CHAPTER I.
Mushin-Bunda.
June 4th, 18—.—Thermometer at 100 in the shade, and up to heaven knows where in the sun; somewhere about boiling heat, I should imagine, if I may judge by the state of my shirt sleeves. A cheerful climate in which to ask a man to spend the best days of his life, for the visionary prospect of surviving twenty years’ service and retiring on half-pay. If it were not for Janie, I could not stand it. Here we are, cooped up in an old Dutch fort, with three miles of desert plain between us and the sea; the very house we live in built on the remains of a cemetery; the ruined graves of which stare us in the face every time we look out of the drawing-room windows. The consequence of which is, that Janie would not stay in the house by herself after dark for any earthly consideration; and if she cannot procure a female friend to dance attendance on her fears, I am cut out of my bachelor entertainments. Not that I wish to complain; far from it; it would be hard if I could not give up some pleasures in exchange for such a wife as mine—but I have found it awkward at times. Then we have no society but such as the regiment affords; and as a married man I am, of course, not so much at the mess as heretofore. Altogether Mushin-Bunda is not lively; and my wife is the only creature who makes it bearable to me.
I don’t wonder that the whole cantonment voted me a lucky fellow when I obtained the promise of her hand. The first time I ever saw her at the house of her married sister—the wife of Delville, of our 44th, since ordered to Burmah—I thought her the prettiest, most lovable little woman I had ever seen; and during the twelve months of our happy married life, I have had no reason to alter my opinion. Janie is all that a man could possibly desire in a wife; and so I tell myself twenty times a day. Never have I seen her face clouded with passion or ill-humour: whatever I propose to do is invariably the thing she has just been wishing for; she never dissents from me either in opinion or desire; she never even meets me without the same quiet smile, which has deservedly gained her the credit of being such ‘a very sweet young woman.’ She is a cushat-dove, made to nestle into a man’s affections and to remain there; for who with a heart could bear to wound the feelings of one so sensitive and pure? I don’t believe at this moment, that in all the length and breadth of India there exists a happier or more contented fellow than myself; and if we only had a little more society, a little company occasionally to turn our thoughts from dwelling incessantly upon ourselves, our life would leave nothing to be desired. Not but what my Janie is the world to me; still, a woman is but a woman after all, and the days are apt to become monotonous.
Oh, this horrid Mushin-Bunda! could anything reconcile me to a life-long expatriation in a place like this? The very thought is desolation.
June 6th.—Two days ago I was complaining of the lack of company to be found in Mushin-Bunda. This evening I feel inclined to write myself down an ass, and say that my foolishness has returned upon my own pate, for we are likely to have more company than we care for. I was in the verandah this morning smoking and grumbling, and as I turned from the contemplation of the glaring compound to where Janie sat in her white dress, bending over some letters she had just received, I decided she was the only cool thing within my range of sight. The dogs were lying panting on the gravel with their tongues out. The constant motion of the flapping punkah did not appear to do more than stir the heat. Even the quiet easy-going tailor sitting cross-legged at my feet, could not proceed with his work unless he dipped his black fingers every minute in a bowl of water. Everything looked hot, horrible, and sticky, except Janie herself. But there sat my cushat-dove—half buried in the flounces of her muslin dress—a fair, plump, placid little woman; the effect of heat on whom is only to make her look more white and cool, with her sunny hair drawn off her tranquil features, and her calm blue eyes riveted on the open letter which she held in her hand. None of your passionate, raving, storming creatures this, who nearly squeeze you to death one moment, and stick a knife into you the next; but a proper sort of woman for a wife and mother, or so I choose to call her; and I really couldn’t take my eyes off her moonlight beauty, until I was roused from my reverie by hearing her plaintive voice exclaiming,—
‘Oh dear! oh dear! how very unfortunate! Whatever will the poor girl do?’
‘Of whom are you talking, my darling?’ I asked, as I cast away the remains of my cigar, and advanced towards her.
‘Of my cousin Lionne, Robert dear; Margaret Anstruther, of whom I have so often spoken to you. I told you some time ago, didn’t I, that in consequence of her mother’s death she was coming out to the care of our uncle, Colonel Anstruther, at Madras?’
‘Well, what of it? Has she arrived?’
‘No; but this letter is from Uncle Henry, and he is in such a dilemma. He expected Margaret to be with him four or five mails ago; but her guardians have delayed and delayed to send her out; and now, just as he is ordered off to China to join his regiment, he receives a letter to say that she will arrive by the next steamer.’
‘And he will have left Madras?’
‘Yes; and for six months at least. He does not know what on earth to do about it.’
And Janie, in an uncertain manner, kept turning the sheet of paper over and over in her hands.
‘He must ask one of his lady friends to receive Miss Anstruther,’ I suggested.
‘So he would, Robert, were it not for so long a time. But a six months’ visit is too much to expect from any stranger. If Emma were only here, Uncle Henry would have sent Margaret to her.’
‘It is certainly very inconvenient,’ I remarked carelessly.
‘I suppose, Robert dear,’ said Janie, in a dubious and hesitating manner,—‘I suppose we could not offer to take in Margaret till Uncle Henry returns from China?’
I started. The idea had not presented itself to me before, and it was certainly not a pleasant one. I hope I am not of an inhospitable turn of mind; but the prospect of having a perfect stranger located beneath our roof for such a length of time was anything but agreeable to me. I remembered Janie’s want of companionship, and the many times I had had to resign the society of my brother-officers on her account, and felt resigned; but the next moment I thought of all my quiet evenings with my loving little wife being broken in upon; of our cosy walks, and talks, and drives being done away with, and for six long months—and I daresay I did look blank. Indeed, I must have done so; for Janie, who is not, generally speaking, what is termed quick of observation, saw the change in my countenance and commented upon it.
