by Maud Diver
CHAPTER XXIX.
"The man was my whole world, all the time, With his flowers and praise, and his weeds to blame; And either, or both, to love." --Browning.
The Father of the District never saw his unruly children again; nor didMrs Dudley Norton ever return to Dera Ishmael Khan. The telegram hedespatched to her on arrival, made light of his wound, and its possibleresult; perhaps because pride urged him to take the initiative ratherthan submit to the culminating proof of her total detachment from him;perhaps because he shrewdly guessed that she could not reach him intime.
It had needed all the reserves of strength that are the reward of cleanand temperate living, to keep him alive throughout the return marches.Yet the feat was accomplished, and his official report--a lucid,vigorous bit of work--drawn up in full; with the result that, inleisurely course of time--a mere trifle of seven months or so after theevent--there appeared in the 'Army Gazette' the names of Major Desmond,V.C., Captain Lenox, C.I.E., and Lieutenant Richardson, as officers onwhom her Majesty had been graciously pleased to bestow theDistinguished Service Order. The principal Native officers, whosegallantry had been so notable a feature of that grim day's work,received the coveted Order of Merit; Hira Singh and his brother beinggazetted, though killed, that their widows might draw a larger pension.For England is rarely unmindful of her heroes; notwithstanding hersuperb dilatoriness in honouring the men who risk death and disablementfor the maintenance of her scattered Empire.
With the completion of the report, on which his heart was set, the willto live deserted Dudley Norton. To drop in harness was, as he had saidto Quita, a kinder fate than the dismal disintegration of a lovelessold age; and the loosening of his grip on life brought reaction sharpand sudden, from which he never rallied again.
His death, following close upon that of the two Sikh officers, cast atemporary gloom over the station; and on the occasion of itsannouncement, the two chief papers of Upper India broke out intojournalistic eulogies on the notable qualities of the man's work andcharacter; extolling his strength and breadth of purpose and of view;his daring disregard for red-tape and all the paraphernalia ofmechanical officialdom; and above all, his remarkable hold upon theFrontier tribes; administering, too late--with true humanperversity--the praise that had been so grudgingly dealt out to himwhen ambition was at its height, when a word or two of generousrecognition would have atoned in some measure for the failure andembitterment of his private life. Finally, they commiserated with theman on whom would devolve the insuperable task of replacing a DudleyNorton.
He arrived in due course:--a stop-gap from an obscure down-countrystation; a man of hide-bound conventionalism, who brought with himthree children and a washed-out, subdued-looking wife, and who spokemagnanimously of Norton as "a clever fellow, of course, but deplorablycasual officially." With such haphazard shifting of pawns on thechess-board is the momentous game of Empire played. Yet long afterDudley Norton's name had been almost forgotten by the overtasked,fluctuating world of Anglo-India, it still remained a household wordamong the Mahsud Waziris, whose brothers in blood had so treacherouslytaken his life.
And while Norton lay dying at the Desmonds' bungalow, Richardson wasestablished under his friend's roof as a matter of course. For this isIndia: the land of the Good Samaritan, as those who have lived therelongest know best. It has been well said that "an Englishman's housein India is not his castle, but a thousand better things--a casualward, a convalescent home, a rest-house for the strayed traveller; andhe himself is the steward of it merely." That this is no exaggerationbut simple fact, Quita had already seen; and now, when she herself wascalled upon to obey the unwritten law of her husband's country andservice, Lenox noted, with a throb of pride, that for all her artist'stendency to shrink from pain and suffering, she rose to the situationlike a high-mettled horse to a fence.
On their first evening together, when Dick, under the mercifulinfluence of morphia, had forgotten pain in sleep, Lenox spoke to herof the thought that troubled his mind.
He was lying back luxuriously in his deep chair--the wounded shoulderand left arm scientifically bandaged--while Quita hovered about him, orknelt at his side; her every tone and gesture, and the misty shining ofher eyes, enveloping him in so exquisite an atmosphere of tendernessthat, like Stevenson, Lenox felt inclined to vote for separations (notto say wounds) when they were both safely over!
