The Lamp in the Desert, Ethel May Dell [the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT] 📗

Bernard who had watched over him like a mother refusing flatly to remain behind, waiting upon him hand and foot at every turn.
"You come into the next room!" he whispered. "You shall be called immediately if she wakes and wants you. But you'll crumple up if you don't rest."
There was truth in the words. Everard realized it as he went from the room, leaning blindly upon the stout, supporting arm. His weariness hung upon him like an overwhelming weight.
He submitted himself almost mechanically to his brother's ordering, feeling as if he moved in a dream. As in a dream also he saw Peter at the door move, noiseless as a shadow, to assist him on the other side. And he tried to laugh off his weakness, but the laugh stuck in his throat.
Then he found himself in a chair drinking a stiff mixture of brandy and water, again at Bernard's behest, while Bernard stood over him, watching with the utmost kindness in his blue eyes.
The spirit steadied him. He came to himself, sat up slowly, and motioned Peter from the room. He was his own master again. He turned to his brother with a smile.
"You're a friend in need, St. Bernard. That dose has done me good. Open the window, old fellow, will you? Let's have some air!"
Bernard flung the window wide, and the warm wet air blew in laden with the fragrance of the teeming earth. Everard turned his face to it, drawing in great breaths. The dawn was breaking.
"She is better?" Bernard questioned, after a few moments.
"Yes. I believe she has turned the corner." Everard spoke without turning. His eyes were fixed.
"Thank God!" said Bernard gently.
Everard's right hand made a curious movement. It was as if it closed upon a weapon. "You can do that part," he said, and he spoke with constraint. "But you'd do it in any case. It's a way you've got. See the light breaking over there? It's like a sword--turning all ways." He rose with an obvious effort and passed his hand across his eyes. "What of you, man?" he said. "Have they been looking after you?"
"Oh, never mind me!" Bernard rejoined. "Have something to eat and turn in! Yes, of course I'll join you with pleasure." He clapped an affectionate hand upon his brother's shoulder. "It's a boy, I'm told. Old fellow, I congratulate you--may he be a blessing to you all your lives! I'll drink his health if it isn't too early."
Everard broke into a brief, discordant laugh. "You'd better go to church, St. Bernard," he said, "and pray for us!"
He swung away abruptly with the words and crossed the room. The crystal-clear rays of the new day smote full upon him as he moved, and Bernard saw for the first time that his hair was streaked with grey.