‘You don’t like the notion, Robert dear?’ she said, in a tone of disappointment.
‘Well, Janie, I can’t say I do; but if it must be, it must be. What does your uncle say on the subject?’
‘He says it would be a great convenience, of course, and that he does not know to whom else to apply, or he would not trouble us. And Margaret and I were at school together, Robert: we were brought up quite like sisters; so it would seem strange if she were to go to anyone else. And it is only for six months; and Uncle Henry says that he does not expect us to be put to any expense about it, for that he—’
‘Oh, blow the expense!’ I irreverently interrupted. ‘When does Colonel Anstruther leave Madras, Janie?’
‘Next week; and Margaret is to arrive the week after.’
‘And what arrangements can he make for her joining us at Mushin-Bunda?’
‘Mrs Grant, a friend of his, has offered to receive Margaret on her arrival, and to keep her until a steamer starts for here, which will probably not be long first.’
‘Very well. Write to your uncle, and say that we shall be proud to give Miss Anstruther house-room until such time as he may be able to reclaim her.’
‘And you’re not vexed about it, Robert dear?’ said Janie timidly.
I stooped and kissed her.
‘Not a bit, darling,’ I answered gaily. ‘Half-a-dozen cousins could make no difference to our love; and as long as that remains unaltered, I care for nothing else.’ Upon which my little wife brightened up again, and prepared to write an answer to her uncle’s letter; and I lit another cigar, and resumed my old position in the verandah.
I told Janie that the stranger’s coming could make no difference to me; but I feel that I have not spoken the truth in saying so, and I blame myself for thinking as strongly as I do upon the subject. Surely I am swayed by prejudice.
After all, supposing that Miss Anstruther does remain with us during the whole of her uncle’s sojourn in China, where will be the great misfortune of entertaining a young lady for a few months? and how could we have done otherwise than offer to receive a friendless girl, arriving in the country under such peculiar circumstances? who has also, by marriage, become a connection of my own, and been reared in such intimate relations with my wife, as to be looked on by Janie almost in the light of a sister. It would have been quite impossible to act otherwise; therefore I feel I had better make a virtue of a necessity. At the same time, try as I will, I cannot bring myself to look on the anticipated visit as a pleasure, although I am sure that much of my prejudice arises from my wife’s innocent praises of her cousin, which prove Miss Anstruther to be so opposite, in appearance and disposition, to herself, that I feel I shall never like the girl. Well, I was wishing for more society in Mushin-Bunda; and now I shall have it. Some one to dance attendance on, and to mind my p’s and q’s before, for the next six months; and if I haven’t had enough of society before the end of that time, it’s a pity. Warren says it’s all nonsense; that he had a friend of his wife’s once staying in the house for several weeks, and that it was great fun; and that before Miss Anstruther has been with us half that time, I shall look on her as a sister, and forget all about my p’s and q’s.
I laugh at the idea, and pretend to agree with him; but it is of no use; a presentiment of annoyance for me seems to cling to the name of Margaret Anstruther, until I wish I had never even heard its sound. However, as I said to my wife, what must be, must be, and the best method of evading a worry is not to think about it. Easier said than done!
June 16th.—If anything were necessary to make me take a still farther dislike to the idea of our expected guest, it would be provided in the fact that Janie and I have nearly come to words about her, for the first time in our married life.
‘Come, darling,’ I said to her this evening, when at last the fierce sun had sunk below the horizon, and it was possible to quit the house; ‘put on your hat, and let us have a little stroll in the compound together, we may not have many more opportunities of walking alone.’
Our ‘compound,’ as the ground surrounding an Indian bungalow is usually called, is a large piece of uncultivated land, sheltered by lanky cocoa-nut trees, and carpeted with burnt-up turf from end to end, whereof is cut a sandy track, which we term our carriage-drive.
Janie was ready in a moment, and up and down the track of sand we wandered, arm-in-arm, inhaling eagerly the faint breath of sea-air wafted to us from across the plain which separates us from the ocean.
‘Oh, Robert dear!’ said Janie, casting up her pensive blue eyes to meet my own, ‘I wish I had never written that letter to Uncle Henry. I am more sure every day that you don’t like the notion of Lionne staying with us.’
I can’t think what put the letter or her cousin into my wife’s head at that particular moment; for I have not alluded to the subject for several days past.
‘My dearest child,’ I answered her, ‘whether I like it or not is of little consequence. There is no alternative; therefore we must bear the infliction as best we may. Thank heaven, it will not be for ever.’
‘But you are not to look upon it as an infliction, Robert,’ said Janie, as she squeezed my arm, ‘because, directly you see Margaret, you will like her.’
I shrugged my shoulders incredulously.
‘But indeed you will,’ continued my little wife with, for her, a most unusual display of energy. ‘You don’t know how nice-looking she is; tall and slight, with large dark eyes and—’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ I interrupted impatiently. ‘Six feet high, and gaunt as a cab-horse, with flaming black eyes and hair, and a complexion like Spanish olives. I know the sort of woman, Janie; you’ve described her to me often enough. The less said about her beauty the better.’
‘But she’s not a bit like that,’ said dear little Janie, almost ready to cry at my description of her cousin. ‘Lionne is very graceful and exceedingly handsome; every one says so. Indeed, Robert dear, you are quite mistaken.’
