There was a large amount of confused good feeling in Julia Smith. A kindly soul she was, if a little over-sentimental. Perhaps a broken sixpence, stored side by side with a decayed vegetable in her desk, formed a creditable explanation of the latter weakness. Such things account for much in the lives of most women.
"I suppose," she continued, "we were right to refuse without hymns; but I shall never forget the sweet child's face as she popped from her prison. I am making up the incident for our magazine; it will be most touching. But now that dearest Mrs. Cranston has written, it seems like the finger of Providence--"
"A boy wanting a Miss," interrupted the nondescript familiar, inseparable from philanthropy in India. "The one with an umbrella, a big hat, and a bag of books."
A very womanly laugh with an undercurrent of militant pleasure, ran round the company. The description fitted one and all, and they were proud of the fact.
The moon shone bright behind the arches, the scent of orange blossoms drifted over the high garden wall, and every now and again a burst of laughter close at hand overbore the more distant noise of wedding drums and pipes.
"What do you want, my son?"
The soft voice with its strange inflections took away the last vestige of Feroza's courage. She stood dizzy with absolute fear, her tongue cleaving to her mouth. A repetition of the question roused her to the memory that here lay her one chance. She gave a despairing glance into the gloom in search of those pale blue eyes; then, suddenly, inheritance broke through her terror. She flung her hands up to heaven, and her young voice rose in the traditional cry for justice. "Dohai! Dohai!"
"We do not keep justice here," was the soft answer. "You must go to the Courts for that. We are but women--"
"And I too am a woman! Listen!" The words which had lagged a moment before now crowded to her lips, and as she stepped closer her raised arm commanded attention. "You have taken my husband and left me; and I will not be left! You gave him scholarships and prizes, tempting him away; and when I also ask for learning, you say, 'You must sing.' What is singing when I am sad? Surely God will hear my tears and not your songs!"
Her passion swayed her so that but for Julia Smith's supporting arm she would have fallen. "I don't understand," said the Englishwoman kindly. "What have we done? Who are you?"