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

BOOK III_CHAPTER VI (DIANA TO THE RESCUE)

 

DIANA CHICHESTER sat in the corner of a third-class compartment and watched the drear, snow-covered wastes slip past her window with a joyful interest which only an Anglo-Indian, accustomed to eternal dust and sunshine, could have appreciated. Her train was of necessity a slow one, for no express ever stopped at Steeple Hampton. Three or four times a day a snorting, puffing little engine of antiquated structure jerked to a standstill beneath the pretentious bridge which united the two minute platforms, and even the great folk of the land had to content themselves with a pace of fifteen miles an hour and a regular and lengthy stoppage every few minutes.

But Diana was in no hurry. Hers was one of those natures whose fierce joy in life makes every minute precious, every detail of absorbing interest, and when she was not silently greeting the familiar landmarks, her mind was busy with the past and present and building thereupon a future which was very close to her. She came armed with knowledge culled in many different quarters, for it was a fact that, though she neither scandalised nor indulged in the "Bazaar Gup" common to all Indian stations, she knew everything that the worst gossiper knew, and a good deal more besides. The truth was that people came to her, not with their neighbours' affairs so much as with their own, and her way of accepting their confidences rendered them oblivious to the fact that she never talked about herself. Thus she knew most of the events which had excited Steeple Hampton and was prepared to face a trouble which, on the surface, was not very apparent. All that she had heard had made her afraid, and it was destined that before her journey's end her fear should be doubly confirmed. One station before Steeple Hampton two men got into her compartment. They were of a type very familiar to her shrewd, hard-headed and unemotional farmers of the better class, and their conversation, evidently the end of a long discussion, immediately caught her attention.

"Well, I don't quite know what to make of it," the elder man remarked, unfolding the local paper. "I likes the look of him, and what he says is sense, though it isn't the sense of most people. But he's queer. He talks, to my thinking, a bit too free. And then, there's his wife."

"Aye, there's the wife," echoed the other with a grimace. "That tells against him. We ar'n't accustomed to that sort of thing in these parts."

"They do say that she worships wooden idols,'* went on the first speaker with a lowered voice, "and neither of them ar'n't ever seen in church. Now, that's what I don't like. When I gives my vote I want to know that my man is a Hurst and a Christian gentleman. Now this young chap well, if he gets me he gets me in spite of myself, so to speak. He don't hunt and he don't go to church, and he's got a black woman for a wife, and none of them things is much to my liking. My old woman swears she'll talk the roof off if I votes for him."

There was a moment's thoughtful silence. The train began to reduce speed, and Diana Chichester to collect her belongings. As is the way with men of their class, her two companions watched her without noticing her.

"That fellow Grey has got some queer tales about Sir David," the more loquacious of the two went on. "I happened to hear his last address, and he swore that he was going to bring down a speaker who knew something of Sir David's doings out in India. I'd like to know the truth about all that before I makes up my mind."

"Well, if I don't vote for Sir David, I don't vote at all," the other retorted. "To my mind, Grey is a dirty scoundrel, and not one of my folk has ever turned Socialist yet, thank God."

With an imposing jerk the train came to a standstill, and Diana made for the door. She had a considerable struggle with the handle before either of them realised that she was endeavouring to get out, and she thanked them for their belated assistance with a graciousness which startled them effectually out of their phlegm.

"And, by the way," she said as she reached the platform, "you can take it from me that those queer stories are very ordinary lies. I know Sir David better than most people, and I promise you that he is a brave and honourable gentleman. As to his wife she is worthy of him, and the man who judges a woman by her colour is a fool."

And with that she smiled upon them and slammed the door in their faces and left them breathless. Half way down the platform she met Hurst himself. She hardly recognised him. He seemed to her to have grown taller, and, as he lifted his cap, she saw that he had aged more than the eighteen months of their separation justified. In spite of his years there was already a suggestion of grey in the thick black hair, and his mouth, though it had lost its moody, cynical curves, had narrowed to a straight, repressed-looking line. Yet when he smiled she recognised in him the boy whose dreamy, gentle if ineffectual ways had once roused her childish irritation, and that old expression of awkward, appealing friendliness side by side with the new strength struck her as oddly attractive. She gave him both her hands, and he clasped them with an energy which brought the blood to her cheeks.

