Walter mechanically sang through the duet; his thoughts were far, far away. When the practising was over, he somewhat hastily took his departure.
Long did young Gurney ponder over the conversation at night, in the solitude of his chamber, with his Bible open before him. Had he not, again and again, given himself, with all his powers, all his talents, to the service of a crucified Lord, and now was he not suffering the world gradually to enclose him in a snare, none the less strong because its meshes were formed of the softest silk? Whence came his increasing repugnance to fulfil his promise to Sultána? Was it not the impossibility of taking an English bride to the Afghan mountains? Walter dared scarcely think of Miss Dashley in connection with his own future; union with Sir Cæsar's daughter seemed almost as utterly beyond his hopes as if she had been a star; yet—yet—things more impossible had happened before. Oh, how delicious were day-dreams! but were they safe?—were they right?
Walter knelt down and prayed for guidance, that Divine guidance which is never honestly sought in vain. He remained long on his knees. The young man arose with a pale cheek and a heavy heart. He opened his desk, and wrote a letter to his bishop, offering himself as a candidate for orders in the ordination shortly to take place, previous to entering on honorary missionary work. Walter enveloped the letter, and shut it up in his desk. He then retired to his couch, but not to sleep; no slumber visited his eyes on that night.
CHAPTER XIX.
DECISION.
The following dawn ushered in Sunday. Walter was accustomed on that day to breakfast with Sir Cæsar, and then accompany him and his daughter to church, a privilege which made him an object of envy to some young officers and civilians. Young Gurney did not on this day break the understood engagement. Those Sabbath mornings sometimes gave him an opportunity of speaking a few words on religious subjects to Flora, or reading sacred poetry, of which they both were fond. How soon these too happy mornings would become things of the past!
At the accustomed hour Walter mounted the broad flight of steps which led to the wide verandah, and pushing aside the green chik,* entered the drawing-room, in which were seated Sir Cæsar and his daughter. What a contrast that drawing-room presented to Walter's quarters in the Eagle's Nest! The Indian mat which covered the floor was itself partly hidden under rich Cashmere rugs, tiger's skins, and the thick fur of the bear. The whiteness of the walls was relieved by painted arabesque patterns, with here and there a chromograph or well-selected print in a gilded frame. The tables were adorned with fine china, and delicate specimens of Agra's inlaid marble work. A profusion of flowers from a dozen vases filled the air with delicious perfume. In a most richly-carved ebony cabinet appeared a collection of elegantly-bound books; albums lay on one of the tables. It was the home of luxury; and everything on which the eye rested, from the grand piano to the small bird of exquisite plumage in its flower-wreathed cage, told of the presiding taste of a refined and cultivated woman. It was a fit perch for a Bird of Paradise.
* A kind of blind, admitting the free circulation of air.
Sir Cæsar, on the easiest of easy chairs, was enjoying the coolness imparted by the measured, monotonous swing of the punkah;* for, though it was but the end of March, the weather was already oppressively hot.
* An enormous kind of fan.