The patron's generosity was not long required. When an account of Walter's adventures, concluding with the baptism in the Eagle's Nest, drawn up by Mr. Coldstream, appeared in the Times, it excited general interest. The letter was copied into almost every other paper. Of course it reached the breakfast-table of his uncle, Augustus Gurney. The successful banker, who had now retired from business on a handsome fortune, was proud of the now famous nephew, whom in obscurity he had despised. Walter had not been two months in college before a black-edged letter arrived written in the same stiff hand as that whose contents, seven years before, had pleased him so little. This letter was comparatively kind, and contained, moreover, a cheque for three hundred pounds. Augustus was perhaps softened by trials which had come upon him during the years which had passed. He told his nephew of the successive deaths of two of his three sons by consumption. He let Walter know that if he chose to come to England he would have a welcome either in Eaton Square or at Claverdon Hall. Walter was pleased at the invitation, though he did not accept it, and wrote back a grateful letter of thanks.
The young man cashed his cheque, which appeared to him a mine of wealth. His first care—to him a delight—was to purchase numerous presents for Sultána, her husband, and many other friends in the Eagle's Nest. The difficulty was how to send them, for the city where Walter now resided was many hundreds of miles from the frontier, and it was by no means easy to make arrangements for the safe transmission of valuable goods through a country like Afghanistan, where utter lawlessness prevailed. Walter spared neither trouble nor expense, but still felt uncertainty as to whether either his gifts or his letters would reach the Eagle's Nest.
Walter's next care was to repay his pecuniary debt to Sir Cæsar—no small relief to the young man's mind. He procured a smaller cheque, which he enclosed in an envelope, with a note to his benefactor of thankful acknowledgment of kindness unsought. Sir Cæsar was sincerely glad that young Gurney had an uncle with a good long purse; put the cheque into his pocket, and the note into the waste-paper basket.
Walter was now, indeed, basking in the sun of prosperity, and his present good fortune was all the more dazzling from contrast with its dark antecedents. The first years of Walter's life had been spent in utter obscurity; and straitened means had at last seemed likely to end in utter destitution. Then had come a struggle which had involved loss of liberty, and perpetual hazard of life. This struggle, more or less severe, had lasted through nearly seven long years. Walter had never felt sure that some fierce fit of anger,—nay, some mere caprice of Assad Khan—might not bring on himself a bastinado, or even loss of eyes or head. Young Gurney had pursued evangelising work under difficulties which most men would have deemed insuperable. No trophy had been won from Islam without a perilous conflict. In addition to this harassing state of insecurity, it had been no small trial to Walter to be debarred from all intercourse with men of cultivated minds,—to live amongst the ignorant and savage, deprived of access to literature. Social intercourse was now a choice feast, and Walter partook of it with the relish of one who has been intellectually starved.
Young Gurney was not so utterly absorbed in his studies as to have no time for recreation, and he enjoyed intensely such pleasures as had on them no stigma of vice. Very delightful was it to go out in the cold weather, camping for a-while with Sir Cæsar, enjoying constant change of scene, and riding a spirited horse by the side of the Commissioner's daughter. Still more delightful, when camping season was over, to stand by the piano in the evening, and listen to, and join in, such classical music as enchanted his soul. The fair Flora never cared to sing solos when Walter's rich melodious voice was available for a duet. He watched her white jewelled fingers as they touched the instrument with faultless execution and exquisite taste, and almost felt, in the enthusiasm of his admiration, that he could look and listen for ever.
As Flora occupied an increasingly large place in Walter's thoughts, she must find some space in our pages. She was the eldest daughter of Sir Cæsar, and in the absence of her mother, whom ill health and the charge of younger children detained in England, Flora reigned supreme in the handsome establishment of the Commissioner Sahib. She was possessed of considerable personal beauty, and the Bird of Paradise was the sobriquet by which she was often spoken of in the circle of her admirers. There could scarcely have been a greater contrast than that between the training of the Bird of Paradise and that of the little Afghan Eaglet in her wild mountain nest. Imagination could hardly have pictured Flora Dashley scrambling about rocks barefoot, cooking her own dinner, or eating it with her fingers! Sir Cæsar, of rather pompous manner and ostentatious character, took pleasure in relating what fabulous sums he had spent on his daughter's education. She had had first-rate masters in music, drawing, and dancing, and to perfect her accomplishments had passed several years on the Continent. The result was such as perfectly to satisfy her father. In charms, personal and acquired, few could equal his Flora.
It was prognosticated as soon as the young lady joined Sir Cæsar in India, that before many months had passed she would certainly change her name. But years had passed, and she was Flora Dashley still. The Bird of Paradise enjoyed her freedom. She could hardly be more pleasantly situated than in the house of her wealthy father, with no heavier trials than the sleepiness of punkah-walas* or the spoiling of a dress by the moths. Besides unnumbered native servants to obey her commands, Flora had always some of her young countrymen eager to anticipate every wish, to break in a horse, or copy out music, or even undertake the heroic task of trying to tune her piano.
* Men employed in India to mitigate the heat by pulling a large fan.
It was a rich enjoyment to Walter to converse with so refined and highly educated a young lady; it was to him a new, and most delightful phase of existence. Walter seldom cared to talk to others of his life in the Afghan mountains, but Flora drew him out with her questions, and it thrilled the young man with pleasure to see the interest shown by her in his strange adventures. Walter was by no means certain that his charming companion had yet given her heart to the Lord; but was not her ready listening to accounts of conversions amongst the Afghans a sign that a missionary spirit was stirring within her? Gurney guessed not how utter would have been Flora's indifference had the tales been told by some grey-headed pastor.
Walter would fain have persuaded himself that the pains taken by Flora with the church-choir denoted pious inclinations; he cared not to think that her exquisite singing of hymns and sacred songs was due to her love of music, and not to her love of God. If her admirer could not hide from himself that the lady delighted in worldly amusements, Walter made every excuse for her education and present surroundings. Flora could enjoy reading a volume of Miss Havergal's beautiful poetry which he had placed in her hands; this Walter took as a token for good. He tried earnestly to draw the fair English maiden upwards, as he had been the means of drawing Sultána, and did not at first recognise the truth that, blinded by his admiration for Flora, he was making an excuse to his conscience for remaining in a position which imperilled his own spirituality.