CHAPTER XXV
THE PRICE
That darkness was to Olga but the beginning of a long, long night of suffering—such suffering as her short life had never before compassed—such suffering as she had never imagined the world could hold.
It went in a slow and dreadful circle, this suffering, like the turning of a monstrous wheel. Sometimes it was so acute that she screamed with the red-hot agony of it. At other times it would draw away from her for a space, so that she was vaguely conscious that the world held other things, possibly even other forms of torture. Such intervals were generally succeeded by intense cold, racking, penetrating cold that nothing could ever alleviate, cold that was as Death itself, freezing her limbs to stiffness, congealing the blood in her veins, till even her heart grew slower and slower, and at last stood still.
Then, when it seemed the end of all things had come, some unknown power would jerk it on again like a run-down watch in which the key had suddenly been inserted, and she would feel the key grinding round and round and round in a winding-up process that was even more dreadful than the running-down. Then would come agonies of heat and thirst, a sense of being strung to breaking-point, and her heart would race and race till, appalled, she clasped it with her fevered hands and held it back, feeling herself on the verge of destruction.
And through all this dreadful nightmare she never slept. She was hedged about by a fiery ring of sleeplessness that scorched her eyeballs whichever way she turned, giving her no rest. Sometimes indeed dreams came to her, but they were waking dreams of such vivid horror as almost to dwarf her reality of pain. She moved continually through a furnace that only abated when the exhausted faculties began to run down and the deathly chill took her into fresh torments.
Once, lying very near to death, she opened her sleepless eyes upon Max's face. He was stooping over her, holding her nerveless hand very tightly in his own while he pressed a needle-point into her arm. That, she knew, was the preliminary to the winding-up process. It had happened to her before—many times she fancied.
She made a feeble—a piteously feeble—effort to resist him. On the instant his eyes were upon her face. She saw the green glint of them and quivered at the sight. His face was as carved granite in the weird light that danced so fantastically to her reeling brain.
"Yes," he said grimly. "You are coming back."
Then she knew that his will, indomitable, inflexible, was holding her fast, heedless of all the longing of her heart to escape. Then she knew that he, and only he, was the unknown power that kept her back from peace, forcing her onward in that dread circle, compelling her to live in torment. And in that moment she feared him as the victim fears the torturer, not asking for mercy, partly because she lacked the strength and partly because she knew—how hopelessly!—that she would ask in vain.
He did not speak to her again. He was fully occupied, it seemed, with what he had to do. Only, when he had finished, he put his hand over her eyes, compelling them to close, and so remained for what seemed to her a long, long time. For a while she vibrated like a sensitive instrument under his touch, and then very strangely there stole upon her for the first time a sense of comfort. When he took his hand away, she was asleep….
Max turned at last from the bed, nodded briefly to the nurse, and went as silently as a shadow from the room.
Another shadow waited for him on the threshold, and in the light of the passage outside the room they stood face to face.
"She will live," said Max curtly.
"And—" said Nick. He was blinking very rapidly as one dazzled.
"Yes; her reason is coming back. She knew me just now."
"Knew you!"
Max nodded without speaking.
Nick turned his yellow face for a moment towards the open window on the stairs. His lips twitched a little. He said no word.
Max leaned against the wall, and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. Sharp as a ferret, Nick turned.
"Come downstairs, old chap! You've been working like a nigger for the past fortnight. You'll knock up if you are not careful."
Max went with him in silence.
At the foot of the stairs he spoke again. "I shall hand her over to Dr. Jim now. She will do better with him than with me as she gets more sensible."
And so a new presence came into Olga's room, and the figure of her dread appeared no more before her waking eyes. Not at first did she realize the change, for it was only fitfully that her brain could register any definite impression. But one day when strong hands lifted her, something of familiarity in the touch caught her wavering intelligence. She looked up and saw a rugged face she knew.
"Dad!" she said incredulously.