"Come here a minute, darling," he said at length, drawing her downbeside him. "I want to tell you about Dick. There's no getting at therights of it, of course. He won't say a word himself; and I went allto pieces for the moment. I only know that when the firing washottest, he managed to cross in front of me; that the bullet in his legought by rights to have gone into mine; and it's quite bad enough toknow that."
Quita's eyes swam in sudden tears. "I always thought him a dearfellow," she said softly. "Just a dear fellow; not much more. Butnow--one begins to admire your 'Dick.'"
Lenox nodded. "You never quite know what stuff a fellow's made of tillhe gets his chance."
But Quita, crouching lower, had bowed her forehead upon his hand.
"What is it, lass?" he asked; and when she looked up, not only herlashes, but her cheeks were wet.
"Eldred, am I hideously wicked?" she faltered. "I was--I was thankingGod that he _did_ take his chance. Think--if it _had_ been you! _Am_I wicked?"
He drew her close, and kissed her. "Hardly that, dearest. Only veryhuman."
"But there's no danger, is there? No permanent damage done?"
"No. Mercifully the bullet only grazed the bone. He may have a weekof fever, and a slow convalescence; but you'll not grudge the troubleof nursing him, after what I've told you."
"I'd never have done that. And now,"--she rose to her feet, her eyeskindling,--"now it will be a privilege. Oh, I'll be ever so good tohim," she added under her breath.
And for the next three weeks--being, as she had said, a creature ofextremes--she was so uniformly and enchantingly 'good to him' thatthose long days of fever, pain, and enforced idleness were among themost delectable Max Richardson had ever known, or ever wished to know;that, in truth, each landmark on the road back to health and duty couldno longer be regarded with that unmixed satisfaction common to themasculine invalid.
But Richardson was too little capable of analysis to be troubled bythis wrong-headed state of things, or to detect the hidden seed fromwhich his flower of contentment sprang. Mrs Lenox was astonishinglykind to him, and quite the most charming companion a sick man coulddesire: that was all.
His sharp bout of fever once over, she sang to him, read to him, arguedwith him on a quaint variety of subjects, enlarging his mental horizon,drawing out thoughts and opinions at whose existence he had neverguessed till now. But for him the hidden charm of their intercourselay less in what she said or sang, than in the vibrations of her voice;in the quick response of lips and eyes to her April changes of mood;and more than all in her unfailing spirit of humour, which broke up themonotone of days spent in a long chair as a prism breaks white lightinto a band of brilliant colours. For Quita's genius was not of thehighly specialised order. It did not inhabit an air-tight compartmentof her brain where pictures grew. It pervaded her whole personality.It was not merely a genius for art, but for living, for being vital,for seeing and feeling and doing all that it is possible to see andfeel and do in the sum of man's threescore years and ten. Small wonderthen if Max Richardson enjoyed his convalescence, and was in no hurryto complete the process.
As for Quita, she was unconsciously slipping back to her favouritepastime, to that alluring compound of friendship and etherealisedflirtation which she had likened to fencing with the buttons off thefoils. The outcome of her last fencing-bout might have awakenedglimmerings of caution in a less reckless offender. But Richardson wasnot to be named in the same day with James Garth; and in his case itwas less a matter of fencing than of 'two heads bending over the sameboard till they touch, and the thrill passes between them';
a dangerousvariation of the same amusement. The two heads had not touched as yet.In all probability they never would. But prophecy is unsafe where thehuman heart is in question: and as the month slipped by, and Eldred'sreabsorption in the Battery and the hated articles left them constantlyalone together, Quita grew genuinely fond of this big, fair man, withhis unruffled sweetness of temper, and lazily smiling eyes. Hesatisfied the lighter elements in her nature as completely as herhusband satisfied its deeper needs; and in truth, so little did oneman's sphere of influence trench upon the other's, that she had almostbeen capable of loving both at once; each with a different set offaculties:--an achievement only possible to that bewildering creation,the artist woman!
Not that Quita had yet achieved anything so remarkable. But herfeeling for Richardson, founded upon gratitude and built up bysympathy, was a real thing; and being singularly free from the taint ofbaser clay, she frankly acknowledged the fact, not only to herself but,on more than one occasion, to her husband, thinking to please him byher appreciation of his friend.