"It is so good of you, Di," he said, and again in his voice she recognised the familiar gratitude for some little service done.

"I hardly dared believe you were really coming. I've brought the dog-cart. It's a wretchedly cold day, but I thought you'd like it better than being cooped up in a state carriage. Your luggage can come on afterwards. You've brought plenty?"

"Enough to see you safely decorated with the fatal initials," she returned gaily. "How are things progressing, David?"

"I'll tell you as we drive along." He helped her up into her seat and took the reins from the waiting groom.

"When did you get my telegram?" he asked.

"Yesterday evening. I only arrived at Southampton yesterday morning, or I would have answered before."

He glanced side- ways at her determined profile. Her erect carriage and the energetic tilt of her finely moulded chin concealed to some extent the lines of weariness which had crept about the eyes and mouth.

"You mean you came straight here without seeing a soul?" "Not so much as an aunt or a cousin. There is a whole clan of Chichesters herded together somewhere in Cheltenham who are at the present moment considering what ineligible person I may possibly have eloped with. It will give them something to talk about for weeks . "She laughed to herself, and her laugh was irresistible, so that Hurst was compelled to join in, though his expression remained troubled.

"I feel I have been abominably selfish," he said. "I never thought you would really come so soon."

"Or perhaps you wouldn't have invited me?" she interposed maliciously.

"Don't heckle an already much harassed candidate.," he pleaded. "I sent you a telegram because I thought by that means to get an answer from you in under three weeks that's why."

"Men never expect women to keep their promises," she observed scornfully. * ' It's positively discouraging. I told you I should come when you both felt I might be of some use and here I am, and I hope you are glad to see me."

"More glad than I can say," he answered gravely.

By this time they had left the village behind them and a cold blast of winter wind swept over the barren fields and for a moment cut short all conversation. David Hurst drove well. The chestnut was fiery and ill-tempered, yet he controlled her with an absolute confidence which impressed Diana because it was so unexpected in him. Undoubtedly he had changed. She studied him out of the corner of her eyes and wondered at the difference which a development of character can make to an ugly face.

"Tell me about everything," she commanded, lifting her head to the wind.

"It is a fight," he answered laconically. "But you are going to win!"

"You think so? I don't know. I have a great deal against me. But I am glad of that. If I get in, it will be in spite of them and not simply because I am Sir David Hurst."

"What is against you?" she asked. He was silent for a moment, and she regretted her question. Already she had touched on the trouble which she had suspected the sudden pallor in his dark cheeks betrayed the reality of its existence.

"Many things are against me," he answered slowly. "Myself in the first instance. I don't fit in anywhere to their preconceived notions of what I should be I don't try to. I go my own way. They're getting accustomed to it, but it's been a hard pull. And now, of course, there's Rama Pal."

"Rama Pal?" she echoed in a puzzled tone. "What has he to do with it?"

"He is here. Grey, the Socialistic fellow, has got him down. As far as I can make out he has been studying law in London, and is mixed up with a whole society of fellow-countrymen whom we allow to drift from bad to worse for want of a little generosity and common sense. It is inevitable that they should grow to hate us, and the Socialists have easy work with them."

"But what has Rama Pal to do with this election?" she asked, frowning.

"He is working for the Socialistic party. They are not very careful how they choose their weapons, and this is a peculiarly dirty one I am accused of everything, from abducting native children from their parents down to the pettiest acts of oppression." He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "No doubt there is more to come." She was silent a moment, her fine brows knitted in earnest thought.

"I knew that Rama Pal had gone wrong," she said at last. "The Professor told me. You remember all those gymnasium and physical exercise clubs that the educated Hindus were so eager about? They were and are utter frauds, hot-beds of anarchy and dacoitage, and Rama Pal was one of the chief leaders. When we heard that he had come to England with Brahman money we guessed what part he would play over here, but I never thought he would turn your enemy. After all, you saved his life once."

"That is why he hates me," Hurst answered.

She looked at him in surprise, then nodded.

"One has to get accustomed to the Oriental point of view," she said.

"It is quite a natural point of view, and not a bad one, Di. If you take a man away from his religion and his people and thrust him into a false position he is not likely to thank you much for the mere benefit of living. I gave him his life, as it were; but even at the time I had a glimmering idea that it would have been