"Of course!" said Dr. Jim bluntly. "Only just found that out?"
She made a feeble attempt to cling to him, smiling a welcome through tears. "Oh, Dad, where have you been?"
"I?" said Dr. Jim. "Why, here to be sure, for the past week. Now we won't have any talking. You shut your eyes like a sensible young woman and go to sleep!"
He had always exacted obedience from her. She obeyed him now. "But you won't go away again?" she pleaded.
"Certainly not," he said, and took her hand into his own.
The last thing she knew was the steady pressure of his fingers on her pulse.
From that time her strength began very slowly to return. The suffering grew less and less intense, till at last it visited her only when she tried to think. And this she was sternly forbidden to do by Dr. Jim, whose word was law.
She was like a little child in those days, conscious only of the passing moment, although even then at the back of her mind she was aware of a monstrous shadow that was never wholly absent day or night. Her father and the nurse were the only people she saw during those early days, and she came to watch for the former's coming with a child's eager impatience.
"I dreamed about Nick last night," she told him one morning. "I wish he would come home, don't you?"
"What do you want Nick for?" he said, possessing himself of her wrist as usual.
"I don't know," she said, knitting her brows. "But it's such a long while since he went away."
He laid his hand on her forehead, and smoothed the lines away. "If you're a good girl," he said, "you shall go and stay with Nick at Redlands when you are well enough."
She looked up at him with puzzled eyes. "I thought Nick was in India,
Daddy."
"He was," said Dr. Jim. "But he has come back."
"Then he is at Redlands?" she asked eagerly.
He met her look with his black brows drawn in a formidable frown. "Go slow!" he said. "Yes, he is staying at Redlands."
"Oh, may he come and see me?" she begged.
Dr. Jim considered the point. "If you will promise to keep very quiet," he said finally, "I will let you see him for five minutes only."
"Now?" she asked eagerly.
"Yes, now," said Dr. Jim.
He rose with the words and went out of the room, leaving her struggling to fulfil his condition.
She thought he would return to satisfy himself on this point, but he did not. When the door opened again it was to admit Nick alone.
She held out her arms to him, and in a second he was beside her, holding her fast.
"My poor little chicken!" he said, and though there seemed to be a laugh in his voice she fancied he was in some fashion more moved than she.
"They've cut off all my hair, Nick," she said. "That's the worst of scarlet fever, isn't it?"
"Hair will grow again, sweetheart," he said. "At least, yours will. Mine won't. I'm going as bald as a coot."
They laughed together over this calamity which was becoming undeniably obvious.
"You never did have much thatch, did you, Nick?" she said. "And I suppose India has spoilt what little you had."
"It's nice of you not to set it down to advancing years," said Nick.
"Muriel does."
"Muriel? Have you seen her lately?"
"This morning," said Nick.
"Oh?" There was surprised interrogation in Olga's voice. "Where is she, then?"
"At Redlands," said Nick; then, seeing her puzzled look: "We're married, you know, sweetheart."
"Oh?" she said again. "I didn't know."
"It's some time ago now," said Nick. "We've got a little kiddie called
Reggie. He's at Redlands too."
"I remember now," Olga smiled understanding. "How is Reggie?" she asked.
"Oh, going strong," said Nick. "He'll soon be as big as I am."
She stretched up a shaky hand to stroke his parchment face. "You're the biggest man I know, Nick," she said softly. "Dad says I may come and stay with you at Redlands. Will you have me?"
"Rather!" said Nick. "There's your own room waiting for you."
"Dear Nick!" she murmured. "You are good to me."
She lay still for a few seconds, holding his hand. Her eyes were wandering round the room. They reached him at last, alert and watchful by her side.
"Nick!" she said.
"What is it, kiddie?"
"There's something I can't remember," she said. "And it hurts me when I try. Nick, what is it?"
