The commissioner elevated his bushy brows to express surprise not unmixed with incredulity. “Who might this man be?” he inquired.
“Sir Peregrine Maitland,” replied Mr. Hartley. “His story may have perhaps escaped your memory, as so many stirring events have occurred in India since. This officer, at that time a leading man, was offered the command of the Madras army and a seat in Council.”
“He was a lucky fellow,” remarked the commissioner, leaning back on his chair; “such big prizes don’t fall often to the lot of a man. Pray go on, Mr. Hartley.”
“Sir Peregrine accepted the high offices on the express condition that they should not involve him in any connection with Hindu idolatry.”
Mr. Thole’s muttered “Humph!” and slight smile expressed no great admiration for Sir Peregrine Maitland’s superfluous caution. The commissioner helped himself to a cigar from a case brought by a servant, after the missionaries had declined one, lighted it, and raised it to his lip. He smoked it, whilst Mr. Hartley proceeded with his tale.
“Not many days after the commander had arrived in Madras, in the first despatch-box which he received as a member of Council, came a document to sanction the appointment and payment of dancing-girls in a certain Hindu temple. Sir Peregrine was expected to sign this paper.”
“A mere matter of form,” observed Mr. Thole, removing the cigar from his mouth for a minute. “Whether the member of Council signed or not, the thing would be done. It was simply making a dash with his pen.”
“Rather than make that dash with his pen,” said Mr. Hartley, “Sir Peregrine was ready to resign his high offices. After looking at the paper the commander called out to his wife, Lady Sarah, who was superintending the unpacking of their lately-arrived luggage, ‘Sarah, don’t open these boxes; I am going back to England.’ And, after sending home a fruitless appeal to Government, go back he did, resigning his lucrative offices.”
“And I daresay that he repented so doing to the end of his life,” cried Mr. Thole.
“Certainly not at the end of his life,” said Harold Hartley: “no man ever on a death-bed repented of a sacrifice made for conscience’ sake.”