‘She won’t be handsome to me,’ I answered, appeasing her with a kiss, ‘since she must be so different from yourself, Janie. Nothing will go down with me, darling, except it be golden hair and a marble skin; and then they must be the hair and the skin of but one woman in the world.’ And I looked into the face of my cushat-dove until I made her blush and laugh nervously with her tremulous happiness. Dear little Janie! God keep me ever true to her!—‘Why do you call your cousin “Lionne,” instead of by her proper name?’ I asked, as soon as the billing and cooing episode had somewhat subsided, and we had leisure to revert to the subject under discussion. ‘Margaret is pretty enough, and the other has no connection with it, let alone its signification rendering it very unsuitable for a lady.’
At this question my wife reddened; but, after a little pressing, confessed it was a nickname which had been bestowed on Miss Anstruther at school.
‘She is a dear, generous creature, Robert dear,’ she pleaded; ‘but just a little hasty, or at least she used to be; but of course she will have got over all that by this time’ (not so sure, thought I); ‘and we girls used to call her ‘La Lionne’ just for fun, you know, and somehow the name stuck to her. Oh, you should have seen her in a rage!’ continued Janie, warming beneath the recollection; ‘her eyes used to flash such glorious fire, and she didn’t seem to care what she did. Once, when I offended her, she flew at me just like a little cat, and bit me on the arm.’ And Janie laughed softly at the remembrance which made my blood boil.
‘What a she-devil!’ I exclaimed indignantly, as I thought of the fair flesh, of which I was so tender, lacerated by the teeth of a gaunt school-girl with vicious black eyes. ‘I should like to have caught her at it!’
Then Janie seemed to think she had said too much, and tried to retract.
‘Oh, but, Robert dear!’ she exclaimed, ‘she is very different now, you know; that all happened long ago; and though we still call her Lionne, it is seldom that she ever gives way to her temper. I have not seen her for some years; but when we last met we had not a word together during the whole period of her stay.’
‘And how long may that have been, Janie?’
‘For three weeks; and she was so pleasant and kind, you can’t think.’
Three weeks! I groaned in my spirit; and we are to endure six months of the company of this lady who is called Lionne, in compliment to the amiability of her disposition, and bites and scratches like a cat whenever she is offended. I began to think of clothing myself and my wife in mail armour during the period of her stay, so that we might be invulnerable to her attacks; but a remark to that effect to Janie seemed greatly to discompose her.
‘It is not fair of you, Robert dear,’ she said, with knitted brows, ‘to take my confidence in such a spirit. It is all nonsense to suppose that Margaret will be like that now; she is a charming girl, who is universally admired.’
‘I am delighted to hear it,’ I replied sarcastically. ‘I hope, however, that she won’t take a liking to me; or that, if she does, she will keep her charming teeth to herself.’
‘I daresay you won’t be troubled with her long,’ exclaimed Janie, with a degree of excitement which I foresaw would end in tears. ‘Margaret attracts lovers wherever she goes, and we shall have her engaged and married most likely before she has been many weeks in Mushin-Bunda.’
‘Worse and worse,’ I inadvertently replied. ‘If I thought that was to be the end of it, Janie, I should cut and run at once.’
Visions of my brother officers lounging about the drawing-room all day, and snarling at each other like rival curs—of a wedding, and all the paraphernalia and fuss attendant on it—made me give vent to the horror which I felt in the anticipation.
‘Ah! you didn’t think it all so horrid a year ago!’ said my wife, melting into the promised tears; ‘but I suppose you have forgotten that by this time, or wish, perhaps, that it had never been.’
The conclusion struck me as unreasonable; but when women arrive at that stage they are not in a fit state to be argued with, and are best left alone.
‘It’s very different when one plays first fiddle in the case, dear child,’ I answered soothingly; but Janie was no longer in a humour to be soothed.
‘I don’t believe you think so, Robert,’ she said; ‘and as for poor Lionne, I’m sure—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! let’s talk of something else than poor Lionne!’ I answered hastily. ‘I’m sure we’ve had enough of her for one evening; and, for my part, I’m getting quite sick of her name.’
It was a foolish, unthinking speech to make; and Janie took it so thoroughly to heart, that she walked away from my side into the house, and had cried herself sick and ill before I had the manliness to find her out and ask her pardon for my rudeness, and promise to try and like her cousin for her sake. I must be more careful of Janie. She is not strong enough to endure much emotion; and she loves me so tenderly, that the least suspicion of unkindness on my part upsets her.
Well, this is the first shadow of a disagreement that we have ever had; may it be the last! That it has occurred on the subject of Margaret Anstruther, is not likely to increase my predilection in favour of that young lady.
June 17th.—I did not go to bed till late last evening, for I was vexed at what had taken place between myself and Janie, and could not readily compose myself to sleep. However, I did so at last, vowing to endure all the cousins in creation fastened upon me for all time, sooner than bring another needless tear into the tender eyes of my cushat-dove; and was wakened at gun-fire this morning by the intelligence that the Ostrich (the steamer by which we expected Miss Anstruther to arrive) was telegraphed from Coeranapoot, and would be off Mushin-Bunda in the course of a few hours.
Owing to the agreeable peculiarities of the place we live in, I was obliged at once to rise from my bed, and prepare to ride down to the fort, the currents here being of such a nature that vessels cannot come within a couple of miles of land; and if boats are not ready on their arrival to convey the passengers on shore, they carry them on without ceremony to the next port. I wakened Janie with a dozen kisses, begged and prayed of her to think no more of what happened last night, assured her that I intend to be all that is amiable, and learn to like her cousin as much as she does, and having thrown myself into my clothes, departed full of good resolutions, leaving her childish face radiant with smiles, and beaming in expectation of the coming meeting.
As I turned my horse out of the compound, I met a brother officer, Forster by name, also mounted, and riding apparently in the same direction.
‘Where are you off to so early?’ I inquired.
‘I am going on board the Ostrich,’ he replied, ‘to try and get a sight of my friend Dunn, who is to cross to Burmah in her. Will you come with me?’
