The Daughter of Brahma, I. A. R. Wylie [carter reed txt] 📗

slightly. The blood had rushed to his face, and he glanced at Sarasvati, who was seated in her place by the fire. Her features were composed; she seemed scarcely to be listening.

"What you appear to suggest is impossible," Hurst said sharply. "I have no political experience."

"I have enough for half a dozen," Mr. Smith retorted, with a significant grimace.

"I have no political convictions."

"That doesn't matter. They can be supplied. All you have to do is to make your choice and stick to it."

"And the choice lies between what?"

Mr. Smith shrugged his shoulders.

"Politicians are divided into two camps," he said. "On the one side are the Haves, and on the other the Want to Haves, and between them is the great ass, the Public. The game consists in trying by all means possible to cajole and bully the animal into running to one or other of the players. The means consist usually of promises and threats. The one side promises sixpence for a shilling, and the other talks of Empire and invasion and God knows what else. As a matter of fact, there isn't much difference between 'em, bless you. They both lie, and call each other liars; they both love the ass tenderly before the elections, and themselves afterwards when they vote themselves incomes at the ass's expense; most of 'em cease to be gentlemen the minute they put their noses into a committee room. If they continue to have nice manners, they get called ' philosophers,' or something else equally useless, and get kicked out. The best thing is to dip your tongue alternately in oil and vinegar, and hit out hard. If you hit your opponent below the belt so much the better. The great thing is to wind him, and by the time the referee has made up his mind you'll be elected."

The little man stopped breathless. Though he had spoken with apparent enthusiasm, his mouth was drawn into a bitter, sarcastic line, and his eyes gleamed anger. Hurst shrugged his shoulders.

"And this is the business into which you suggest plunging me?" he asked with an uneasy laugh.

"Yes," said Mr. Smith.

"Then I am sorry to say I must refuse."

"Why?"

"Because I have no desire to enter into public life. Moreover, I should be worse than useless. I am not popular--"

"You are a Hurst," the agent interrupted curtly. "That counts more than anything. I know that you've set the country by the ears, but that can be easily remedied. Your uncle's recent death will amply account for your retirement and other difficulties--" he hesitated for the first time, and his eyes dropped "--can be managed with a little tact."

"Nevertheless, I refuse finally."

Mr. Smith rose suddenly to his feet. His whole manner had undergone a complete change. Indignation and a genuine enthusiasm rendered him almost majestic.

"You haven't the right to refuse, Sir David," he said.

Hurst rose also. His face was dark, but not with anger.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"What I say, Sir David. You are an Englishman, and you have no right to shrink from your duty because it is inconvenient to you. God knows, we are beset enough by place-seekers and cheap-jacks, seeking publicity at the cost of their country's welfare. There are few enough of the old stock left who served without thought of their own gain; but if these few are going to turn back because the job is too dirty for them, then we're done for then we might as well shut up shop and let the Socialists tear our honour and our glory to pieces and divide the spoils between them. I admit it is a dirty job. It makes a man sick to have to fight against a devilish egoism which calls itself democracy, but it makes a man sicker still to see those who could win fold their hands and say that they weren't made for public life. Sir David, I don't know what your convictions are, but I'll be bound they're those of an honourable, unselfish gentleman, and that you'll stand for the old traditions. We need you, and you've got to come. There isn't a man who won't vote for you for the old name's sake, and for all you represent. You owe it to your country and you owe it to your family."

"What do you mean?" Hurst repeated in the same suppressed tone.

Smith lifted his eyebrows.

"I did not mean to tell you, Sir David, but the Socialist fellow, Grey, has started his campaign with the natural supposition that you will stand, and he has already circulated some pretty ugly stories about your Indian affairs. He seems to have got hold of some Hindu fellow to back his lies, and, by Heaven, sir, you've got to come out to choke them down his greedy throat. You must for your own sake, and the sake of your--" He stopped awkwardly, and there was a tense silence. Hurst's glance had passed from his wife to the portrait over the mantelpiece. The lines of his face were grim and hard.

"1 refuse," he said. "I am sorry but it is impossible."

"I beseech you--" A hand was laid on his arm.

He turned. Sarasvati stood at his side. "I beseech you!" she repeated.

"Sarasvati!" he exclaimed.

"I do not understand all," she answered gently, "but I understand the words 'country and family.' I understand that the world has need of you. Is it not so?" She turned her dark eyes to the agent in grave appeal.

Mr. Smith nodded. The expression on his lean, clean-shaven face betrayed both admiration and uneasiness.

"Yes, that's true, Lady Hurst," he answered briskly. "We want your husband. He has a big career before him."

