Star of India, Alice Perrin [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

suppressed distaste. Was she contrasting the spectacle with afternoon tea in "the sort of palace" in London, and "the place in the country"?

[Pg 218]

Nevertheless, it was a cheerful little meal. They laughed and talked. Flint described to Miss Abigail the scene he had witnessed the previous evening when the "famine wallahs" had refused to be photographed. He explained the reason to Miss Baker, who said it was, of course, the fault of the Government that such silly ideas should still be general. The people should have been educated out of them by this time.

"What about the freedom of the individual?" he inquired. "Why should they be photographed if they dislike it, for whatever reason?"

"That's a smack at me, I suppose," said Miss Baker huffily.

"Not a very hard smack, any way." He looked at her with a friendly smile, and, mollified, she smiled back at him. It turned out that Miss Abigail knew the Beards at Rassih, though she had seen nothing of them for years. She asked many questions about them and their work, few of which Flint was able to answer, indeed he could hardly remember what the Beards were like. They talked "shop," discussed the works, and the shelters, and the hospital, agreed how lucky it was that the well in the village was holding out satisfactorily so far; Miss Abigail was certain she had seen a small cloud in the distance that morning, and was confident that if they all prayed hard enough rain would fall within a reasonable time. Flint said politely that he hoped so indeed; Miss Baker tried not to look scornful.

Between them they emptied the teapot and finished the toast; and Miss Baker observed that if Mr. Flint[Pg 219] insisted on being photographed under the peepul tree they had better be up and doing. Miss Abigail was persuaded to accompany them, though she openly grudged the time, and they plodded through the dust of the rough road that led past the camp, and the great tree, on to the village beyond.

"I hate peepul trees," said Miss Abigail, with an odd little shudder; "the leaves never seem to be still, even when there is hardly a breath of wind to stir them. Look at them, hark at them now!"

The flat spade-shaped leaves trembled in the sultry evening heat; the faint, continuous rustle sounded like whispering voices. No wonder Philip reflected that spirits were believed by the people to dwell in the branches. Miss Abigail glanced disgustedly at the rough, time-worn stones scattered about its roots; some bore traces of carving, unmistakable figures of idols, others showed sacred symbols, defaced, indistinct, all remnants of a former shrine or temple. Bits of rag had been hung by some passing worshipper to the lower twigs of the tree; it looked, as Miss Baker remarked, as though someone had flown through the branches, leaving scraps of their clothing behind them.

"The rags are hung there as a protection against evil spirits," said Flint; "all the superstitions connected with the peepul tree would fill a good-sized volume. Look at that bit of thread wound round the trunk; somebody has lately been propitiating the tree by walking round it and winding the thread as they went. The peepul is the home of the Hindu Trinity, as well as of mischievous devils!"

[Pg 220]

"There's a nasty atmosphere of idolatry that doesn't suit me at all," proclaimed Miss Abigail. "It's high time a Christian was buried here to counteract all the wickedness this horrid old tree must have witnessed in its time!" She smiled at her own little pleasantry.

Philip laughed. "And then the grave would become a sort of shrine in its turn, and the people would make offerings to it, and hang more rags than ever in the branches above it!"

Miss Baker turned to Miss Abigail. "But you wouldn't like to be buried here, would you?" she inquired, aghast.

"I don't care where I am buried when my time comes, but here for choice if I thought it would do any good." Miss Abigail dived into a capacious pocket, pulled out a pair of folding scissors, and calmly proceeded to cut the thread that encircled the tree trunk. "There! That's my protest against the devil and all his bad works."

To the embarrassment of her companions she then knelt down on the roots and in a loud voice said a vigorous prayer. What a curious contrast she presented to her surroundings—an almost grotesque figure in an attitude of supplication with her dust-coloured gown flowing about her, and an unlovely sun hat on the back of her head. Jacob sniffed at the soles of her boots that protruded from beneath her skirts. The prayer finished, she rose without a trace of self-consciousness, brushed the dust from her knees, and requested Miss Baker to make haste over the photography as her help would soon be needed in[Pg 221] the camp with the evening work. Then she stumped off towards the tents.

"Did you ever!" exclaimed Miss Baker, looking after the retreating figure. "Now I suppose something awful will happen to us all. I feel quite nervous. Hark at the leaves. There really might be something moving about in the branches!"

"Shall we hang up a piece of rag?" suggested Philip chaffingly.

Half in earnest, she took out her handkerchief, a white wisp with a pretty coloured border.

"It's a pity to tear that," said Philip.

"A sacrifice!" she replied; and before he could stop her she had torn it in two. "Now, you hang up one bit and I'll hang up the other. What would Miss Abigail say! For goodness' sake don't tell her."

Laughing, they hitched the bits of cambric to the twigs above their heads, and Miss Baker picked up her camera.

"Now, then, take off your hat, and let's hope the spirits won't spoil my pictures."

[Pg 222]

CHAPTER IV

Three days later cholera broke out on the relief works.

During the afternoon a woman had arrived with a dead, monkey-like infant in her arms and a dilapidated little family clinging to her skirts, only herself to curl up and die in the heartbreaking fashion common to the stricken native, haplessly, silently, without struggle or protest. Before dawn the demon let loose among a weakened multitude had begun to pick off victims, here in a triangle, there in a semicircle, again in a neat zigzag, as if with mathematical malice and caprice....