He answered her at once with great gentleness. "It's nothing you need worry your head about, dear. I know and so does Jim. You leave it to us till you are a bit stronger."
But she continued to look at him with trouble in her eyes. "I feel as if someone is calling me," she said.
"But that is not so," said Nick quickly and firmly. "Believe me, there is nothing for it but patience. Wait till you are stronger."
She submitted to the mandate, conscious of her own inability to do otherwise; but there was a touch of reproach in her voice as she said, "I thought you would help me, Nick."
"I will," he promised, "when the time comes."
That comforted her somewhat, for she trusted him implicitly; and when
Dr. Jim came in he found her quite tranquil.
Thereafter Nick was permitted to see her for a little every day, and she welcomed his visits with enthusiasm.
She would have welcomed Muriel also, but Dr. Jim had decreed that one visitor in the day was enough. She would see Muriel as soon as she was well enough to go to Redlands.
"I really think I am well enough to go now," she confided to Nick one morning. "Do try and persuade Dad."
Nick undertook to do so, with the result that late that night Dr. Jim came in, wrapped her in blankets, head and all as though she had been an infant, and carried her away.
It was a masterly move and achieved with such precision on his part that she had scarcely time to be surprised or excited before she was lying, still in his arms, in a motor and travelling rapidly through the darkness. He uncovered her face then and gave her his blunt permission to come up and breathe.
She clung to him delightedly. "Oh, Dad, isn't it fun? But you're going to stay at Redlands too?"
"For the present," said Dr. Jim.
"Who is taking your patients?" she asked him unexpectedly.
"A fellow from London, a youngster," said Dr. Jim. "Now no more talking, my girl! I'll have you in bed in five minutes and you must be fast asleep in ten."
She laid her cropped head down upon his shoulder, and asked no more.
But she could not wholly repress her astonishment when she abruptly found herself at Redlands. The adventure had all the suddenness of a fairy-tale. "We must have been scorching!" she exclaimed. "Why, we seem to have flown here!"
"It's necessary sometimes," said Dr. Jim.
His words did not wholly explain matters, but they effectually closed her lips; and she asked no more as he bore her up to the room she always occupied when staying in Nick's house. And thereafter she slept more peacefully and naturally than she had slept for a very long time.
In the morning she found another wonder awaiting her; for it was not the nurse who came to her bedside, but Muriel, grave and gentle and motherly, and somehow the sight of her seemed to unveil much that till then had been a mystery to Olga.
She greeted her very lovingly. "You can't imagine what it feels like to see you again," she whispered, with her arms round Muriel's neck. "But I do hope you and Dad haven't hurried back from Switzerland because of me."
Muriel smiled at her with great tenderness. "My darling, don't you know how precious you are?"
"Then you did!" said Olga. "I feel a horrid pig. How is Reggie?"
"He is splendid," said Reggie's mother, in the deep voice that always indicated depth of feeling also. "Much too gay and giddy to come and see you yet. Even Jim is satisfied with him. I couldn't ask for more than that, could I?"
She brought her a cup of milk and sat by the bed while she drank it. There was never any perturbing element in Muriel's presence. She carried ever with her the gracious quietness of a mind at rest.
Olga drank her milk with a most unwonted feeling of serenity. "Reggie certainly mustn't come near me yet," she said. "It would be awful if he caught it."
"There is nothing to catch, dear," said Muriel, as she took back the cup.
"Not scarlet fever?" said Olga in surprise.
"You haven't had scarlet fever," Muriel told her gently. "It was brain fever, following upon sunstroke. That is why we have to keep you so quiet."
"Oh!" said Olga. "Nick never told me that!"
"I don't suppose Dr. Jim would let him. But I told him I should." Muriel's hand, cool and reassuring, held hers. "There is no object in keeping it from you," she said. "You are getting well again, and you always had plenty of sense, dear. I know you will be sensible now."
"I'll certainly try," said Olga.