But man is born to perversity as the sparks fly upward; which is morethan half the reason why he is born to trouble. Also, perversityapart, it was early days for a husband, endowed with the normal man'sdesire for exclusive possession, to stand the strain of a triangularhousehold. Therefore, when Quita, extolling Richardson's patience andgratitude, remarked for the second time with unguarded fervour, "Onereally grows much too fond of the dear fellow," Lenox turned upon her astraight glance of scrutiny.
"Great luck for him. Have you ever told him so, I wonder?"
The undernote of sarcasm in his half-bantering tone brought the bloodto her cheeks. But her manner froze in proportion to her inward heat.
"Am I given to making promiscuous declarations of that sort?"
"Not that I am aware of. But you have rather original ideas on theplatonic question; and one can never quite tell where you draw theline."
"I draw it at telling a man I am fond of him," she answered, with aslight lift of her head. "Even a man so little likely to misunderstandone as your Dick."
"Is _that_ what you call him now?"
"I won't answer such a question. You may think what you please."
Then, in defiance of dignity and pride, her lip quivered, and she camecloser to him.
"Eldred, what makes you say such detestable things? I thought youwanted me to be good to him. Are you--angry with me about it now?"
The touch of hesitancy, so rare in her, disarmed the man, reawakenedhis better self; and slipping an arm round her, he crushed her againsthim with a force that took away her breath.
"I'm a selfish brute, Quita. That's all about it," he said bluntly."And Dick's the best chap in the world."
She hid her eyes a moment against his coat. Then straightened herself,and stood away from him. "You exaggerate the selfishness, I assureyou," she said, smiling at his gravity of aspect. "And even if youdidn't, I could forgive that; but not that you should so misunderstandmy whole nature. Honestly, Eldred, I would almost rather you struckme."
"Struck you? Great Scott!"
The amazement in his eyes brought a sparkle into her own.
"Yes, exactly. That's so like a man! D'you fancy I don't know that ifyou laid your littlest finger on me roughly, in a moment of heat, you'dnever forgive yourself? Yet you struck something much more sensitivethan my mere body, when you said you couldn't tell where I drew theline. I may not have been reared upon copy-book maxims, but I have myown ideas about the fitness of things; even if they don't coincide withyours, at least I think I may be trusted not to disgrace you."
"Do you really need to tell me that, Quita?"
"It seems so--after what you said just now."
He frowned. "You can wipe out what I said just now, lass. It wasspoken in annoyance."
"Well, please don't say such things again, even in annoyance; or therewill never be any peace between us. Besides, my dear, they are quite,quite unworthy of you, and no one knows that better than yourself."
She came closer now, and laying both hands upon him, lifted her face tohis. Then she left the study, with the seal of reconciliation upon herlips, and revived assurance in her heart.
But Lenox, drawing out pipe and tobacco-pouch, as he watched her go,was discomfortably aware that his first attempt at remonstrance hadended in strategic surrender. Not only had he failed to dispel thenameless cloud that hung upon him, but he had managed matters so illthat now the whole subject must be labelled 'dangerous'; not to bereopened except under special stress of circumstance.
"She needs riding on the snaffle," was his masculine reflection,arising from the natural conviction that in all matters of moment themastery must rest with him; which was not Quita's view by any means;and her husband was just beginning to recognise the fact. He noted, inspite of her genuine devotion, a curious detachment, mental and moral,a certain airy evasion of common, womanly responsibility, the freeattitude of the good comrade rather than the wife; inherent tendencies,fostered and established by the dead years that took their toll atevery turn.
Each week of living with her deepened his conviction that the winningof the entire woman would be a matter of time and trouble; of acquiringknowledge in which he was still sadly deficient. And how infinitelyshe was worth it all! He reminded himself that the first year ofmarriage was proverbially difficult; that two pronouncedindividualities could not be expected to fuse without a certain degreeof turmoil; and having lighted his pipe, he flung himself into a chair,and closed his eyes.
