At first she had comforted herself with the idea that he was still, for some reason or another, keeping to the yet unconquered part of the city; that he was obliged to do so being impossible, the long files of women and children seeking safety and passing through the Ridge fearlessly precluding that consolation. Still it was conceivable he might be busy, though it seemed strange he should have sent no word. So, like many another in India at that time, she waited, hoping against hope, possessing her soul in patience. She had no lack of occupation to distract her. How could there be for a woman, when close on twelve hundred men had come back from the city dead or wounded?
But now the 21st of September was upon them. The city was occupied, the work was over. Yet Captain Morecombe, coming back from it, shook his head. He had spent time and trouble in the search, but had failed--failed even, from Kate's limited ideas of their locality, to find either Tara's lodging or the roof in the Mufti's quarter. She could have found them herself, she said almost pathetically; but of course that was impossible now, and would be so for some time to come.
"I'm afraid it is no use, Mrs. Erlton," said the Captain kindly. "There is not a trace to be found, even by Hodson's spies. Unless he is shut up somewhere, he--he must be dead. It is so likely that he should be; you must see that. Possibly before the siege began. Let us hope so."
"Why?" she asked quickly. "You mean that there have been horrible things done of late?--things like that poor soldier who was found chained outside the Cashmere gate as a target for his fellows? Have there? I would so much rather know the worst,--I used always to tell Mr. Douglas so,--it prevents one dreaming at night." She shivered as she spoke, and the man watching her felt his heart go out toward her with a throb of pity. How long, he wondered irrelevantly, would it take her to forget the miserable tragedy, to be ready for consolation?
"Yes, there have been terrible things on both sides. There always are. You can't help it when you sack cities," he replied, interrupting himself hastily with a sort of shame. "The Ghoorkhas had the devil in them when I was down in the Mufti's quarter. They shot dozens of helpless learned people in the Chelon-ke-kucha--one who coached me up for my exams. And about twelve women in the house of a 'Professor of Arabic'--so he styled himself--jumped down the wall to escape--their own fears chiefly. For the men wanted loot, nothing else. That is the worst of it. The whole story from beginning to end seems so needless. It is as if Fate----"
She interrupted him quietly, "It has been Fate. Fate from beginning to end."
He sat for an instant with a grave face, then looked up with a smile. "Perhaps. It's rather apropos des bottes, Mrs. Erlton, but I wanted to ask you a question. Hadn't you a white cockatoo, once? When you first came here. I seem to recollect the bird making a row in the veranda when I used to drive up."
Her face grew suddenly pale, she sat staring at him with dread in her eyes. "Yes!" she replied with a manifest effort, "I gave it to Sonny Seymour because--because it loved him----" She broke off, then added swiftly, eagerly, "What then?"
"Only that I found one in the Palace to-day. There is a jolly marble latticed balcony overlooking the river. The King used to write his poetry there, they say. Well! I saw a brass cage hanging high up on a hook--there has been no loot in the precincts, you know, for the Staff has annexed them; I thought the cage was empty till I took it down from sheer curiosity, and there was a dead cockatoo."
"Dead!" echoed Kate, with a quick smile of relief. "Oh! how glad I am it was dead."