But whenever Mayne urged Nancy to rest, or to spare herself, he was met with an impatient shrug, or a brusque refusal; and realized the uncomfortable fact, that she rarely spoke to, or looked at him, of her own accord; but naturally every precious moment was devoted to her dying father.
Travers' slight recovery on the day of the wedding was followed that night by a grave relapse, turning to delirium, finally coma; and the following day, he passed away at sunset. The prayers for the dying offered by Mr. Brownlow were almost drowned in the clanging of the coolies' gong. Their task for the day was over—and Travers' life's work ended at the same hour.
That night the bungalow itself was silent as a tomb, but the peaceful repose was broken by the weird death wail in the go-downs and coolies' quarters.
The funeral was immense. People from great distances, hills and plains alike, flocked to pay the last tribute to an old friend.—Laurence Travers had been in Coffee for twenty-five years.
Among the most prominent mourners were Mr. and Mrs. Ffinch; she had only returned home that morning, and was shocked by the news which assailed her, almost before she had set foot in her house. Having been beyond the reach of letters, this was the first that she had heard, even of Travers' illness: and the sudden announcement of his death, was a stunning blow. Although tired, and inclined to be hysterical, she pulled herself together with a great effort in order to accompany her husband to Fairplains.
During the Burial Service many of the women wept. Nancy never shed a tear, but stood by the grave-side like a graven image in white stone. Afterwards, she fled away to her room, where she locked herself in; refusing admittance to all,—even deaf to the beseeching of her own dearest, and broken-hearted, "Finchie."
Truly these were really miserable days for Derek Mayne! who weighed down by the loss of a good friend, and his own share in the tragedy, had now added to his trouble, a wife who undoubtedly hated him! He read this fact in her dull, but still expressive eyes. She avoided him pointedly; even at the funeral, she had moved from his side in order to stand by Mrs. Ffinch; and once, when he had made an attempt to offer consolation and a caress, she had looked at him so fiercely; almost as if she could have struck him! Of course the miserable child was nearly off her head—and no wonder; but this was not an encouraging beginning for a life-long partnership!
His leave would be up in three days, and what then? The estate must be taken in hand at once: Ted and Nicky were working it at present, like the good fellows that they were, but a capable manager who could live on the spot, was in this, the busiest season, absolutely essential.
In the East, events march with amazing speed; as one man falls, another fills his place—and so the world rolls on. Almost everything at Fairplains, except such matters as books, guns, a few pieces of old china and silver, belonged, as Travers had once expressed it, "lock, stock and barrel" to Tom Fletcher; so the personal estate was easily wound up. The assets were small; but on the other hand—there were no debts.
Dr. Hicks had taken his departure, but his good, capable wife still remained in charge of Nancy, and the household. Mayne and she dined tête-à-tête; and somehow in her brusque matter-of-fact way, she cheered him: she talked of Nancy as "a darling; a girl with a heart of gold, who, when she had found her breath again, after such a terrible experience, would make him the best of wives, and was fit for any society."