For his trouble of mind had a physical basis of which his wife knewnothing. His wound, though only keeping him on the sick-list a week,had given him a good deal of pain, intermittent fever, and brokennights, which he had made light of that Quita might feel free to devoteherself to Richardson, whose first bout of fever had been severe. Butwhen pain and heated blood had subsided, the broken nights remained. Acrushed habit--let it be never so sternly trodden under--retains itsvitality for an amazing length of time. Lenox fought the threatenedreturn of insomnia with every legitimate weapon; spent the greater partof each night in his study, writing doggedly, or pacing the long roomwith mechanical persistence,--to no purpose.
Then, with a stunned incredulity, he realised what was happening.Stealthily, insistently, the old craving was reasserting its dominionover him. He had been prepared for the possibility of itsrecrudescence once or twice in the event of illness or mental strain,before he could count it conquered for good. But that it should havecome so soon, and upon so slight a provocation, knocked all the heartout of him; blackened for the time being his whole outlook on life. Inordinary circumstances, he would have found it an unspeakable relief toshare the trouble with his wife; to give her the chance she had once sodesired of helping him to fight against it. But now they were rarelyalone together for long; and her lightly detached attitude tended toestablish rather than dispel his native instinct of reserve. Moreover,she was so happily absorbed in ministering to his friend, that heshrank from shadowing her bright nature with the cloud that darkenedhis own;--a mistake arising from his rudimentary knowledge of women.For an appeal to her deeper sympathies might have wakened herundeveloped mother instinct; and by drawing them into closer unionmight have averted much. But in the last event, it is 'character thatmakes circumstance, and character is inexorable.'
Thus Lenox, lying back in his chair, was still far from recognising hisfundamental error. He was simply pondering Quita's last words to him,and endorsing their truth with characteristic honesty. He had puthimself in the wrong by his manner of broaching the subject; but thebelief in his right to speak of it remained. He was prepared to put upwith a good deal for Dick, but not for others; and it was beginning todawn upon him that Dick was in all likelihood the first of a series;that only so could her need for varied companionship be satisfied. Anidea that suggested disturbing contingencies. His mind reverted toGarth, to Sir Roger Bennet, and to the nameless unknowns who hadprobably bridged the space betw
een. Since her frank confession ofloyalty at Kajiar, he had refrained from expressing curiosity on thesubject. But a man cannot always keep his mind from straying intoforbidden places. "If only she would not treat the whole crew as ifthey were her brothers; and favourite brothers at that!" had been histhought more than once during the past few months. It was all verywell with Dick,--a gentleman through and through, without a grain ofconceit in him; but there were scores of others who would notunderstand. Garth, for instance, had clearly not understood; and forher sake, as well as his own, Lenox did not choose that she shouldmultiply mistakes of that kind.
With a sigh, he drew out his watch, remembering that he had consentedto be one of the judges at the Punjab Infantry sports, in which some ofhis own men and Native officers were taking part. Perhaps Quita woulddrive down with him: but he would not press the point.
Her infectious laughter seemed to challenge and rebuke his black mood,as he opened the drawing-room door to find her taking her patient for awalking tour, his hand resting on her shoulder; her face alight withencouragement, looking up into his. For it was this big man, with hisdependence, and his simplicity of character, who had wakened the motherspirit in Quita after all; though she was not yet alive to the fact.
They stood still when Lenox appeared, Richardson a little breathlessfrom some recent effort.
"He tripped over your bear's head, and I saved him from falling!" Quitaexplained triumphantly. "I wanted him to try without the crutch,because Dr Courtenay takes him in to dinner to-night; and he hardly hadto lean on me at all!"
"I told Mrs Lenox you'd be down on me if I turned her into awalking-stick," Richardson added in half-laughing apology. "But sheinsisted. And you know how much chance a fellow has when she insists!"
"Yes--_I_ know," Lenox answered, such depth of conviction in his tonethat Quita laughed again.
"_Mon Dieu_--listen to the man! One would think I spent half my timeinsisting on his doing what he hates; which is a rank libel! Now, MrRichardson, back to your chair, please. You've done enough for onewhile."
Lenox put out a hand to steady him across the room.
"He's going to beat me at picquet now, by way of gratitude," Quitaremarked, shaking out his pillows and settling him in. "Are _you_ offanywhere, _mon cher_?"
