“But we must go on, my love; the driver will at last get the better in the struggle.”
“There is the bullock-cart coming along the road; we will go in that, the oxen are so quiet. Oh, mercy!”
The nat-kat, half-maddened by the punishment which he was receiving, with distended nostrils and flashing eyes, was indeed attempting to bite as well as to kick. Harold in vain urged that the bullocks would take hours to accomplish the journey, and that the sun was about to set. Alicia declared that to go home slowly was better than not getting home at all. Harold was constrained to let the timid creature have her own way, and the furious horse had his; for while Alicia was with difficulty squeezing herself behind the piano, and Harold trying to arrange the luggage taken from the gári, the nat-kat and his companion were tearing away at the utmost speed that the weight of the gári permitted on their way back to Chuanwál station. Mightily amused was the fat munshi when he heard of the adventure, and with great satisfaction he stroked his beard and jingled his bag of rupees.
It was some time before the nervous Alicia, in her most uncomfortable niche in the bullock-cart, could recover her wonted composure. Harold tried to make the best that he could of circumstances, but thought with regret of the despised ekká, in which he might so much more quickly and cheaply, and perhaps more comfortably too, have accomplished a tiresome journey. Poor Alicia had been so much frightened, and was now so much shaken and tired, that she had difficulty in keeping in her tears. She had a fear that she had displeased, or at least had annoyed, Harold, and that Robin would laugh at her for making so poor a beginning of missionary life. The slow pace of the bullocks made the journey terribly tedious, and dark night closed in long before they had accomplished five miles.
Travelling adventures were not over. A bit of specially bad and boggy road was encountered. First the cart stuck fast in the mud. Harold sprang down, and his exertions, combined with those of the driver and the struggles of the belaboured oxen, at last succeeded in setting the clumsy conveyance in motion again. A few yards further on there was a sudden shock and a crash. One of the big wheels had come off. A great deal of the luggage was precipitated on the miry road.
“Quite a night of adventures!” cried Harold cheerfully, to reassure his young wife and prevent her noticing that a falling box had inflicted on his arm a very severe contusion. He bit his lip with pain, and then added in the same playful tone, “We shall laugh over our little troubles when we reach our destination.”
“But when shall we reach it?” exclaimed Alicia; “how far are we now from Talwandi?”
“I should say four miles,” replied Harold; “but it is difficult to guess in the darkness, when one can see no landmarks. How we are to proceed with a wheel off is a difficult problem to solve. If you permit, I will press forward and bring back a lantern and my fathers tattu [pony], on which you will ride.”
“Oh no; you must not leave me!” cried Alicia, clinging like a terrified child to her husband’s strong arm. “I can walk—I would far rather walk.”
And walk she did, all the long weary way over a rough road; for the four miles proved to be five, and to the young traveller seemed to be ten. Mr. Hartley, after staying up till midnight to welcome the pair, had given them up and retired to rest, when Harold and his tired—almost exhausted—bride reached the little bungalow at last.