She lay quiet then for some time, apparently engrossed in thought though not distressed thereby. She turned her head at last and asked a sudden question.
"Will Nick go to India without me, Muriel?"
"No, dear. He is going to wait till you can go too," Muriel answered.
"Oh, Muriel!" She carried the quiet hand impulsively to her lips.
Muriel smiled. "Are you so anxious to go?"
"I should just think I am! But I know I'm horridly selfish. How can you bear to let him go?"
"My dear," Muriel said, "I don't think I could bear to keep him when I know he wants to go. You will have to take care of him for me."
"Oh, I will!" said Olga earnestly.
Very little more passed between them on the subject then, but it filled Olga's mind throughout the day, even to the exclusion of that sinister shadow that still lurked at the back of her consciousness.
Nick did not visit her until the evening, and then she at once began to talk of the topic that so occupied her thoughts.
"Do you know, I had actually forgotten about going to Sharapura, Nick?" she said. "I'm so glad I've remembered. It's something to be quick and get well for."
"Hear, hear!" said Nick, with a whoop of delight.
She laughed at his enthusiasm, and he suddenly recollected himself and entreated her to keep calm.
"If Jim knew I had made you laugh, he'd kick me to a jelly, and give you a blue pill."
Whereat she laughed a little more. "That would be more like Max than
Daddy Jim." And there suddenly she stopped short, the colour flooding
her pale face. "Why," she said, frowning confusedly, "I had forgotten
Max too. How is Max?"
"He's all right," said Nick lightly. "Shall I give him your love?"
"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "Don't give him anything of mine!
He—wouldn't understand."
"All right, my chicken," said Nick, with cheery unconcern. "He's got a little brother in the East by the way. I wonder if we shall run across him."
She did not echo the wonder. Her forehead was drawn in the old, painful lines, and she scarcely responded to the rest of his airy conversation.
When Dr. Jim visited her later in the evening he grunted disapproval.
"What's the matter now?" he asked her, with keen eyes on her troubled face.
"I don't know," she murmured wistfully.
"Yes, you do. Come, tell me!" He sat down on the edge of the bed with the evident determination to get at the root of the matter.
She held back for a little, but finally, finding him obdurate, sat up and drew herself within the circle of his arm.
"There, my dear! What is it?" said Dr. Jim.
She hid her face on his shoulder. "Dad, it—it's something to do with
Max," she whispered.
"Max? Who is Max?" demanded Dr. Jim inquisitorially, the while he cuddled her close.
"Oh, you know, dear,—Dr. Wyndham," she murmured.
"Oh! So you call him Max, do you?" said Jim drily. "That's an innovation, so far as I am concerned."
"I couldn't help it," she faltered, hiding her face a little lower. "He made me."
"Did he indeed?" said Dr. Jim. "Well? What's the trouble?"
"I—I can't remember," she whispered forlornly.
"Are you in love with him?" asked Dr. Jim abruptly.
She lifted her face with a great start. "No!" she gasped breathlessly.
He looked at her with a semi-humorous frown. "Well, that's something definite to go upon anyhow. Can't stand him at any price, eh?"
She smiled a little doubtfully. "I couldn't at one time. But now—now—"
"Yes? Now?" said Dr. Jim.
"I'm just—afraid of him," she said, a piteous quiver in her voice.
"What for?" Dr. Jim sounded stern, but his hold was very comforting.
"That's just it," said Olga. "I don't remember. I can't remember. But I know he is angry—for some reason. I think—I think I must have done—something he didn't like. Anyhow—I know he is angry."
Dr. Jim grunted again. "Does that matter?" he asked after a moment.
She clung to him very fast. "It will matter—when I see him again."
"And if you don't see him again?" said Dr. Jim.
"Oh, Dad!" she said, with a deep breath.
"Well?" he persisted. "Would that simplify matters? Would that set your mind at rest?"
"Oh, yes, it would!" she said, with immense relief.
