The Swindler, Ethel May Dell [distant reading TXT] 📗

it very carefully in the stream. Then, deprecatingly, he spoke.
"_Mem-sahib_, it is here that we cross the water."
She looked at the rushing stream with dismay. It was not very wide but she saw at once that it was beyond a leap. She fancied that the swirling water in the middle indicated depth.
"Do you mean I must wade?" she asked.
He made a cringing gesture.
"There is another way, most gracious."
She gazed at him blankly.
"Another way?"
Again he bent himself.
"If the _mem-sahib_ will so far trust her servant."
"But--but how?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. "You don't mean--you can't mean----"
"_Mem-sahib_," he said gently, "it will not be the first time that I have borne one of your race in my arms. I may seem old to you, most gracious, but I have yet the vigour of manhood. The water is swift but it is not deep. Let the _mem-sahib_ watch her servant cross with the snake-basket, and she will see for herself that he speaks the truth. He will return for the _mem-sahib_, with her permission, and will bear her in safety to the farther bank, whence it is but an hour's journey on foot to Kundaghat."
There was a coaxing touch about all this which was not lost upon Beryl. He was horribly ugly, she thought to herself, with that hideous red smear across his dusky face; but in spite of this she felt no fear. Unprepossessing he might be, but he was in no sense formidable.
As she stood considering him he stooped and, lifting his basket, stepped with his sandalled feet into the stream. His long white garment trailed unheeded upon the water which rose above his knees as he proceeded.
Reaching the further bank, he deposited his burden and at once turned back. Beryl was waiting for him. For some reason unknown even to herself, she had made up her mind to trust this old man.
"If the most gracious will deign to rest her arm upon my shoulder," he suggested, in his meek quaver.
And without further demur she complied.
The moment he lifted her she knew that his strength was fully equal to the venture. His arms were like steel springs. He grunted a little to himself as he bore her across, but he neither paused nor faltered till he set her upon the bank.
"The _mem-sahib_ will soon see the road to Kundaghat," he observed then. "She has but three miles yet to go."
"Only three miles to Kundaghat!" she ejaculated in amazement.
"Only three miles, most gracious." For the first time a hint of pride was mingled with the humility in his reedy voice. "The _mem-sahib_ has travelled hither by a way that few know."
Beryl was fairly amazed at the news. She had believed herself to be many miles away. She began to wonder if her friend in need would consider the few rupees she had left adequate reward for his pains. Since she had parted with Fletcher's gift, she reflected that she had nothing else of value to bestow.
The way now lay uphill, and all undergrowth soon ceased. They came out at last through thinning pine trees upon the crest of the rise, and from here, a considerable distance below, Beryl discerned the road along which she had travelled with Fletcher that morning.
White and glaring it stretched below her, till at last a grove of mango trees, which she remembered to be less than a mile from Kundaghat, closed about it, hiding it from view.
"The _mem-sahib_ will need her servant no more," said her guide, pausing slightly behind her while she studied the landscape at her feet with the road that wound through the valley.
She took out her purse quickly, and shook its contents into her hand. He had been as good as his word, but she knew she had but little to offer him unless he would accompany her all the way to Kundaghat. She stopped to count the money before she turned--two rupees and eight annas. It did not seem a very adequate reward for the service he had rendered her.
With this thought in her mind she slowly turned.
"This is all I have with me--" she began to say, and broke off with the words half-uttered.
She was addressing empty air! The snake-charmer had vanished!
She stood staring blankly. She had not been aware of any movement. It was as if the earth had suddenly and silently gaped and swallowed him while her back was turned.
In breathless astonishment she moved this way and that, searching for him among the trees that seemed to grow too sparsely to afford a screen. But she searched in vain. He had clean gone, and had taken his repulsive pet with him.
Obviously, then, he had not done this thing for the sake of reward.
A sense of uneasiness began to possess her, and she started at last upon her downward way, feeling as if the place were haunted.
With relief she reached the road at length, and commenced the last stage of the return journey. The heat was terrific. She was intensely weary, and beginning to be footsore. At a turn in the road she paused a moment, looking back at the pine-clad hill from which she had come; and as she did so, distinct, though far away behind her, there floated through the midday silence the curious note of a jay. It sounded to her bewildered senses like a cracked, discordant laugh.


