Mr. Thole did not relish the conversation, and broke it off abruptly. Throwing away his cigar, he pushed his chair back from the table, and said in rather a dictatorial tone to Mr. Hartley, “Now, sir, I am ready to hear about the business which brought you hither.”
Mr. Hartley felt that the preceding conversation had been an unfortunate introduction to what was coming, for Mr. Thole had resumed all his official stiffness. However, there was nothing to be done but to make a clear, concise statement of all that had led him to suspect that Miranda Macfinnis, daughter of a merchant, supposed to have been murdered with her parents about twelve years before in the Mutiny, was at present shut up in a zenana at Talwandi, and, as a widow, treated with cruel harshness and neglect.
Mr. Thole listened with stern gravity, neither stirring a muscle nor interrupting by a single question until the missionary had produced all the slender information that he possibly could give on the subject. When Mr. Hartley stopped, the commissioner coldly asked, after a brief pause, “Have you anything more to communicate, sir?”
“Nothing more at present,” was the reply.
“Then allow me to say that Mr. Hartley has not shown all the discrimination and judgment which might have been expected from one of his experience in bringing before me a case which has not a leg to stand on,” said the commissioner, with a touch of impatience. “Your daughter-in-law, a young lady who, as you own, possesses slight knowledge of Urdu, hears a woman in a zenana shout out thrice what she is pleased to consider an English word. It was probably the praise of some of her myriad gods, jai (victory) being easily mistaken for ‘joy,’ The girl is white; but that is not the slightest proof of European origin—some Kashmiris and Pathans, as every one knows, having complexions perfectly fair. You would have me give weight to the evidence of a youth who owns that he always considered the girl an Afghan, and who would never have thought of her as anything else, had it not been put into his head that the widow may be a European. And on such cobweb evidence as this you would have me to do what would justly make me the most unpopular man in the Panjab, cause probably a serious tumult, and expose me to Government censure!” Mr. Thole’s voice rose to a more indignant pitch at each clause in his speech till it reached a climax in the peroration: “No, sir; I have too much regard for the interests of Government and my own honour to violate the sacred privacy of a Hindu zenana by a demand for the production of one of its inmates on an absurd suspicion confirmed by not even the shadow of truth!” Mr. Thole pushed back his chair and angrily rose from the table.
“I see the force of what you say, sir,” observed Mr. Hartley; “but should further evidence be brought forward—”
“Of course, of course, if there be documents or proofs such as would justify a demand for the girl’s examination, I would do my duty, whatever opposition might be aroused,” interrupted the commissioner in a haughty manner: “at present there seems to be nothing of the kind; and I can only regret, sir, that you have put yourself” (“and me” was understood though not expressed) “to such unnecessary trouble.”
“Then we have only to wish you good-night, sir,” said Mr. Hartley, attempting to rise; but weary, and overcome by a sudden attack of giddiness, he was unable to do so, and sank back on his chair.
“You must not think of returning to Talwandi to-night, Mr. Hartley,” said the commissioner; “you are evidently unequal to riding, even if the road were a smooth one. You and your son can occupy the tent of my munshi.”
The Hartleys were unwilling to avail themselves of hospitality offered as a matter of course rather than of kindness; but Mr. Hartley was too unwell to keep the saddle, therefore they were constrained to stay till morning. Harold penned a short letter to his wife, recounting what had occurred, and ending thus: “If my father be better, we shall join you to-morrow; but do not expect us early, as I would not break his morning sleep. The baptism must be delayed till sunset. If possible, gain more information regarding the widow; you may find it advisable to visit the zenana again.”