He gave her an abrupt kiss, and laid her down. "Very well then. That's settled," he said. "You shan't see him again. Now go to sleep!"
But though she knew he would keep his promise, she was not wholly satisfied, nor did sleep come to her very readily. Her mind was vaguely disturbed. The thought of Max had set her brain in a turmoil which she literally dared not attempt to pursue to its source. She was beginning to be desperately afraid of the mystery she could not penetrate.
She was not so well in the morning, and Dr. Jim rigidly refused to allow either Nick or Muriel at her bedside.
He himself was there during the greater part of the day, watching her, waiting upon her, with a vigilance that never slackened. She suffered a good deal of pain, but his unremitting care did much to alleviate it, and in the evening she was better again, albeit considerably weakened.
After that, her progress was slow, and finding the effort of thought beyond her, she was forced wearily to give up the attempt to think. Even when at length her strength returned sufficiently for her to be carried downstairs and laid on a couch in the garden, the mystery still remained a mystery, and for some reason unintelligible even to herself she had grown content to leave it so. She avoided all thought of it with a morbid dread that was in part physical; for any attempt at concentration in those days always entailed a headache that rendered her practically blind and speechless for hours.
Meantime, they sought to keep her occupied with thoughts of her coming adventure in the East with Nick. There were many preparations to be made, and Muriel tackled them with a steady energy that could not fail to excite Olga's interest. She even roused herself to assist, though Dr. Jim would not permit her to do much, and would often rise and take the work out of her hands when her eyes began to droop.
She had her hours of great depression also, when life was nothing but a burden and she would weep without knowing why. On these occasions Nick was invaluable. He had a wonderful knack of banishing those tears, and in his cheery presence the burden was never insupportable.
It was on Nick's wiry strength that she leaned when she tottered forth for her first walk in the garden. She would probably have wept over her weakness if he had not made her laugh at it instead. It was a morning of soft misty sunshine in the early autumn, and a robin trilled his gay greeting to them as they slowly crept along.
"Jolly little beggar!" said Nick. "Robins always appeal tome. They know how to be cheerful in adversity. Care to go down to the glen, sweetheart? I'll haul you back again."
Yes, Olga would go to the glen. It was a favourite haunt with both of them. The sun glinted on the narrow pathway as they went. The twinkle of the stream was like fairy laughter, with every now and then a secret gurgle as of a laugh suppressed.
They halted on the mossy bank, Nick's arm affording active support. Olga looked down thoughtfully into the running water.
"The last time I was here," she said slowly, "was on the day I went to the Priory to—ask—Violet—to come and stay with me. That must be ages ago."
"Oh, ages!" said Nick.
She turned to him with a puzzled air. "I wonder Violet hasn't been to see me, Nick. Where is she?"
His flickering eyes were searching the stream. "She's gone away," he said.
"Oh! Where has she gone?"
"Haven't a notion," he said indifferently.
"I wonder I haven't heard," mused Olga. "I suppose she hasn't written?"
"Not to my knowledge," said Nick. His attention was obviously still fixed upon the babbling water.
"Oh, well, she hardly ever does write," commented Olga. "And you don't know where she is gone?"
"I do not," said Nick.
At this point his preoccupation seemed to strike her. "What are you looking at?" she asked.
He nodded towards a clump of ferns that fringed the bank. "I thought I saw my friend the scarlet butterfly. There is a beauty lives hereabouts. Yes; by Jove, there he is! See him, Olga?"
Even as he spoke the scarlet butterfly emerged from its hiding place and fluttered down the stream.
Olga uttered a sharp cry that brought Nick's eyes to her face. "What's the matter, kiddie? What is it?"
For a moment she was too overcome to tell him. Then: "Oh, Nick," she said, "I saw that butterfly the last time I was here. It was fluttering along just like that. And then—all of a sudden—a dreadful green dragon-fly flashed out on it, and—and—I didn't see it any more."
