“I could do nothing,” said Kripá Dé sadly. “Was it not dastur [custom]? Oh that the good God of whom you have told me would sweep all such customs away!”
Mr. Hartley rose from his seat and paced the veranda, with hands clasped and lips moving in scarcely audible prayer: “O Lord, overthrow this Jaggernath of cruel custom which is crushing under its iron wheels hundreds of thousands of innocent victims. Let the lightning of Thy power, or rather let the light of Thy truth, burst forth. Save India’s enslaved daughters—the poor child-widows—from bondage worse than death!”
CHAPTER XI
WHAT A SONG DID.
Harold came in late to breakfast on the following morning. He was not unaccompanied, for his hand was resting on the shoulder of Kripá Dé. Whilst the young Kashmiri looked pale and excited, his missionary friend’s face wore an expression of thoughtful satisfaction which told of prayers granted and efforts crowned with success.
“We have a guest to share our breakfast to-day, Alicia,” he said; “so prepare for him a place and a welcome.—Robin, I am sure that you will make room for our new brother, both at the board and in your heart. Kripá Dé has asked to be baptized, and comes to-day to take the preliminary step of breaking his caste by eating for the first time with Christians.”
Mr. Hartley, who had long watched the gradual growth of conviction in the mind of the young Brahmin, held out his hand to the convert. “God bless you, my son,” he said; “the day will never come in which you will repent having cast in your lot with the followers of Christ.”
Robin heartily embraced the Kashmiri; and Alicia, obeying a glance from Harold, held out to Kripá Dé her small fair hand. The youth kissed it with timid reverence, and then shyly took his place at the table beside Robin Hartley.
The English reader can hardly estimate the significance of so simple an act. The first spoonful of suji which the convert ate at a Christian’s table was to him a passing of the Rubicon, a renunciation of all that he had looked upon as the high privileges of his birth; it was a cutting himself off from home and family, a taking up of the cross, the sign of suffering and shame.
“Kripá Dé will remain here to-day,” observed Harold, “and at night will sleep on the roof, for we must keep him concealed. After his baptism, which will take place early to-morrow, he must depart at once for Lahore till the first burst of the storm is over. When once it is known in the fort that Kripá Dé has taken the decisive step of baptism, it will be hardly safe for him to remain at Talwandi.”