‘It is where I am bound for. I am on my way to meet Miss Anstruther, my wife’s cousin.’
‘Lucky dog!’ said Forster. He is one of those fellows who imagine that no age, position, or circumstances are powerful enough to prevent a man admiring a pretty woman. ‘If all I have heard about her from Dunn is true, you are not likely to have your house much to yourself whilst Miss Anstruther is in it, Norton.’
‘Well, I shall go out of it, then,’ I answered, not over pleased at the notion of never being left in peace with Janie.
‘Dunn says she’s beautiful. I didn’t know you expected her in the Ostrich. He’ll never believe now that I went on board with the intention of seeing himself.’
‘He must have but a small opinion of your friendship for him.’
‘Ah, yes, perhaps; but this is not an ordinary occasion. From all I hear, Norton, Miss Anstruther must be—you’ll excuse my saying so—a regular out-and-outer.’
‘Indeed! You know more about her than I do. She has not been above a week or ten days in Madras.’
‘I know; but Dunn was introduced to her in England, and quite excited to find she had come out to this country. Will she remain long with you?’
‘Till Colonel Anstruther returns from China,’ I replied, with an inward sigh.
‘Lucky fellow!’ repeated Forster, with a grin. ‘Don’t you wish he may lay his venerable bones there?’
I did not feel equal to pursuing this conversation in the strain which Forster evidently expected of me, and so I tried to turn it.
‘The tide is very high to-day,’ I remarked, as we rode into the fort, and came in sight of the sea.
‘By Jove! so it is; and yesterday it barely washed the landing-quay. What a sell it would be, Norton, if some day this sea, with its changeable tides, was to take it into its head to overflow the fort and flood the cantonment!’
‘How could it?’ I exclaimed, hastily.
The idea is ridiculous, and as ridiculous my feeling annoyed at it, for I have never heard it mooted by any one before; and yet it is not a pleasant one; for the plain is so very level, and we have no protection whatever from the encroachments of the ocean.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ he answered; ‘but I think I’ve read of such things. It would be a regular washing for these poor devils in the fort, though, wouldn’t it?’
‘Don’t talk of anything so horrible!’ I answered.
And then we hailed a boat; and dismounting from our horses, gave them into the charge of their native grooms, and were soon dancing over the sunny waves. It was dancing with a vengeance; for the cross-currents are so various, that at one moment we were driven a long way out of our course, and the next shot back again in the opposite direction with a rapidity which threatened to upset the frail structure to which we had trusted ourselves. Meanwhile the Ostrich steamed slowly into sight, and took up her station at the usual distance from land; whilst we beat about the harbour for more than an hour, wondering if we should ever board her; and half afraid, more than once, that she would depart again without our having accomplished it. But we were successful at last; and the first object which I saw on reaching the deck was the figure of a girl, sitting apart by herself in a distant and reserved manner, which I immediately singled out as that of Miss Anstruther, and the sequel proved that I was right.
‘Is Miss Anstruther on board?’ was the query which Forster put to his friend Dunn, as they met at the head of the gangway.
‘Yes, she is,’ was the reply; ‘but I can’t say I’ve seen much of her. She seems very different from what she was in England last year. But I think she hates this country, and—’
‘Dunn, this is my friend Captain Norton; allow me to introduce you. Mrs Norton is Miss Anstruther’s cousin, Dunn; he has come on board expressly to meet her.’
‘Oh yes, of course; very happy, I’m sure,’ said Mr Dunn; and in consequence no farther allusion was made to Miss Anstruther’s likes or dislikes.
Meanwhile I found the captain, and got him to introduce me to the young lady. It was a proud cold face which she turned towards me as my name was mentioned to her, and the hand she offered lay very passive in my grasp; but she said all that was pleasant and polite, and intimated that her luggage was ready to be put into the boat, and she to follow me at any time, so that there was no reason for delay; and after I had assured her how eagerly Janie was on the look-out for her arrival, and she had bidden adieu to the captain, we prepared to return to shore. We were obliged to have two boats on account of the luggage; and what was my surprise to see Forster slip down after us into the second, as though he were one of the party.
‘You have deserted the company of your friend Dunn very quickly,’ I remarked to him. ‘The Ostrich does not leave for another hour. I thought you were going to breakfast on board.’
‘I thought of doing so,’ he answered carelessly (he had been talking of nothing else on our way there); ‘but perhaps it’s better not—might miss the boat, you see, which would be awkward. Will you introduce me to Miss Anstruther?’
I went through the required formula; but after the customary acknowledgment of it, Miss Anstruther took no further notice of Mr Forster or myself, and the conversation, after several ineffectual attempts to draw her into it, was kept up between us alone. Meanwhile, I could not help stealing an occasional glance to where my wife’s cousin sat, calm and silent, gazing on the bright glancing waters, and answering the occasional remarks directed to her with a smile which was almost too faint to be called so. Only once did I see the expression of her face change; and that was when the cross-current caught the boat and drove it all slanting and edgeways, like a bird across the bay, with a velocity which, for the moment, considerably unsettled each of us. She grew a little paler then, and I saw her hand (rather a nice hand, by-the-bye) grasp the seat which she occupied; but still she said nothing.
‘Don’t be frightened, Miss Anstruther,’ I interposed hastily; ‘there is no real danger. The native boatmen are so skilful that it is very seldom a boat is upset here.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, in answer to my information, and for a moment her eyes met mine (she has fine eyes, certainly); and the next time the boat was driven out of her course I saw, by the unmoved expression of her face, that she remained at ease.