"Yes: to the P. I. sports. I'm one of the judges."
"Then it would be quite useless to go with you. But I'll ride down, ifyou like."
Lenox hesitated. He had seen the shadow of disappointment in hissubaltern's eyes.
"N . . no," he said at length. "Better stop and play with Dick. WhenI come back I'll get you up into the trap, old man, and take you for adrive before dinner. Who's coming, Quita? Just the Desmonds andCourtenay?"
"Yes; and the Ollivers."
"I'm glad. She's good company."
"Which is more than I can say of _him_," Quita remarked, as the doorclosed behind her husband. "And he takes me in. Poor me! But you'llbe on the other side; and you must be very kind to me to make up."
He smiled gravely upon her, without replying. She had establishedherself on a low stool fronting him; elbows on knees, hands framing herface, her fearless eyes searching his own.
"What are you smiling at?" she asked.
"The notion of a great buffer like me being 'kind' to _you_. It's youand Lenox who are a long sight too kind to me. You're spoiling mebetween you. Why didn't you go to the sports with him just now?"
"Because I didn't choose!" she answered sweetly. "And as forspoiling,--what else did we have you here for? The only thing I ask inreturn is that you will give up this nonsense about not letting mepaint your portrait. Will you, please?"
He was silent a moment, tugging at his fair moustache, his eyesavoiding hers. Then:
"It wouldn't be worth all the work you'd put into it," he objected withan uneasy laugh.
"I'm the best judge of that. Inspiration's been dead in me for months;and now that you have set the spark ablaze, it's hardly fair orgracious to fling cold water on the poor thing. But of course if thesittings would bore you, now you can move about a bit----"
"Bore me? Mrs Lenox!" He looked straight at her now, emphatic denialin his gaze; and she nodded contentedly, knowing that her point wasgained.
"That's a mercy," she said. "Put on your service kit to-morrowmorning, and we'll start in earnest. I'm longing to begin. But in themeantime you are generously permitted to beat me at picquet!"
The dinner that evening was, as Quita explained, "Just a familyaffair," to celebrate Richardson's good progress, and drink success tothe punitive expedition, which on that very day was filing through theGomal Pass into Mahsud territory, to take toll, not only in men'slives, but 'in steer and gear and stack' for that day of treachery andblack disaster, whose hidden motive still remained a mystery even tothose most intimate with the tribes of the district.
Honor, who had not seen Lenox for nearly a week, was struck by a changein him, whose significance she understood too well. The lurking shadowin his eyes, the bitterness in his tone,--recalling 'bad days' last hotweather,--so troubled her that she found surface talk and laughter aneffort, and felt grateful to Frank, who could always be counted uponfor more than her share of both.
She rallied him on his gravity, in happy ignorance of the cause.
"Sure ye're just in low water, Captain Lenox," she declared with herbig laugh, "because your dapper little screw guns have been left out ofthe show. You want to be hitting the scoundrels back with your ownshells, eh?"
To which Lenox replied in an undertone of savage conviction thatpuzzled Honor.
"You never made a straighter shot, Mrs Olliver. I'd give five years ofmy life to be taking the Battery through the Gomal to-day."
But if Lenox had little to say for himself, Quita was not in the samedilemma. In fact, it seemed to Desmond that she talked a little toodaringly, a little too much; and for the first lime he found hisappreciation tinged with criticism.
He had gathered from Lenox that she knew little or nothing of hishidden trouble; but it struck him that a wife of the right sort (Honor,for instance) would have guessed the truth by now. He knew how littleLenox appreciated the constant influx of men to tea and dinner; and oneor two people--of the social vulture species--had already spoken to himof her friendship with Richardson in the tone of voice which madeDesmond clench and pocket his fists, lest he should knock them down outof hand. He took advantage of his seat next the Gunner to mention,under cover of general conversation, his anxiety about Lenox's health;and managed also to take part in most of his talk with Quita throughoutthe meal.
She redoubled her friendliness to Richardson by way of flinging downher gage; whereupon Desmond with admirable _insouciance_ retired fromthe lists. Once or twice her eyes challenged his, half-puzzled,half-defiant. Her quick perception detected his critical attitude, andin her present mood the undernote of antagonism acted as a spur ratherthan a check upon the dare-devil strain in her, which was responsiblefor her odd mingling of folly and heroic self-devotion.