CHAPTER III
PRINCESS BLUEBELL

To Bernard, sprawling at his ease with a pipe on the verandah some hours later, the appearance of a small girl with bare brown legs and a very abbreviated white muslin frock, hugging an unwilling mongoose to her breast, came as a surprise; for she entered as one who belonged to the establishment.
"Who are you, please?" she demanded imperiously, halting before him while she disentangled the unfortunate Scooter's rebellious legs from her hair.
Bernard sat up and removed his pipe. Meeting eyes of the darkest, intensest blue that he had ever seen, he gave her appropriate greeting,
"Good morning, Princess Bluebell! I am a humble, homeless beggar, at present living upon the charity of my brother, Captain Monck."
She came a step nearer. "Why do you call me that? You are not Captain Monck's brother really, are you?"
He spread out his hands with a deprecating gesture. "I never contradict royal ladies, Princess, but I have always been taught to believe so."
"Why do you call me Princess?" she asked, halting between suspicion and gratification.
"Because it is quite evident that you are one. There is a--bossiness about you that proclaims the fact aloud." Bernard smiled upon her--the smile of open goodfellowship. "Beggars always know princesses when they see them," he said.
She scrutinized him severely for a moment or two, then suddenly melted into a gleaming, responsive smile that illuminated her little pale face like a shaft of sunlight. She came close to him, and very graciously proffered Scooter for a caress. "You needn't be afraid of him. He doesn't bite," she said.
"I suppose he is a bewitched prince, is he?" asked Bernard, as he stroked the furry little animal.
The great blue eyes were still fixed upon him. "No," said Tessa, after a thoughtful moment or two. "He's only a mongoose. But I think you are a bewitched prince. You're so big. And they always pretend to be beggars too," she added.
"And the princesses always fall in love with them before they find out," said Bernard, looking quizzical.
Tessa frowned a little. "I don't think falling in love is a very nice game," she said. "I've seen a lot of it."
"Have you indeed?" Bernard's eyes screwed up for a moment, but were hastily restored to an expression of becoming gravity. "I don't know much about it myself," he said. "You see, I'm an old bachelor."
"Haven't you--ever--been in love?" asked Tessa incredulously.
He held out his hand to her. "Yes, I'm in love at the present moment--quite the worst sort too--love at first sight."
"You are rather old, aren't you?" said Tessa dispassionately, but she laid her hand in his notwithstanding.
"Quite old enough to be kissed," he assured her, drawing her gently to him. "Shall I tell you a secret? I'm rather fond of kissing little girls."
Tessa went into the circle of his arm with complete confidence. "I don't mind kissing white men," she said, and held up her red lips. "But I wouldn't kiss an Indian--not even Peter, and he's a darling."
"A very wise rule, Princess," said Bernard. "And I feel duly honoured."
"How is my darling Aunt Stella this morning?" demanded Tessa suddenly. "You made me forget. _Ayah_ said she would be all right, but _Ayah_ says just anything. Is she all right?"
"She is better," Bernard said. "But wait a minute!" He caught her arm as she made an impetuous movement to leave him. "I believe she's asleep just now. You don't want to wake her?"
Tessa turned upon him swiftly--wide horror in her eyes. "Is that your way of telling me she is dead?" she said in a whisper.
"No, no, child!" Bernard's reply came with instant reassurance. "But she has been--she still is--ill. She was upset, you know. Someone in a car startled her."
"I know I was there." Tessa came close to him again, speaking in a tense undertone; her eyes gleamed almost black. "It was the Rajah that frightened her so--the Rajah--and my mother. I'm never going to ask God to bless her again. I--hate her! And him too!"
There was such concentrated vindictiveness in her words that even Bernard, who had looked upon many bitter things, was momentarily startled.
"I think God would be rather sorry to hear you say that," he remarked, after a moment. "He likes little girls to pray for their mothers."
"I don't see why," said Tessa rebelliously, "not if He hasn't given them good ones. Mine isn't good. She's very, very bad."
"Then there's all the more reason to pray for her," said Bernard. "It's the least you can do. But I don't think you ought to say that of your mother, you know, even if you think it. It isn't loyal."
"What's loyal?" said Tessa.
"Loyalty is being true to any one--not telling tales about them. It's about the only thing I learnt at school worth knowing." Bernard smiled at her in his large way. "Never tell tales of anyone, Princess!" he said. "It isn't cricket. Now look here! I've an awfully interesting piece of news for you. Come quite close, and I'll whisper. Do you know--last night--when Aunt Stella was lying ill, something happened. An angel came to see her."
"An angel!" Tessa's eyes grew round with wonder, and bluer than the bluest bluebell. "What was he like?" she whispered breathlessly. "Did you see him?"
"No, I didn't. I think it was a she," Bernard whispered back. "And what do you think she brought? But you'll never guess."
"Oh, what?" gasped Tessa, trembling.
Bernard's arm slipped round her, and Scooter with a sudden violent effort freed himself, and was gone.
"Never mind! I can get him again," said Tessa. "Or Peter will. Tell me--quick!"
"She brought--" Bernard was speaking softly into her ear---"a little boy-baby. Think of that! A present straight from God!"
"Oh, how lovely!" Tessa gazed at him with shining eyes. "Is it here now? May I see it? Is the angel still here?"
"No, the angel has gone. But the baby is left. It is Stella's very own, and she is to take care of it."
"Oh, I hope she'll let me help her!" murmured Tessa in awe-struck accents. "Does Uncle Everard know yet?"
"Yes. He and I got here in the night two or three hours after the baby arrived. He was very tired, poor chap. He is resting."
"And the baby?" breathed Tessa.
"Mrs. Ralston is taking care of the baby. I expect it's asleep," said Bernard. "So we'll keep very quiet."
"But she'll let me see it, won't she?" said Tessa anxiously.
"No doubt she will, Princess. But I shouldn't disturb them yet. It's early you know."
"Mightn't I just go in and kiss Uncle Everard?" pleaded Tessa. "I love him so very much. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"Let him rest a bit longer!" advised Bernard. "He is worn out. Sit down here, on the arm of my chair, and tell me about yourself! Where have you come from?"
Tessa jerked her head sideways. "Down there. We live at The Grand Stand. We've been there a long time now, nearly ever since Daddy went away. He's in Heaven. A _budmash_ shot him in the jungle. Mother made a great fuss about it at the time, but she doesn't care now she can go motoring with the Rajah. He is a nasty beast," said Tessa with emphasis. "I always did hate him. And he frightened my darling Aunt Stella at the gate yesterday. I--could have--killed him for it."
"What did he do?" asked Bernard.
"I don't know quite; but the car twisted round on the hill, and Aunt Stella thought it was going to upset. I tried to take care of her, but we were both nearly run over. He's a horrid man!" Tessa declared. "He caught hold of me the other day because I got between him and Mother when they were sitting smoking together. And I bit him." Vindictive satisfaction sounded in Tessa's voice. "I bit him hard. He soon let go again."
"Wasn't he angry?" asked Bernard.
"Oh, yes, very angry. So was Mother. She told him he might whip me if he liked. Fancy being whipped by a native!" High scorn thrilled in the words. "But he didn't. He laughed in his slithery way and showed his teeth like a jackal and said--and said--I was too pretty to be whipped." Tessa ground her teeth upon the memory. It was evidently even-more humiliating than the suggested punishment. "And then he kissed me--he kissed me--" she shuddered at the nauseating recollection--"and let me go."
Bernard was listening attentively. His eyes were less kindly than usual. They had a steely look. "I should keep out of his way, if I were you," he said.
"I will--I do!" declared Tessa. "But I do hate the way he goes on with Mother. He'd never have dared if Daddy had been here."
"He is evidently a bounder," said Bernard.
They sat for some time on the verandah, growing pleasantly intimate, till presently Peter