I suppose it was very courageous, and all that sort of thing; but I don’t think I liked her any the better for it. A woman, in my idea, is a creature to be protected, and not to take care of herself. I remember how Janie shrieked and screamed and clung to me when I brought her on shore in one of those very boats; and I think I should have liked it better if Miss Anstruther had exhibited a little more fear. However, everybody is not like my Janie. When we landed at the fort, Forster, who is our adjutant, was obliged to leave us, and allow me to take my guest home in a carriage; but though she talked a little more when we found ourselves alone, she was anything but sociable; and I was thankful when we had turned into our own compound, and I could tell her to look out for Janie on the steps. There was my little bird, of course; all fluttering with pleasure at the delight of meeting her cousin again; and as soon as Miss Anstruther had reached the porch she flew into her arms, and her happiness found vent in a burst of excited tears. I expected to see the stranger follow suit, knowing that women often cry most when they are most pleased; but not a drop fell from her eyes. She clasped my wife very closely to her, it is true, and I saw her lip and nostril twitching; but she showed no further signs of emotion, though Janie did tell me that, after they had passed into the bedroom together, her cousin indulged in what she technically termed ‘a good cry.’ However, of this I knew nothing. The two girls (Janie is but eighteen, and Miss Anstruther a year older) remained closeted together for more than an hour; and when they reappeared at the breakfast-table they looked as fresh as their muslin dresses, and as far from tears as the day was from rain.
And now, what am I to say of Miss Anstruther’s personal appearance? She is certainly very different from what I imagined—altogether different. I will acknowledge so far; and yet I don’t know if I am agreeably surprised in her or not. She is tall and slight, though not at all thin, with a lithe figure which reminds me of a leopard or some such animal; and every time she moves I expect to see her take a waving serpentine leap which shall land her noiselessly on the opposite side of the room; which peculiarity brings so forcibly to my mind her nickname of ‘Lionne’ that I have very nearly called her by it more than once to-day. Her complexion is pale and sallow (Janie calls it ‘creamy’—so I suppose that is the right name for it), and her eyes, which are enormous (much too big, in my opinion; I dislike startling eyes in animals or women), are black, and very variable in their expression. Her nose is straight, and rather sharp; and she has an absurdly short upper lip, with a deep channel in the centre of it—in fact, scarcely any upper lip at all. But she has a pretty set of teeth (I record this fact to show that I am not permitting myself to be in the least swayed by prejudice), and apparently a large quantity of dark hair—at least Janie tells me that when unbound it reaches to her knees.
Still, although doubtless she can boast of some good features, to call such a woman beautiful is absurd; and one has only to see her stand side by side with my rosebud wife to perceive the worse points which she possesses. It brings out at once, as I made Janie laugh by observing, all the yellow that is in her. She is not so plain, perhaps, as I expected; but ‘beautiful’ is the last epithet I should apply to Margaret Anstruther. No woman who is not fair can possibly be pretty; and how any man can prefer a dark face is to me inexplicable.
June 18th.—She certainly is a most extraordinary girl, and even more disagreeable than I thought her yesterday. We really got on so well together the first day; she chatted so pleasantly during the forenoon to Janie and myself, and sung to us in the evening (she has not got a bad voice by any means), that I began to think I had made a mistake about her cold, reserved manner, and that if her visit were to last for six weeks instead of six months, it might not prove such an affliction. And so, wishing to make myself agreeable, I told Janie this morning at breakfast that she must be sure and order a very good dinner, as I intended to ask some of my brother officers to dine with us. I knew that Forster and others were anxious to make Miss Anstruther’s acquaintance; and a bright thought struck me this morning, that if I manage well we may get her engaged and married, and out of the way altogether in the course of a month. Of course, it will be a great deal of bother; but it will be much better to get it over in that manner than to have it spun out for several months, and to wind up perhaps with a wedding after all. So I have determined to be very hospitable, and keep open house for the next few weeks; and I sha’n’t let Janie interfere with her cousin in any way; and we will see what that will do. My wife opened her blue eyes when I informed her of the impending guests, and said no one had called on Miss Anstruther yet.
‘Of what consequence is that?’ I said. ‘The whole regiment will call this morning, and I know they will be dying for an invitation afterwards;’ and I nodded in a knowing manner at Miss Anstruther, as much as to say that I knew all about it.
‘I hope you do not invite them on my account,’ she said, curtly, answering my look.
‘I invite them on their own, Miss Anstruther. You do not seem to know your value. Young ladies are very scarce in Mushin-Bunda; you could not have come to a better place, if you want to have it all your own way. I don’t think you will find a rival here.’
‘A glorious thought to goad one on to victory,’ she said, sarcastically, and her manner seemed to change from that moment. She became again reserved and haughty; and when I returned home from my professional duties, Janie met me almost in tears, with the intelligence that she was sure dear Lionne was not well, for she had scarcely spoken a word all day, and had sat so silent during the visits of the officers of the regiment that Janie had had all the talking to do.
‘Never mind!’ I answered soothingly; ‘she will be different after dinner. A glass of champagne will thaw her reserve, and draw her out of herself.’
‘But I so much wished that they should admire her,’ said dear little Janie in a despondent voice.
My predictions, however, with respect to Miss Anstruther were not verified. She looked very handsome this evening in a sweeping white dress (‘handsome’ is the correct term of her style of beauty; no one could call her ‘pretty,’ like Janie for instance, but she certainly looks handsome, particularly by candle-light), but nothing prevailed to make her sociable; neither my champagne nor my wife’s coaxing could induce her to talk or sing as she did last night. She spoke in monosyllables, and professed herself too tired for any display; and the five men whom I had asked to dine with us sat alternately talking to my wife, and staring at her guest, until the time for their departure had arrived. Janie sung us two or three ballads in her sweet plaintive little voice, but we had heard them before, of course, and should have been glad of something new. But all our pressing and entreaty were in vain. Miss Anstruther said she was too fatigued to sing; and declining even to sit amongst the company, stood by a window gazing out upon the night. Presently, almost too vexed at her singular behaviour to remember my politeness, I approached her side, and said, perhaps rather abruptly,—
‘Why won’t you sing for us?’