"Cheer up!" said Nick. "Evidently it escaped."
"Oh, I wonder!" she said, in a voice of puzzled distress. "I do wonder!"
His shrewd glance returned to the moth quivering like a flower petal in the breeze. "Well, there it is!" he said cheerily. "Let's give it the benefit of the doubt."
Her face did not wholly clear. "I wish I knew," she said. "Do you really think it can be the same, Nick?"
"I've never seen more than one," said Nick, "so it would appear to be a more artful dodger than you took it for. I don't see friend dragon-fly anywhere about."
She shuddered suddenly and convulsively. "No, and I hope he isn't here. Do you know what he made me think of? Max; so strong, so merciless, and so horribly clever."
"I'm clever too," said Nick modestly.
"Oh, but in a different way," protested Olga.
Again his quick eyes flashed over her. "I think you are rather hard on
Max myself," he said unexpectedly.
"I?" said Olga.
"Yes, you, my dear. You've no right to regard him in that unwholesome light. He doesn't deserve it. He is quite a decent sort; a little too managing perhaps, but that's just his way. You might go further and fare much worse."
He paused, but Olga said no word. She only palpitated against his arm.
He continued after a moment with the quick decision characteristic of him. "I'm not going to pursue the subject, but just this once—in justice to the man—I must have my say. You asked me once if I liked him, and I was not in a position to tell you. I will tell you now. I like him thoroughly. He's a man after my own heart, straight and clean and staunch. If you ever want someone to trust—trust him! He'd stand by you to perdition."
"Oh, do you think that of him, Nick?" she said, as one incredulous.
"Yes, dear, I do," said Nick. "Well, that's all I have to say. Suppose we begin to crawl back!"
But Olga waited a moment, watching with fascinated eyes the speck of scarlet that still trembled in the sunshine. It fluttered from sight at last, and with a sigh she turned.
"I wonder if it got away!" she murmured again, as if to herself. "I do wonder!"
But to Max, in spite of Nick's spirited eulogy, she made no further reference.
Nick dined at his brother's house at Weir that evening, alone with Max Wyndham. The boys had gone back to school, and the house was almost painfully quiet. Even Nick seemed to feel a certain depression in the atmosphere, for his cheerful chatter was decidedly fitful, and when he and Max were seated opposite to one another smoking it ceased altogether.
Out of a long silence came Max's voice. "When did you say you were starting for the East?"
"Three weeks next Friday," said Nick.
Max grunted, and the silence was renewed.
It was Nick's voice, cracked and careless, that next broke the spell. He seemed to speak on the edge of a laugh. "It's just six years ago since the woman I wanted went to India. Curious, isn't it?"
"What's curious?" said Max.
Nick explained, still with a suspicion of humour in his words: "Well, the funny part of it was that she hoped and believed she was going to get away from me. However, I viewed the matter otherwise, and—I followed her."
"Did you though?" said Max. "And how did the lady take it? Was she pleased?"
"My dear chap, she didn't know." The laugh was more apparent now. Nick removed his cigar to indulge it. "I was most careful not to get in her way, you understand. I was simply there—if wanted."
"And events proved you justified, I suppose?" Max sounded interested after a cynical and quite impersonal fashion.
"They did," said Nick. His own elastic grin appeared for an instant and was gone. "Events can generally be trimmed to suit your purpose," he said, "if you are sufficiently in earnest."
"That has not been my experience," observed Max briefly.
"Perhaps you haven't tried," said Nick.
Silence descended once more, and Nick was rude enough to fall asleep.
An hour later he awoke with extreme alertness in response to a remark from Max as to the lateness of the hour.
"Yes, by Jove," he said. "I must be getting back. By the way, Wyndham, did I mention to you that Sharapura is the name of the place we are going to? It's quite an interesting corner of the Empire, and declared by medical experts to be a top-hole neighbourhood for studying malaria."
