahouts were complaining loudly, and making much display of the wounded feet of their charges. The nearer sound of firing behind showed that Charteris's force was nearly up, and Gerrard, sending back a messenger to see whether he was hard pressed, led the main body on, disregarding the grumblers. Charteris returned answer that he was getting along all right, but warned Gerrard again of a possible rush when the end of the path was reached, and he sent forward scouts to examine the ground. A burst of firing ahead was his first intimation that Charteris's fears were justified, and two out of the five scouts came scurrying back to say that the enemy had evidently evacuated the defile, and were awaiting the fugitives here. As there was no narrow mouth to hold, however, they could not command the path from above, and were merely lying hidden among the rocks and bushes on either side. Gerrard ordered his men to hold their fire in case of a rush, and was glad he had done so—unpleasant as was the storm of bullets drawn upon the column by the easy mark offered by the elephants—when he saw that a body of the enemy were actually posted in front to block his way. Only one plan was now possible, and he gave orders to Rukn-ud-din and Badan Hazari that when the proper moment came, the horsemen should open out and allow the elephants to break a path. At the sound of his whistle the horsemen faced outwards, and on either side fired a volley into the bushes, while the elephants were urged on. For a moment the enemy stood their ground, and the bullets which met the great beasts maddened them. Trumpeting loudly, they rushed through the opposing ranks, all but one, and the rout was completed by the swords of the horsemen who followed.

It was the hunting-elephant, driven frantic by a bullet in a specially tender spot, which broke the line and turned sideways, overthrowing two Granthis and their horses as she did so. The mahout, with voice and goad, tried manfully to get her back into the path, but there was a moment's wild confusion, in the midst of which Gerrard became aware of a mob of wild Darwanis, their garments flying, charging down upon his rear.

"They have broken through! Our Sahib is slain—Chatar Sahib—the Red Sahib!" they yelled. "Fly for your lives!"

Gerrard spurred back impetuously to stop them, under a hail of bullets from the enemy rallying in the bushes. A sudden numbing pain in his arm made him drop the reins, and he had only time to realise that Sher Singh's pursuing horsemen were on the heels of the fugitives before their rush swept him from the saddle, and he went down into a cruel welter of hoofs. Then all was silence.

When he recovered consciousness, he was lying helpless, and as he thought bound, in an elephant's howdah. An attempt at movement showed him that he was not bound, but bruised and wounded from head to heel.

"Heaven-born!" said a voice at his side, and he distinguished the tones of Munshi Somwar Mal. "Now do the roses bloom again in the garden of joy, since your honour lives!"

"But Charteris Sahib—the Rani—every one?" murmured Gerrard, trying to remember what had happened.

"The Rani Sahiba saw your honour fall, and herself took command of the soldiers, bidding them die rather than fail to recover your body. Sirdar Badan Hazari was killed, fighting very valiantly, and the Komadan Sahib Rukn-ud-din now leads the troops."

"But Charteris Sahib—what of him, I say?"

"Alas, sahib! The Rani Sahiba bade return to look for him when the foe were driven back, but none were found alive save a wounded Darwani, who had seen Chatar Sahib's body thrown over a horse and carried away."



CHAPTER XIII.

THE ONE WHO WAS LEFT.

"My dear, I wish you would take that unfortunate young Gerrard in hand." Mr James Antony, acting-Resident at Ranjitgarh owing to the absence of his brother on sick-leave, wore a worried look as he entered his wife's room.

"I will do what I can, love, but I am never quite sure how to approach these young men. If only dear Theodora were here——" Mrs James was alluding to her sister-in-law, Mrs Edmund Antony.

"Oh, if Ned and his wife were here, the trouble would be at an end," said James Antony, with his big laugh. "I can't begin an interview by blowing a man up sky-high, and end it by falling on his neck, as Ned does. I have done my best for Gerrard—more than Ned would have done, too—in commending his conduct throughout this unfortunate affair, but it don't seem to make him any happier."

"But you cannot think your brother would have taken the part of that dreadful Sher Singh, love?"

"Ned would have seen the matter so wholly from Sher Singh's point of view as to consider him justified in killing not only poor Charteris, but Gerrard as well, for the offence of abducting his stepmother."

"Then when Edmund returns, will he insist on forcing the unfortunate woman to go back?"

"No, my dear, he won't, for the very good reason that I have already passed her safely across the Ghara. But he will have a rod in pickle for poor Gerrard, who seems to me to have quite enough to bear already—what with his wounds and the loss of all his belongings, to say nothing of the death of his friend."

"You don't think, James, that he feels himself to blame for poor Mr Charteris's death?"

"He's an unreasonable idiot if he does," testily. "As if he hadn't done all that he could when he heard of it—insisting on mounting a horse and going back to look for him! When he very naturally fainted again, his people were uncommon wise in continuing the journey and bringing him here, and it's no reason for him to pull a long face. A broken arm and a complete suit of bruises ain't pleasant wear, but they are mending, and the beggar has no business to mope as he does. If he's still in love with old Cinnamond's daughter, his path is clear now, but they tell me he has made no attempt to see her."

"Ah!" said Mrs James thoughtfully. "But he shall see her. Leave it to me, love. Don't you think," with extreme innocence, "that it would be cheering for the poor fellow if you invited him to sit in your dufter[1] this evening? He would not be in spirits to join the party, of course, but the music might soothe him, and his friends could go in and talk to him from time to time."

"He will be a sad kill-joy, my dear. But consider the room at your disposal for any nefarious projects of the kind."

"Nay, James, you must do your part. Pray convey my compliments to him, and tell him I shall be sadly vexed if he refuses to come. He shall be in complete retirement there, you may say, and can slip away when he chooses."

"I will give him his orders. Pray, is Miss Cinnamond's name to be mentioned?"

"I think not. I wish I could leave it to your discretion, love, but a fine tact is not one of your shining virtues, is it?"

"No, ma'am." James Antony was not at all aggrieved. "To tell the truth without fear or favour is enough for me."

"Then say nothing. Stay—could you contrive to intimate that Sir Arthur and his lady will be among the company? That should serve to prepare the young man's mind."

"I imagine I am capable of that, my dear."

And in truth, James Antony made the announcement with so much emphasis, and in so meaning a tone, that Gerrard would have been dull indeed had he missed its significance. Before it came he had been fighting against the duty of accepting Mrs Antony's invitation, but now his opposition collapsed suddenly. The rage for charades, which had devastated English society for ten years or more, prevailed also in India, and "Charades and Music" were promised in the corner of this evening's card. The host spoke his mind quite frankly on the nature of the entertainment, which he termed "a set of young fools dressing up and acting silly questions for old fools to answer," and assured Gerrard that he thought no worse of him for holding back. By way of building a bridge for his retreat, however, he informed him that no sight or sound of the charades could reach the dufter, and he wished he himself could spend the evening there with him in peace and quietness. On receiving the tardy acceptance he departed hastily, much pleased with the results of his diplomacy—which would hardly have been the case had he been able to read the young man's mind. One thing had been plain to Gerrard from the first moment in which he realised fully what Charteris's death would mean to him. It set an absolute barrier between Honour and himself. He could no more take advantage of Bob's removal from the field by an accident than if he had slain him with his own hand. Having assured himself of this night and day, in waking and dreaming and semi-delirious moments, it had become such an immutable fact that he felt it was time to make Honour aware of it. He felt an unaccountable pang on realising that she would immediately perceive its reasonableness.