‘Because I don’t choose,’ she answered, fearlessly.
‘I thought so,’ I said; and turning away I quitted her again, and took a seat by Janie’s side. But after a while some fascination, for which I am unable to account (but which has been felt at times by all people who on earth do dwell), made me feel that Miss Anstruther was regarding me, and lifting my eyes, I encountered the glance of hers fixed on my face. She withdrew them quickly; but not before their gaze had made me feel uncomfortable—a sensation which I attribute to the fact of their colour, which I have never liked, and believe I never shall.
The rest of the evening passed dully enough, and I am sure Janie was as relieved as I was when our friends rose to take their leave, and Miss Anstruther disappeared in the privacy of her own room.
‘You can’t say that Mademoiselle Lionne has made herself very agreeable to-night,’ I exclaimed rather triumphantly, as Janie and I found ourselves alone.
But Janie was hardly a subject to be triumphed over, she was so very humble and apologetic.
‘I can’t think what is the matter with her, Robert dear; but I assure you she is not sulky. Only this moment she put her arms round my neck and kissed me—oh, so nicely! but I don’t think she likes dinner-parties. We won’t give another.’
‘Not like dinner-parties!’ I exclaimed.
‘No—nor men. She told me she wouldn’t sit in the drawing-room to-morrow morning.’
‘Not like dinner-parties or men!’ I exclaimed, aghast at the intelligence. ‘And how the deuce is she to get married, then?’
‘Perhaps she doesn’t want to get married,’ said Janie demurely.
‘Doesn’t want to get married!’ I growled. ‘Don’t tell me such nonsense! If she doesn’t want to get married, what is she out here for?’
‘Oh, hush! Robert dear; don’t speak so loud,’ interposed my wife, as she laid her little hand across my mouth. ‘Do remember, her room is the next one to this.’
So the conference was stopped, and I cut into my dressing-room to write my diary. But I never heard such nonsense, and I wouldn’t believe it on the girl’s own oath. Not like men or dinner-parties, forsooth! It is only a young lady’s trick to attract attention by appearing to decline it. We shall never get rid of her at this rate.
N.B.—Her eyes are not black. I was mistaken. They are grey, and not such a very dark grey either, except when she is annoyed. It is only in some lights that they look black. They are fine eyes; but more suited, I should think, to war than love.
June 19th.—In some way or other I have offended my lady, for she will hardly speak to me; and when I proposed to drive her to hear the regimental band play this evening (Janie not being well), rejected my offer with a decision which amounted to scorn. Yet she stayed by Janie’s sofa (so I was told afterwards) during the whole term of my absence, bathing her head with eau de Cologne, and fanning her, and attending to all her wants in the most womanly manner; so I suppose she has some good in her, after all. But so have serpents and tigers, and other beasts of prey. All I know is, that I’m not going to be insulted by a girl in my own house, and I shall let Miss Anstruther feel this by keeping up a distance between us, and treating her with the coldest reserve. Just when I had been forcing myself to show her politeness, in spite of all the repulsion I feel to her society, to have my offer rudely rejected is more than any man can stand. It makes my blood boil to recall the tone in which she told me she was ‘infinitely obliged,’ but thought, on the whole, she would rather ‘remain at home.’ She may remain at home for ever for me now; it will be a long time before I offer to take her out again.
June 21st.—We have been at it now for two days, bowing to each other when we meet, and scarcely exchanging a word except in the most formal manner. Janie sees the change, of course, and is wretched about it. She keeps turning her wistful glances from one to the other, as if to entreat us to make it up and be friends; but when she appeals to me in private, I tell her that it is the fault of her cousin, who is the one to make the first advances towards reconciliation, as I have not the slightest idea in what I have offended; and when she talks in her turn to Lionne, I believe she hears pretty much the same argument. I hope, however, for all our sakes, that this kind of thing won’t go on much longer; for I know that it’s deucedly disagreeable, and that I’ve never felt at home since Miss Anstruther came into the house.
June 23d.—Colonel Anstruther has sent up a fine Arab from Madras for the use of his niece, and to-day it arrived under the charge of its native groom, rather foot-worn and travel-stained, but otherwise in good condition. It is such a beautiful creature, and my fancy for horses is so strong, that I really couldn’t help coming a little out of my shell on its arrival, and expressing my admiration of its various points to its mistress. She also seemed to forget herself in her pleasure in the new acquisition; but when I remarked that she would now have some delightful rides, and would find no lack of cavaliers to accompany her in Mushin-Bunda, the old expression re-gathered on her face, and she retreated to the house, and sat for the greater part of the evening in her own room. What an unpleasant woman! I would rather she bit me than treated me like this, and suggested to Janie that the alternative would be pleasant for a change. But Janie wouldn’t laugh; she is too really unhappy about the state of things.