"David!" she pleaded.

"You don't know what you ask!" Hurst said almost violently. "You are forcing me into a life which we have both renounced--"

"--to which you belong, husband," she answered. "You must go out and fight as she said. I--I-- was wrong. One has no right to peace not here."

Mr. Smith cleared his throat. He was not a man given to sentiment outside his profession, but he was dimly conscious that something was passing between this strangely assorted couple which it was not for him to see.

"I tell you what, Sir David," he began, in businesslike tones. "My address is on the card. Think it over, and let me know as soon as you can. But remember our time is precious."

Sarasvati turned to him. Her hand rested on her husband's arm, and afterwards the little agent described her attitude as " queenly."

"My husband will write to you," she said. "But tell those that sent you he will do what it is right for him to do."

"Thank you, Lady Hurst," Mr. Smith bowed. He wanted to say more he would have been glad to have apologised. He had regarded her as an enemy, and a stumbling-block, and she had won his battle for him. But for once his nerve, steeled as it was by much hectoring, failed him. This slight, delicate-looking woman in her strange, heathenish dress looked at him with eyes which seemed to command and y supplicate. He murmured something unintelligible, and bowed himself out of the room.

For a long time after he had gone husband and wife did not speak to each other. David Hurst had dropped back into his chair. His pulses were beating with an emotion which he dared not recognise. In the firelight the pictures were forming fast, and he could not break them. Presently she came and knelt beside him. He felt her soft arms about his neck; the vague, mysterious perfume which clung to her rose to him like a sweet yet wordless reminder. He caught her to him almost roughly.

"It must not be," he said. "What have I to do with these people? What do I want with them?"

"They need you," she said steadily.

"Do you not need me?" She was silent, and he forced her to look at him. "Do you not need me?" he repeated.

"Do I not need my heart to live?" she answered.

He caught his breath, startled by the stifled, yet passionate earnestness of the simple words, and she went on gently.

"I have not understood but now I understand. You are a great man, and I have tried to keep you. For me the world is shadow, but to you it has become real it calls you, and you must go!"

"Sarasvati," he exclaimed, painfully moved, "there is no ' must '!"

"Fate has spoken," she returned.

He clenched his fist in a movement of stern protest.

"There is no fate--"

"Only the fate of the will which has been given you."

And this time he made no answer. She bent her head so that her cheek rested on his hand, and he felt that it was wet with tears.

BOOK III_CHAPTER IV (SHADOWS)

"NEVER," said Mrs. Morell solemnly, "never could I have believed it possible that I should enter the house under the present circumstances. If my husband had not put it to me as a solemn duty wild horses wouldn't have dragged me over the threshold."

Her companion, Lady Salby, stared out of the window of her brougham and considered the dreary winter landscape with an expression of polite acquiescence on her fat and florid face.

"That is exactly how I feel," she approved, and drew her furs closer about her. "It's a shame that we women who have to bring such sacrifices of pride should not at least have the benefit of a vote. By the way, has no one ever seen this this person?"

"Not since their arrival, when Sir David behaved so badly. They have just remained on the estate. Of course, it was the one thing they could have done. If she had been seen in the village she would have had all the school-children after them. Imagine! "Mrs. MorelTs voice rose a semitone with indignation. "She still wears some extraordinary native costume so the servants say. I consider it positively indecent."

"Terrible," said her ladyship. "If only she were an Indian princess or something. But no one seems to know who she is."

Mrs. Morell nodded significantly.

"I have heard that she had something to do with a temple," she said. "Of course, yon know, dear Lady Salby, the temple-dancers--are--were--" She stopped; the two ladies looked at each other.

"Good heavens, is it possible?"

"I fear so."

"How terrible!" her ladyship repeated. She sat up more stiffly, as though long lines of respectable ancestors stood behind her instead of one small but diligent diamond-merchant of Hebraic origin. "The one thing we can do," she continued as the muchbecrested vehicle drew up at the entrance to Hurst Court, "is to keep her absolutely in the background, and hope the electors will forget her existence. Of course, the other two candidates won't. I know that dreadful Grey man has already started some scandalous story about her. Oh, these Socialists!"

"Indeed, yes!" murmured Mrs. Morell. "I'm sure they are capable of anything. Only the other day my husband told me--"

But the door stood open and the bowing footman's information that "Her ladyship was at home," put the squire's anecdote temporarily in the background. On the way to the drawing-room Lady Salby bent her thick lips to Mrs. Morell's ear.

"Leave her to me," she whispered. "I shall manage. A little tact, you know!"

And Mrs. Morell, flushed with the triumph of an