"Is that a recommendation?" asked Max grimly.
Nick's smile was geniality itself. "It is," he answered; "a very strong recommendation." He thrust out a friendly hand. "Good-night, my son, and good luck to you!"
Max's grip was hard and sustained. He looked into the grinning, humorous face, and almost in spite of himself his own mouth took a humorous twist.
"So that's what you came to say, is it?" he said. "Well, good-night, you old rotter, and—thanks!"
Nick mounted his horse and rode back in the moonlight, singing a tuneless but very sentimental love lyric to the stars.
Part II
CHAPTER I
COURTSHIP
"It must be great fun gettin' married," said the chief bridesmaid pensively to the best man. "Why don't you go and get married, Noel?"
"I'm going to," said Noel.
"Oh, are you?" with suddenly-awakened interest. "Soon?"
Noel screwed up his Irish eyes and laughed. "In twelve years or thereabouts."
"Oh!" A pair of wide blue eyes regarded him attentively. "Twelve years is a very long time," observed the chief bridesmaid gravely.
"It is, isn't it?" said Noel, with a large sigh.
"P'raps you'll be dead then," suggested the chief bridesmaid.
"What a jolly idea! P'raps I shall. In that case, the marriage will not take place."
She sat down on his knee, and slipped a kindly arm round his neck. "I hope you won't be dead, Noel," she said, in the careful tone of one not wishing to be taken too seriously.
The best man smiled all over his merry face. "I shall do my best to survive for your sake," he said.
She nodded thoughtfully. "But why aren't you goin' to get married sooner?"
He surveyed her with his head on one side. "My little sweetheart is only pocket size at present," he said. "I'm waiting for her to grow up."
"Oh! Is she little like me?" asked the chief bridesmaid, looking slightly disappointed.
"She's just like you, sweetheart," said Noel, with cheery assurance. "She has eyes of wedgewood blue, and hair of golden down, a mouth like a rose, and the jolliest little turn-up nose in the world. And she's going to be six next birthday."
This classic description was an instant revelation to the chief bridesmaid. She blushed very sweetly, with pleasure unfeigned in which shyness had no part. "Oh, Noel!" she breathed, in rapturous anticipation. "But why must we wait till we're growed up?"
"We!" said Noel, who was twenty-two and a crack shot in the Regiment.
She kissed him propitiatingly. "I mean—dear Noel—. why can't we go and get married now? I'm sure Mummy wouldn't mind."
"H'm! I wonder!" said Noel.
"I do love you so very much," said the chief bridesmaid, with eyes of shining sincerity. "And you are just the beautifullest soldier I ever saw!"
He threw back his head in a laugh that showed his white teeth, to his small adorer's huge delight. He was certainly a very gallant figure in his red and gold uniform with his sword dangling at his side; and his winning Irish ways gained him popularity wherever he went.
It was true that the chief bridesmaid's mother shook her head at him, and called him fickle, but then his fickleness was of so open and boyish an order that it could hardly be regarded as a fault, especially since no one—with the exception of the chief bridesmaid—ever took him seriously. And to her at least young Noel Wyndham was always tenderly faithful in his allegiance.
On the present occasion, though nominally he had been acting as best man to a brother officer, he had spent most of his time in the service of the muslin-frocked, bare-legged atom who now sprawled upon his knee with all the privilege of old acquaintance, assuring him of her whole-hearted devotion and admiration.
He had just been giving her tea and wedding-cake, of which latter she had eaten the sugar and he the cake, a wise division which had pleased them both.
"Will we have a cake just like this when we're married, Noel?" she asked seductively, casting an affectionate glance towards the empty plate.
"Oh, rather!" said Noel. "Several storeys high, big enough to last a whole year."
"Oh, Noel!" she murmured ecstatically.
And, "Oh, Noel!" said her mother, suddenly coming up behind them.
The chief bridesmaid laughed roguishly over Noel's shoulder. "I like weddin's," she said.