June 25th.—Matters remained in statu quo until to-day; but the thaw has come at last, and, as it should do, from the female side. The horses were brought round this morning, as usual, to eat their ‘gram’ in front of the house; and the Arab, having enjoyed two days’ rest and a thorough grooming, looked in such good condition, that Janie was eager in her entreaties that her cousin should take her first ride on him this evening, and form an opinion of her new acquisition. Knowing that my attendance would be necessary (I have never been able to persuade Janie to become a horsewoman, she is far too timid), I made an effort to be more agreeable, and joined my persuasions to those of my wife; but Miss Anstruther would give no definite answer, and rather put the question to one side than otherwise; so I thought no more about it. Going towards the stables, however, in the afternoon, I saw the Arab standing ready saddled in his stall; and hearing it was by order of the ‘missy,’ concluded that I had either misunderstood her reticence, or she had changed her mind; so, telling the horsekeeper to get my animal also ready, returned to the house to hear what plans had been made in my absence. There I found Miss Anstruther standing by herself in the verandah, ready attired for her ride, and looking better in her hat and habit than I remember to have seen her look before.
‘Janie has a headache, Captain Norton, and is lying down until dinner time. I believe she is asleep,’ she said, as she observed the roving look I cast about in search of my wife.
‘Ah, poor little woman, it will be the best thing for her,’ I replied. ‘The horses will be round directly, Miss Anstruther; but I am sorry you did not make me understand your intention of riding more plainly; it was quite by chance that I returned home so early.’
At this she turned and regarded me with serious surprise.
‘I had no intention of troubling you,’ she said quickly; ‘I can ride by myself.’
‘By yourself, and on a strange animal, Miss Anstruther! It is quite out of the question.’
‘I have ridden all sorts of animals.’
‘Perhaps; but not without an attendant. What would the regiment think to see you riding alone?’
‘I am sorry, I have mistaken the place,’ she said gravely. ‘I thought Mushin-Bunda was so very quiet that one might do anything here. I should not think of troubling you to accompany me.’
And she turned towards the house as though with the intention of giving up her ride. But I placed myself upon the threshold, and barred her entrance.
‘You have not been treating me fairly for some days past, Miss Anstruther. What have I done to offend you?’
‘Nothing,’ she answered in a low voice.
‘Then don’t add insult to your injury by refusing my escort on this occasion. You need take no more notice of me, you know, than if I were your groom; and that will not be much alteration from your usual behaviour.’
She held her head so low that I could hardly see her face; but she re-entered the verandah as I spoke, and I concluded that my terms were accepted. In another moment the horses were at the door.
‘Come,’ I said, as gaily as I could, as I held out my hand to aid her in descending the steps; and as I took hers, I felt that it was trembling. I put her on her horse. Notwithstanding her height, she is almost feather-weight; and her elastic figure sprang into the saddle, from the impetus it received from me, as though she had really been the animal to which I am so fond of comparing her. So I settled her in her seat, arranging her skirt and stirrup-leather for her, and handing her the reins, without once looking in her face; and then I mounted my own horse, and we rode out of the compound side by side. The silence that we maintained was ominous. She did not speak a word, and I could think of nothing to say, although I felt that an explanation was about to take place between us. I was glad, therefore, when we came to a long strip of green turf, and I could suggest that she should try of what mettle her animal was made; a suggestion to which she dumbly assented by breaking into a canter. As we rode along together, I glanced at her light figure, poised like a bird upon the saddle, and saw that she rode well, sitting home to her crupper, and handling her reins as though she were accustomed to them.
(N.B.—I have read and heard a good deal about the want of grace in a woman’s seat on horseback, but, for my own part, I never think a lady looks so well as in that position, always provided that she understands her business and has a figure worth looking at. A handsome woman on a handsome horse is a sight for royalty, and I never know which to admire most, the mortal or the equine.)
We cantered for a mile or more, and the action of the Arab seemed very perfect. I made an observation to this effect, when, having left the running horse-keepers far behind us, we at last drew rein, and found ourselves alone. But still my remark received no answer, and I was determined to make her speak.
‘Am I intruding too much upon my privileges, Miss Anstruther, in venturing an opinion on the subject? Even a groom is sometimes permitted, you know, to pass his judgment on the new acquisitions to his mistress’s stables.’
‘Don’t, Captain Norton; oh, pray, don’t.’
The words were uttered so hurriedly that I scarcely understood them; but when I looked into her face for an explanation, I saw that she was crying. Now I cannot bear to see a woman cry. They may do anything they like with me—tease, bully, even insult me—so long as they keep their eyes dry; but Miss Anstruther’s tears were falling fast upon the bosom of her riding-habit.
I could not endure to think that she might be annoyed with me and my bantering; perhaps unhappy at having to live at Mushin-Bunda, for it is a very dull and uninteresting place; and I said the first thing which came into my head.
‘My dear girl, what is the matter with you?’
I suppose the question was stupid or ill-timed, or perhaps I don’t understand the ways of women, for instead of doing Miss Anstruther any good, it changed her silent tears into such a storm of grief that I was quite alarmed. I have often seen Janie cry (indeed, my little woman is rather fond of working her hydraulics on very small occasions), and I have been the unwilling witness at times to a good many tears from various members of the fair sex; but never in all my life have I seen such a tempest of passionate rain as poured from Margaret Anstruther’s eyes this evening. She sobbed so violently and with so little restraint, that I began to be alarmed for the effect of her emotion, both on her horse and herself, and begged and entreated her to be calm, when all of a sudden, to my astonishment, the storm passed as quickly as it had arisen; and, except for her heaving bosom and sobbing breath, she was herself again.
‘What must you think of me?’ she inquired, turning her liquid eyes, still swimming in tears, upon my countenance. ‘I must have seemed so rude, so ungrateful to you both.’
‘Think!’ I stammered, remembering all I have thought of her conduct during the last few days; ‘I don’t think anything, Miss Anstruther; only I am afraid you cannot be happy with us or here.’
‘Oh, it is not that!’ she exclaimed earnestly. ‘Neither place nor people can make any difference to me. Dear Janie is everything that is kind; and you—you have been very patient with me—but nothing can lift off the humiliation, the degradation, that I feel in being here at all.’
