Two months of busy work followed; towards the close of which came another adventure,—a robber again, but this time one on four legs instead of two.
‘July 18, 1882.—Our palace was invaded by a wild cat. She caught a poor pigeon in the south room, carried it through the dining-room into my room, and left its half-eaten remains on my floor. Another time she had the impertinence to crouch on sleeping C.[103] A wild cat is not a pleasant visitor; her mode of attack, if incensed, being to spring at the throat. So I set a price, a moderate one, on the wild cat’s head. She came again,—she was sure to do so to a house where boys keep pets, and where she had already captured a pigeon. At night I heard a battle-royal going on over my head. I did not rise; I guessed that there was a furious conflict between the boys and the wild cat. On the following morning I saw the animal lying dead, and paid the reward.’
A few days more, and the bolt fell. News came that Mrs. Baring was ill; and that her husband, away from her at the time, had hastened back, to find her in a high fever. Then a rather better report arrived; and Charlotte Tucker was so far cheered as to write to Mrs. Hamilton in much her usual strain, hoping that it might prove to be ‘only a passing indisposition.’ Before this letter was closed, tidings were received that all was over. Erysipelas had set in, the fair face becoming unrecognisable, and with little warning the gentle saint, so ready to go, had passed away. It was a very heavy blow; and though Miss Tucker, as usual, thought far more of what others felt than of what she felt herself, the letters written afterwards show how much she suffered:—
‘Aug. 9.—I feel as if I did not care to write much save on one theme. The enclosed letters, which you will read, will give you particulars of the sad, sad event, which must have shocked you much.... How little I dreamed, when I saw the two driven off in the dâk-gari, while the moonlight fell on the picturesque scene, that one, and that the stronger one, ... would never return to Batala again! But the dear Lord knew that she was ready. He does not call His children to mount up as on eagles’ wings till the wings are fledged.
‘This is the saddest year that I have ever passed in India....’
‘Aug. 11, 1882.—My dearest Leila, I doubt not that both you and your loved Mother have shed tears over sweet, sweet Margaret’s loss,—or rather, our loss,—and that you have tenderly sympathised both with my poor Bhatija and with me. This has been a year of successive trials, not only to us but to others in the Mission field,—a time to make us search our hearts and examine our work. It seems almost as if my two Scripture texts at present are, “Faint, yet pursuing,”—and “Lord, we have toiled all night, and caught nothing, yet at Thy Word we will let down the net.” ...
‘It seems such an age before I can get a reply to any letter addressed to Francis. Time goes so slowly now! It is only a week to-day since I received the startling news.’
The especial trials referred to, apart from the death of Mrs. Baring, were numerous difficulties and disappointments among and with the members of their little flock of Indian Christians. One trouble had followed upon the heels of another.