Noel set her down and rose. "My dear Mrs. Musgrave, I've been hunting for you everywhere. Have you had any tea?"
She smiled at him with amused reproof. A very sweet smile had Mrs. Musgrave, but it was never very mirthful. She had lost all her mirth with her youth. Though she could not have been much over thirty, her hair was silver white.
"I was only in the next room," she said. "Yes, thank you; the padre gave me tea. We must be going. Peggy and I. Will left some time ago, directly after the bride and bridegroom."
"Ah, Will is a paragon of industry. I believe he thinks more of that beastly old reservoir of his than of the whole population of Sharapura put together. But surely you needn't go yet? Don't!" pleaded Noel, with his most persuasive smile.
"No, don't let's, Mummy!" begged the child, clinging to her hero's hand.
"Noel and me, we're goin' to be married, we are."
"So we are," said Noel. "And we're going to church on the Rajah's state elephant, and we're going to make him trumpet all the way there and all the way back. I hope we are not springing it on you too suddenly," he added, with a laugh. "It's the usual thing, isn't it, for the best man to marry the chief bridesmaid?"
"I should say it depended a little on their respective ages," smiled Mrs. Musgrave. "Are you going to find my 'rickshaw? It is later than I thought, and I am expecting visitors."
"Ah, I know," said Noel. "Captain and Mrs. Nick of Wara, isn't it?"
"Not Mrs. Nick," she corrected him. "I wish it had been. She is my greatest friend. But she can't leave England because of their child."
"There's a lady of some description coming in his train," asserted Noel.
"I have it on unimpeachable authority."
"Yes, she is his niece. I knew her as a child, a giddy little thing—rather like Nick himself."
"Mrs. Musgrave! Is that how you describe one of our most celebrated heroes? Nick Ratcliffe—the one and only—the most romantic specimen of our modern British chivalry—beloved of women like yourself, respected by men like me! Did I hear aright?"
She laughed. "Oh, don't be absurd! He is the least imposing person in the world, I assure you."
"And the lady, his niece?" questioned Noel. "Is she married by the way?"
"Oh, no. She is quite a girl."
"A real live girl in this wilderness!" ejaculated Noel. "I say, may I drop in a little later and see her? Dear Mrs. Musgrave, say Yes!" He stooped and gallantly kissed her hand. "As your daughter's fiancé, I think you might ask me to dine. I'll be so awfully good if you will. I say, Peggy, ask Mummy to invite me to dinner to-night, and I'll come and say good-night to you in bed."
"Oh, yes!" cried Peggy, jumping with eagerness. "He may come, mayn't he, Mummy? And I'll save up my prayers," she added to Noel, "and say them to you!"
"Hear, hear!" said Noel. "Come, Mrs. Musgrave, you haven't the heart to refuse me such an innocent pleasure as that. I'm sure you haven't, so thank you kindly, I'll come. Shall I?"
"Of course you are quite irresistible," said Mrs. Musgrave. "But I don't—really—think it would be very kind of me to have guests on their first night. The poor child is sure to be too tired for chatter."
"But I shan't chatter," protested Noel. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse. Come, Mrs. Musgrave, don't be cruel! Remember you're dealing with your future son-in-law, who is absolutely devoted to you; and don't refuse me the only favour I've ever asked!"
He gained his end. Noel Wyndham was an adept at that, having made a study of it all his life.
Mrs. Musgrave, reflecting that the most fascinating young officer in the cantonment could scarcely be unwelcome in the eyes of a young English girl, however tired she might be, finally allowed herself to be persuaded by cajolery on his part and earnest pleading on Peggy's to include him at her dinner-table.
"If you don't mind taking the risk of being de trop," she said, "you may come."
"I'll take any risk," he declared ardently; and, having gained his point, kissed her hand again and departed to summon her 'rickshaw, with Peggy mounted on his shoulder.