Before the ladies left the table, the success and thoroughness of theexpedition was proposed with cheers; followed by a second toast, drunkin silence, to the memory of the three men who had been alive in theirmidst less than a month ago: and later in the evening--when theOllivers, Richardson, and Courtenay were absorbed in whist, and Honorhad gone out with Lenox into the garden, where a late moon wasrising--Desmond lured Quita to the piano at the far end of the room byasking her to sing.
At the close of the second song, he leaned his elbow on the top of theinstrument, and stood so, searching her face with such discomposingdirectness that a burning wave of colour submerged her, and she droppedher eyes.
"I don't believe you ever criticised me till to-night, Major Desmond,"she murmured, striking soft chords at random with her left hand.
"Not since I really came to know you," he answered in the same tone."You have never given me cause."
"Well--I don't like it."
"Few of us do. You prefer indiscriminate admiration?"
The flush deepened, but she looked up.
"I prefer your approval to your disapproval," she said, still movingher hand over the notes. "But I have always gone my own way; and Iwarn you that nothing rouses the devil in me like being scolded ordictated to."
"My dear Quita, I have no right nor wish to do either. I only want toask you a question or two--if I may?"
"What about?"
"Your husband. He won't consult Courtenay; and I am getting anxious.Would you mind telling me about how much sleep he has had this lastweek?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"As far as I know he hardly ever comes to bed at all."
"Quita, you are exaggerating!"
"I only mean, it's no use asking me for accurate information."
"But do you know that insomnia's a serious thing--especially for him?"
"Yes. I made a fuss when he first began working late. It's bad forhim and a nuisance for me. But I have given that up now. He's asobstinate as I am about going his own way. It's almost the onlyquality we share in common."
"Don't you feel it might be worth trying again?"
"Possibly. If _you_ think I ought."
Desmond's eyes twinkled at the implied compliment.
"I do think it."
She sighed.
"Oh, well,--I don't promise, and we've had enough of the dismal subjectfor now. One never seems allowed to enjoy one's self in peace. D'youwant more music, or--would you prefer whist?"
"I'm to cut in, and leave Richardson free. Is that it?"
The blush that still burned in her cheeks spread slowly over her neckto the soft lace at her breast; and the man felt that in his momentaryvexation he had struck too hard. Then her eyes flashed fire into his.
"Major Desmond, if you begin saying things like that to me--I shall_hate_ you."
"No, Quita. It'll never be that between us. I apologise. But youknow I care immensely for your husband, and it angers me to seeyou--apparently indifferent . . ."
"Indifferent? How _dare_ you . . . ?" she breathed low andpassionately, her breath coming in small gasps.
"I understand. But I'm not sorry I roused you.--Here comes Honor. Iknow she wants to get home early. Good-night to you. Am I forgiven?"
"No. But you will be--to-morrow morning. I believe one could forgiveyou almost anything."
"I'll not be base enough to take advantage of such a generousadmission," he answered, smiling and grasping her hand.
Lenox, with a keen glance at his wife's face, followed the Desmondsinto the verandah, and helped Honor into her seat.
"You'll keep your promise, won't you?" she pleaded. "And go straightto bed without even looking into your study. Never mind if the lampburns there all night. You can charge me for the kerosene!"
"That's a bargain then," he answered, laughing. "It's like old timesto have _you_ laying commands on me again!"
"Not only to-night, remember: a whole week of nights and more."
"Trust me. I have promised. Good-night, Mrs Desmond, and thank you."
As the dog-cart turned into the open road, Honor spoke: "Theo, if shelets him go to pieces again . . . I shall never, never forgive her."
There was a break in her low voice, and Desmond slipping a hand throughher arm, pressed it close against him.
"You dear blessed woman, no fear of that. She cares,--with all herheart. But there are faults and difficulties on both sides; and I'mafraid they have still a lot of rough ground to get over before theysettle into their stride."
And Quita, the perverse, Quita, the inconsistent, cried herself tosleep that night upon her husband's shoulder.