Flint, roused at daybreak by the fatal news, worked for hours in conjunction with the medical officer, dosing, segregating, attending to the removal of the dead, striving to stem the panic that might drive the people to scatter over the countryside, spreading the disease. Then, after a hasty breakfast, he rode off to Miss Abigail's camp with the intention of urging Miss Baker to seek some other field of activity in view of the present danger. He encountered Laban, the Bible teacher, nervous and voluble, outside the principal tent, and was informed by him that the two ladies had gone forth the previous morning to visit a small outpost in connection with the Mission some few miles distant, having arranged to remain there for the night. They had not yet returned.

[Pg 223]

"This is a very bad sickness!" added Laban. "How shall we all escape with our lives—and my grandmother dying in Cawnpur, calling, and calling for my presence!"

"Meantime," suggested Philip, left cold in regard to the grandmother, "hadn't you better go and help with the children whose parents are dying or dead? There's a good supply of tinned milk, and it's got to be served out quickly."

The teacher's flabby brown face paled to a sickly hue. He swallowed hard, and his lips moved. Philip fancied he caught the word "photograph." Probably the wretched Laban, unable to divest himself of the fear that a portion of his spirit had already gone from him with the taking of his picture, felt he was doomed unless he could flee to his home.

"Look here, old chap," went on Flint, prompted by sympathetic understanding, "aren't you a soldier of Christ, ready to fight for your own people?"

He asked the question with a certain grim amusement at his own recourse to missionary diction; but presently the amusement turned to respectful admiration as Laban shivered, hesitated, then, without further ado or explanation, marched off in the direction of the camp.

Inwardly Flint salaamed to the shambling figure of this "soldier of Christ." He said to himself: "By Jove, that's a feather in the missionary cap!"

He had turned his horse's head, when the sight of a little cloud of dust in the distance caused him to halt, and out of the dust-cloud appeared a hooded bullock[Pg 224] cart, crawling, bumping over the rough ground at a snail's pace. He waited, wondering how the energetic Miss Baker could bear with such leisurely travel, since patience was hardly one of her gifts. The bullocks must have taken hours covering the distance. When at last the vehicle pulled up at the camp a flushed and fuming young person scrambled from beneath the hood.

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Miss Baker, shaking the dust from her clothes and stretching her cramped limbs. "Hullo, Mr. Flint!" Her face brightened at sight of him. "What do you want?"

"Good morning, had a nice drive?" He smiled at the grimace that was her answer, and dismounted.

"I want to speak to Miss Abigail." It had occurred to him that Miss Abigail's powers of persuasion might prove more effective than his own in the matter of counselling change of air for Miss Baker, the girl being more or less under her authority. Truth to tell, he rather shrank, with masculine cowardice, from a task that he anticipated would involve something of a scene.

"Here she is, then—what's left of her after that awful journey!" There was plenty of Miss Abigail left; the stout, square figure clambered backwards from the cart, and he took comfort from the fat, kindly face and brave little eyes. He drew her aside.

"Bad news," he said; "we've got cholera in the works!"

[Pg 225]

"Ah! so it has come! I don't know which I have been dreading most, that or smallpox. Well, we must all turn to and do our best."

"But what about Miss Baker? She oughtn't to be allowed to stay——"

"Why not? She has put her hand to the plough, and surely you don't expect her to turn back?"

He felt annoyed, disconcerted. "It's all right for us," he deprecated, "but Miss Baker should go."

"Well then, you had better tell her to do so. Frankly I shan't be sorry if she takes your advice. Amateurs are more bother than they are worth in my line of work. But I can't urge her to bolt!"

"Don't you feel responsible for her safety? A girl out here alone——"

"She came of her own free will, as far as I know, and was handed over to me by the Charitable Relief Fund Committee. I didn't ask for her. But now she's here I consider she should take the rough with the smooth like the rest of us. I will leave you to settle the question."

With a nod and an exasperating smile of unsympathetic comprehension Miss Abigail stumped off to her tent.

Miss Baker approached. "What has happened?" she asked. "You look peevish. Don't cry!"

"I've been telling Miss Abigail she ought to send you away at once."

"And are you so miserable because she has refused or consented? Why should I be sent away? What have I done?"

[Pg 226]

"Cholera has started among the people," he told her bluntly, "and you must pack up and be off, unless you want to add to our anxieties!"

Could he believe his eyes? Instead of the torrent of lofty expostulation he had expected, and hoped successfully to combat, the girl simply showed him the tip of her tongue. "There!" she added defiantly after this vulgar exhibition.

"Do, for Heaven's sake, listen to reason——" he began, irately.

"Don't waste time," she interrupted. "I know what you want me to hear, but I can't wait for your words of wisdom. I must make haste to pack and run away as fast as I can!"

She darted towards Miss Abigail's tent, throwing him a glance of derisive revolt over her shoulder. He was helpless. Anyway he had but done what seemed to him his duty, and he had been given no chance of emphasising the fact that in leaving the camp she would be sparing him and Miss Abigail additional responsibility.... Yet he doubted if any argument under the sun would prevail with her now. To remain and risk death would, of course, enhance the feeling of superiority and benevolence that on her own admission she found so pleasant!

He rode back to the works determined to put her out of his mind. He had more to think of,