VIII

On the following afternoon Major Fletcher called, but he was not admitted. Beryl was receiving no one that day, and sent him an uncompromising message to that effect. He lingered to inquire after her health, and, on being told that she had overtired herself and was resting, expressed his polite regret and withdrew.
After that, somewhat to Beryl's surprise, he came no more to the bungalow.
She remained in seclusion for several days after her adventure, so that fully a week passed before they met.
It was while out riding one morning with Mrs. Ellis that she first encountered him. The meeting was unexpected, and, conscious of a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, she bestowed upon him her haughtiest bow. His grave acknowledgment thereof was wholly without effrontery, and he made no attempt to speak to her.
"Have you quarrelled with the Major?" asked Nina, as they rode on.
"Of course not," Beryl answered, with a hint of impatience.
But she knew that if she wished to appear at her ease she must not be too icy. She felt a very decided reluctance to take her friend into her confidence with regard to the Farabad episode. There were times when she wondered herself if she were altogether justified in condemning Major Fletcher unheard, in spite of the evidence against him. But she had no intention of giving him an opportunity to vindicate himself if she could possibly avoid doing so.
In this, however, circumstances proved too strong for her. They were bound to meet sooner or later, and Fate ordained that when this should occur she should be more or less at his mercy.
The occasion was an affair of some importance, being a reception at the palace of the native prince who dwelt at Farabad. It promised to be a function of supreme magnificence; it was, in fact, the chief event of the season, and the Anglo-Indian society of Kundaghat attended it in force.
Beryl went with the Commissioner and his wife, but in the crowd of acquaintances that surrounded her almost from the moment of her arrival she very speedily drifted away from them. One after another claimed her attention, and almost before she knew it she found herself moving unattached through the throng.
She was keenly interested in the brilliant scene about her. Flashing jewels and gorgeous costumes made a glittering wonderland, through which she moved as one beneath a spell. The magic of the East was everywhere; it filled the atmosphere as with a heavy fragrance.
She had withdrawn a little from the stream of guests, and was standing slightly apart, watching the gorgeous spectacle in the splendidly lighted hall, when a tall figure, dressed in regimentals, came quietly up and stood beside her.
With a start she recognised Fletcher. He bent towards her instantly, and spoke.
"I trust that you have now quite recovered from your fatigue, Mrs. Denvers."
She controlled her flush before it had time to overwhelm her.
"Quite, thank you," she replied, speaking stiffly because she could not at the moment bring herself to do otherwise.
He stood beside her for a space in silence, and she wondered greatly what was passing in his mind.
At length, "May I take you to have some supper?" he asked. "Or would you care to go outside? The gardens are worth a visit."
Beryl hesitated momentarily. To have supper with him meant a prolonged _tete-a-tete_, whereas merely to go outside for a few minutes among a host of people could not involve her in any serious embarrassment. She could leave him at any moment if she desired. She was sure to see some of her acquaintances. Moreover, to seem to avoid him would make him think she was afraid of him, and her pride would not permit this possibility.
"Let us go outside for a little, then," she said.
He offered her his arm, and the next moment was leading her through a long, thickly carpeted passage to a flight of marble steps that led downwards into the palace-garden.
He did not speak at all; and she, without glancing at him, was aware of a very decided constraint in his silence. She would not be disconcerted by it. She was determined to maintain a calm attitude; but her heart quickened a little in spite of her. She saw that he had chosen an exit that would lead them away from the crowd.
Dumbly they descended the steps, Fletcher unhesitatingly drawing her forward. The garden was a marvel of many-coloured lights, intricate and bewildering as a maze. Its paths were all carpeted, and their feet made no sound. It was like a dream-world.
Here and there were nooks and glades of deepest shadow. Through one of these, without a pause, Fletcher led her, emerging at length into a wonderful fairyland where all was blue--a twilight haunt, where countless tiny globes of light nestled like sapphires upon every shrub and tree, and a slender fountain rose and fell tinkling in a shallow basin of blue stone.
A small arbour, domed and pillared like a temple, stood beside the fountain, and as they ascended its marble steps a strong scent of sandalwood fell like a haze of incense upon Beryl's senses.
There was no light within the arbour, and on the threshold instinctively she stopped short. They were as much alone as if miles instead of yards separated them from the buzzing crowds about the palace.
Instantly Fletcher spoke.
"Go in, won't you? It isn't really dark. There is probably a couch with rugs and cushions."
There was, and she sat down upon it, sinking so low in downy luxuriance that she found herself resting not far from the floor. But, looking out through the marble latticework into the blue twilight, she was somewhat reassured. Though thick foliage obscured the stars, it was not really dark, as he had said.
Fletcher seated himself upon the top step, almost touching her. He seemed in no hurry to speak.
The only sound that broke the stillness was the babble of the fountain, and from far away the fitful strains of a band of stringed instruments.
Slowly at length he turned his head, just as his silence was becoming too oppressive to be borne.
"Mrs. Denvers," he said, his voice very deliberate and even, "I want to know what happened that day at Farabad to make you decide that I was not