As soon as the servants' voices, and the clatter of plates, assured her that the meal was in active progress, Nancy slipped out, and stole down to the tennis ground, in order to breathe a little fresh air, and secure an uninterrupted think. The tennis ground was the most secluded resort about the premises,—being sunken in the hillside, and invisible from the bungalow. It was a pregnant coincidence, that the recently married couple had each sought the same sanctuary!
Nancy paced slowly to and fro; the agony of apprehension, and the tension of a desperate hope, had come to an end. She was turning over in her mind the various statements that Mrs. Ffinch had so frankly disclosed. One or two stark-naked facts boldly presented themselves. Fact number one: Captain Mayne had married her for no other reason, than to discharge a debt, and to give her his protection, and a home. This plain and odious truth, was unbearable. Once upon a time—indeed only a week ago—she had liked Captain Mayne so much; but now her feelings had undergone a sharp change, and all she felt for him, was shuddering aversion. Yesterday, when he had put his hand on her shoulder, she had felt inclined to scream! It was undeniable—proclaimed another stout fact—that she had assented to the marriage; but if it was ruinous to Captain Mayne, abhorrent to herself, and unfair to them both,—why hold to it?
Another glaring truth revealed, that she was absolutely homeless—unless she followed her fate to Cananore, or accepted what was neither more nor less than Mrs. Ffinch's charity! Surely there must be a third alternative? For the last eighteen months, she had held the purse-strings, and saved her Daddy many rupees, and after the servants' wages and other expenses were settled, there remained sufficient money to pay her passage home, and leave a margin of about twenty pounds.
She would go straight to her old school at Eastbourne: Mrs. Beccles—who had always been her friend—would no doubt allow her to remain there for a week or two, and assist her to find a situation as companion, or governess. She was determined not to be carried off to Clouds Rest; there, to become a pensioner, and non-paying guest. She was really fond of Finchie, who was immensely kind, and generous; but Finchie had more than once openly lamented, that "she so soon got tired of people!" What if she grew tired of her? As Nancy cast her thoughts back, she recalled the reigns of Blanche Meach; of Nicky Byng; of Jessie; and there was no denying the fact that at the moment, she herself was the official favourite. Even if she went to Clouds Rest for a few weeks,—it would be only to prolong the present agony, and defer a crisis.
To remain in the neighbourhood of Fairplains, where she and her father had been so supremely happy; with strangers occupying their rooms, riding their ponies, playing on this very tennis ground,—no, never! And then all the talk and commiseration, although so kindly meant, would drive her crazy! There was a loop-hole of escape overlooked by Mrs. Ffinch. She would go down to her old nurse, Jane Simpson, at Coimbatore, and start to-morrow night, leaving two letters, one for Captain Mayne, and one for Finchie. Finchie would be furious; she could almost see her face, after she had read and digested her leave-taking epistle! But, after all, she must live her own life, such as it was; and go her own way. What she did, or where she went, was of little matter to anyone. Nurse Jane would not worry her with plans, and questions—she understood; she always did; and later on, when she felt stronger, not so queer, and dazed, and the monsoon was over, she would go home—that is to say, to England.
As Nancy made up her mind to this plan, she beheld Togo coming slowly down the steps, and looking about cautiously. Catching sight of the object of his quest, he flew to her side.
"So you were afraid we were all gone, dear, were you?" and she lifted him,—a heavy armful,—sat down, and placed him on the bench beside her. Togo endeavoured to make frantic demonstrations of affection,—but was firmly restrained. His mistress held him fast with her arm round his neck, and there the two sat, and gazed on the moon-flooded plains,—an exquisite scene in silver. It all looked so still, so calm, and in a word, so heavenly. "Oh, Togo," she murmured. "The world is the same, but everything in it, is changed for you—and me."
Suddenly something in Nancy's throat seemed to give way, and she buried her face in Togo's woolly neck; the ice had melted, and for the first time, she wept,—but not for long. In a surprisingly short time, she choked back her sobs—and with a supreme effort recovered her composure, restrained her streaming tears, as she had done Togo's caresses,—and administering a kiss in the middle of his forehead, rose and returned to the bungalow,—stealing into her own quarters almost like a thief.
Manœuvring among the shadows, she had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hicks and Captain Mayne smoking together on the verandah. What good friends they seemed to be! In her room she found awaiting her, a dainty little meal (now cold), and offered it to Togo. As a rule the dog had a healthy and unfastidious appetite, but to-night, he merely sniffed at the plate, and turned sorrowfully away. To avoid a scene of recrimination, and remonstrance, Nancy gulped down some cold soup, and ordered the ayah to remove the tray, "quick, quick, quick," and when Mrs. Hicks had gone to bed, to send Francis to speak to her.
Sounds in the still hill regions carry far, and the Clouds Rest "gurra" would be heard striking ten faint strokes, when Francis appeared in the doorway. Salaaming with grave dignity, he awaited Nancy's commands.