Miss Tucker might well have said ‘very’ instead of ‘almost’ sad. Certain words in a letter of Mrs. Baring’s to Mrs. Hamilton, soon after, are something of an echo to the above:—
‘The blessing she (Miss Tucker) is among those Christian boys is incalculable. Perhaps Eternity will show even more fruit from her bright, loving, holy influence over them, than over the people in the city. They are more able to appreciate her character and teaching than the poor degraded heathen, to whom she is much more like an angel afar off and above them, than a sister-woman whom they may seek to follow and grow like.
‘She does love the boys, and is in her element among them; and they have one and all a chivalrous admiration for her. These years in India have taught her some things, I can see. Formerly her purse was open to every one; now she has the same generous spirit, guided by caution and experience. This winter’s painful lessons in the fallibility of our best Native Christians have been to her a very sore discipline, and to us too; but it is really safer for us all to know exactly how far we dare trust, than to be thinking those saints who are very far from it.’
A touching little episode about this time is related in letters from both A. L. O. E. and Mrs. Baring. The latter had been much grieved by quarrelling in one of the Muhammadan schools; and she told her Pandit or teacher about it. He was a Sikh, who knew much of Christianity, though not yet a Convert. The kind words which came in answer were certainly not what might have been expected from a heathen. ‘But do not be sad in heart,’ urged the Pandit. Satan is strong, but God is stronger. He will hear your prayers.’ The speaker could surely have been heathen only in name.
In the end of May it became needful for Mr. and Mrs. Baring to go to a cooler spot, leaving Miss Tucker in charge at Batala,—once more to be the only European in that city. It seemed no great matter to her, and she wrote as usual very cheerily about it beforehand. Little dreamt she that this was to be a final parting; that she and her beloved ‘Queen Lily’—her ‘Angel-friend’—would never meet again in this life!
‘May 20, 1882.—The day after to-morrow my dear friends are to leave me for the Hills. You must not be sad about it, for I am quite happy; indeed, it will be rather a comfort to me for them to go, sweet as is their society, and valuable as is their affection. Francis stands heat so very badly.... Margaret too loses her pretty pink roses, and gets so tired when she goes to the city. On the other hand, I am far fitter for work than in winter.... It is a mistake in kind friends to pity me, or think about sacrifices on my part, for the lines have fallen to me in a fair ground. Of course, we have things to trouble us; but the blessings far, far outweigh the trials.’
‘May 23.—Dear Francis and Margaret started last night, the young May moon and the stars shining beautifully. It was a picturesque scene. The carriage had a lamp within it, as well as one or two outside; the light gleamed on our crowd of boys and men, mostly in white garments. Loud was the cheer when our dear ones drove off....
‘Well, love, I and our boys returned to Anarkalli. I did not feel lonely. I went to bed under the swinging pankah; and was ere long wrapped in repose. O what a startling waking at about 3 A.M. What an uproar!—what a fierce sound of struggle breaks on the silence of night,—the call for help—the whack of blows,—it reaches Babu Singha’s ears at the Banyans, and brings him in haste from his bed,—but not till the conflict is over. I start up, and am at the window in a minute; but the moon has gone down; there is only starlight; nothing can I see, though much can I hear. I recognise the loud, manly voice of G., our Christian bihisti.[100] I think that he is catching a thief, and that the thief has the worst of it. Of course, boys and men come running. I hear a call for rope,—yes, certainly a thief must have been caught.
‘Presently a wee light is brought. I can see, almost below my window, an object crouching on the ground, surrounded by our people. They have bound him; they are examining his face. There is a great deal of noise and talking for twenty minutes or more; and then the robber is evidently led away, and I retire again to rest. My heart beat no faster, but it certainly would have beaten faster, had I known the extent of dear, brave G.’s danger. When I came down in the morning, there was the robber, in iron fetters, with his face all marked with blood,—with the police around. He was crouching on the ground, a picture of a ruffian, a miserable ruffian.
‘Babu Singha told me that there had been five burglars; but only two had ventured near the house. Our chaukidar[101] ... gave the alarm. G. rushed to the rescue, and he and B. between them, with some help from the dhobi,[102] succeeded in catching the robber; but not without G. receiving hurts from his heavy stick. Babu Singha told me that the robber is a very powerful man. But, oh Laura, what gave me the greatest feeling of the danger G. had been in, was being shown the razor which the robber had had about him. It had been dropped. Thank God, that had not been used; indeed, I do not think that the ruffian had been given time to use it. If he had, he might have killed G....’