‘Degradation!’ I repeated, rather nettled at the term.
‘Yes, degradation!’ she said emphatically; ‘else why am I in this country? what is my place in India? I have an uncle here, it is true; but so have I uncles in England. Why was Colonel Anstruther chosen by my guardians as the one most fitted to offer me a home? Tell me that.’
‘He is rich, and a bachelor,’ I commenced; ‘and living alone, naturally—’
‘It is not so,’ she interrupted me; ‘and you know it, Captain Norton. It is because he lives in a country where women are scarce, and men have few opportunities of choice; where a girl may pick up a husband who might remain for ever unmarried at home; where we are looked at on arrival much as though we were articles of sale, and often purchased for motives unworthy the name of love or honour or esteem. You cannot deny it, because it is true, and I am wretched;’ and with this Lionne buried her burning face in her hands.
‘But I can deny it!’ I exclaimed; ‘for if this is the case with some girls sent out to this country, it is not with all. Look at your cousin Janie; surely you would never speak of her in that strain.’
‘Janie came out to the care of her sister, her nearest relation,’ was the low reply.
‘And you have come out to your relations, Miss Anstruther; to friends who have but one wish, to see you happy and comfortable, and who would never dream of imputing such motives to an action which—’
‘Did you not dream of it?’ she retorted quickly, as she turned her glowing glance upon me. ‘What was the question that you put to Janie the second evening of my arrival. “If she doesn’t want to get married, what is she here for?” I ought not to have heard it, perhaps, but you spoke so loudly that it was impossible to avoid doing so. And do you think I didn’t feel it?’
She spoke so decidedly, and yet so mournfully, her eyes flashed with such proud indignant fire, whilst her figure seemed bowed beneath the weight of her humiliation, that I had nothing to say for myself; and having attempted some stammering reply, which ended very abruptly, found that she was speaking again, though more to herself than me, and felt myself constrained to be silent and attend.
‘I saw it from the first day I landed,’ she went on sadly. ‘I perceived in Mrs Grant’s insinuations, and the remarks of her lady friends, that I was supposed to have been sent out to India with but one object—to get a husband; and it sickened me. But when I came here,’ she added in a lower voice, ‘I hoped it would be different; I hoped that you and Janie, being so lately married, would look on love and marriage in a holier light—as something too far removed from earthly calculations to be made the subject of mere speculation or convenience.’
‘Oh, Miss Anstruther, forgive me!’ I exclaimed.
‘It is I who should have said those words, Captain Norton. You disappointed me, and I have disappointed you. You raised in me a demon of a temper, which I should have been ashamed to manifest, which I am now most heartily ashamed even to recall. And you have been very patient with me, very good and very gentlemanly. Please forgive me, in your turn.’
And she placed her hand firmly and warmly into mine.
‘You are too kind,’ I stammered, confused beyond measure at this rapid change of manner in my guest. ‘I spoke thoughtlessly; but I see that I misjudged you. Only tell me now what you wish to be done, and I will execute it to the letter.’
‘I don’t deserve that you should do anything, Captain Norton, but hate me for a rude and sulky wretch; but I am so heartily sorry to have annoyed you.’
‘Let us forget all that,’ I responded, earnestly; ‘the annoyance was mutual, and I was the most to blame. Only tell me what to do in future, Margaret—I may call you Margaret, may I not, since we are cousins?—in order to make you happy, and then I shall feel that I am quite forgiven.’
‘Treat me as a human being,’ she answered, gaily, ‘and not as an animal for sale. Don’t ask your brother officers to the house on my account, nor thrust me forward for their contemplation in any way. Look on me as what I am: a creature who may stand alone all her life, and be contented so to stand; to whom marriage is but a chance in the future; so great a chance indeed, and so undesired a certainty, that she does not even care to contemplate it nearer; to whom her friends, if they will be her true and honest friends, are more valuable than a score of admirers.’
‘Whatever I have been, you shall have a true and honest friend in me henceforward, Margaret.’
‘That’s right; so let us look upon our difference as settled, and make Janie’s heart glad by the beaming faces we take back with us. And now, let me hear your true opinion of my uncle’s present to me.’
We discoursed gaily on in different topics till we reached home; when Janie was indeed made glad (as Margaret had predicted) by the cheerful conversation we maintained at the dinner-table, and the little bit of confidence I reposed in her when we found ourselves alone. She was so delighted to think I should appreciate her dear Lionne at her true value at last. Not that I told Janie every word that had passed between her cousin and myself; for, added to its being unnecessary, I am not sure that my little girl would understand Miss Anstruther’s feelings on the subject, or properly respect her pride. She would mention it again to her probably; and in her simplicity, wishing to be kind and interested, try to sift her reasons to the bottom, and perhaps annoy where she desired to please. So I only said that our quarrel was altogether done away with, and would never be renewed; and that, as her cousin seemed to prefer a quiet life, we would inaugurate no farther dinner-parties on her account; which would suit us better, I concluded, and be more in accordance with our usual style of living. To all which my wife heartily agreed; and I feel more at charity with myself and all mankind than I have done for some time past. I shall keep my word with Margaret Anstruther; and extend no farther encouragement to the bachelors who may come lounging about my house. It is a strange taste on her part; but she must be a girl in a thousand to dislike admiration, and to look upon careless attentions as an offence against the solemnity of marriage. It is a solemn thing, when you come to think, that if you make a mistake upon the subject, you are in for it, and nothing can pull you out again. I wonder if Margaret has had an unrequited attachment; I should not be in the least surprised were I told so; it would be quite in accordance with the grave, melancholy expression of her eyes, and her dislike to society. I must try and discover.
