'You know how she left the fort; but you may not know that the wicked Soubahdar who took her away had a grudge against her father. I must try to tell you about him. He was a man I had always disliked, he was so smooth in his manners—not a common man at all. He had been educated well, and he had lived for many years with Englishmen, so that he knew what our ideas and feelings are. The General had treated him not only as a comrade but as a friend. They had shared the same tent; he knew that honour was dearer to him than life; and he meant—I can see it all now—to humiliate and punish him through her, our darling. When I think of it, Tom, when I think of it, I feel the blood curdling about my heart. But I must not——They left the fort together, this man, Grace, and the child. Grace soon found out that he was her enemy. But for Kit I think she would have killed herself, for she carried poison about with her; but she dared not take him with her and she could not leave him behind. Day after day they went on, travelling by unfrequented ways. In the villages through which they passed they were often subject to insult. He would bring crowds to stare at them, and they would tell her, exulting like fiends, about the massacres and outrages in the English stations. But here and there her gentleness won for them kind looks and words of pity. So they went on till a certain day when poor little Kit, who was nearly worn out, stumbled in the way and said he could go no further. The brute struck him with a whip; Grace caught him in her arms with indignant words. Then the Soubahdar looked at her; it was only a look, but she knew very well what it meant—for Kit murder, for herself worse. What power held his hand it is impossible to say. There was nothing to keep him from striking, but he did not. They went on until late, Grace half-leading, half-carrying Kit. She says that with that look a new spirit and strength seemed to have entered into her. They came to a little village by a river. She and Kit were given a mud hut to spend the night in. She put the child to sleep, but she would not sleep herself. Towards nightfall the Soubahdar came in; he had been drinking heavily. She feigned to be asleep, and he leant over her, muttering awful words of what he would do the next day. She kept her presence of mind; she says she never felt in the least danger of losing it. Then he threw off his weapons, the long knife and revolver he always wore, fell down like a log, and was fast asleep in two instants. I tell you all as she told it to me,' said poor Lady Elton, 'and indeed, indeed, I seem to see it now. It is passing before me like a nightmare.'
'God help you to forget,' said Tom fervently.
'Yes; but I must tell it first—all—all!
'My dear child made sure that he was asleep. Can't you see her—I can—listening, staring out into that dark place. If he had stirred she was lost. But he did not. She was not afraid, she says. All her womanly timidity had gone. Whatever was to be done—and I don't think even then she knew—she was ready. She got up and took careful note of everything. The hut had two doors: one looked towards the river, which was very deep and dark, and flowed close by. It was open, and partly blocked up by the Soubahdar, who had fallen half in and half out of the hut, with his feet towards the river. The other door looked out on the village. She opened it, and saw that the hut they occupied was at a little distance from the others, which were all perfectly still and dark. Then she closed it, fastening the latch with a piece of wire which she found on the floor. Kit was in his first sweet sleep. She crouched down beside him for a few moments to think. They might run away, but he would be sure to find them, and then their death—Kit's death—would be certain. There was only one way to be rid of him. As she was thinking, his wicked words came back to her, and she saw the awful look again. At the same moment Kit gave a little sobbing cry, and called out to her through his sleep. It was that, I verily believe, that gave my darling strength. Softly, as I can well imagine, she soothed him off to sleep again. Then she rose from her knees and went to where the Soubahdar lay, stupid and senseless in his drunken sleep. His long knife was beside him. She drew it out of its sheath, and—and——'
'She killed him!' hissed Tom from between his closed teeth. 'My brave little girl! My heroine!'
'She killed him!' echoed Lady Elton. 'Think of it, with those little slender hands! She did more; she dragged him across the little space of ground that divided them from the river. How she found strength for it God only knows. But before she knew, before she had recovered from the state of frenzy into which his threats had thrown her, she heard a heavy plunge, saw the dark waters part, and knew that her terror slept. All this time Kit was asleep. When it was over she awoke him, whispered that they had a chance of escape, tore him out of the hut so that he should see no traces of what had happened, and before the dawn of the next day had broken they two were far away from the village. You know the rest,' said Lady Elton wearily.
'Yes,' said Tom, 'I know the rest. My poor darling! My poor darling! Is it this that has been troubling her?'
'I am afraid it will never cease to trouble her,' said Lady Elton very sadly. 'If it had happened to anyone else! But Grace! Oh, can't you see—I can—how the gentleness, the tender womanhood, that are her very self, have been wounded—how everything in her, her whole nature, has suffered outrage?'
'Yes, yes! I see—I see too well! But, dearest Lady Elton, those are the wounds that time heals,' cried Tom. 'She has spoken: that is the great point. Don't ask me to despond; I can't. You will comfort her. Troubled! why she should rejoice—exult! The man she destroyed was a scourge to humanity. He was no man: he was a monster. Who knows how many murders he had committed, how many more were being planned by his evil mind? She was an instrument in the hands of God for dealing out to him the punishment he so richly deserved. My only sorrow is that no man was near to save her little hand—' For a moment his voice was choked with sobs; then he looked up, and there was a light, soft and wonderful, in his dark eyes. 'But you will tell her all this,' he said. 'You will tell her that there is no true man living who would not weep as I do that she should have had to deal the blow herself—who would not honour her from his inmost soul for her courage and devotion. Yes'—smiling—'I have no fear now. You will heal her; you will bring her back to us!'
'I will at least try,' said Lady Elton sadly. 'Our darling is in the hands of God.'