He stood watching her go up the stairs; up and up, until the last trail of that hem disappeared amid the coloured lamps and flowers. That was the end of it all!--of all save Hodinuggur and the desire to kill somebody. First of all, however, there must be safety for her; and that might be secured by money. During that three miles' ride his thoughts had been busy over possibilities, and one of them made him turn the hired pony's nose towards Manohar Lâl's shop instead of homewards. There was no power in India like the power of rupees, he thought; and they--with the Club still open and half a dozen young fellows as reckless as oneself ready to back the chance of one living to pay just debts--were not difficult to borrow for a month or two. Especially when there was something--not much--but still a few hundred pounds or so to come when the dear old governor---- George choked down a sob in a curse at the hired pony for stumbling over the ill-paved alley.
The dawn had broken when the patient beast pulled up for the last time by the verandah of Colonel Tweedie's house. A drowsy servant dozed against the long coffin-like dhooli, the bearers crouched outside, nodding in a circle round a solitary hookah.
'The Huzoor having lost chance of the mail, may perhaps delay till eve,' suggested the half-roused torch-bearer, mechanically corking up his useless bottle of oil at the sight of the growing glow in the east.
George, his face flushed yet haggard, stood for an instant looking over the pine woods to where, had the light been stronger, he might have seen the angle of a little house among the trees. After all, why should he not stop now, if only to see her gratitude? Twelve hours, delay was not much, especially when she was safe. Why need that be his last sight of her going up the stairs with the pearls----pearls!--
An hour afterwards, when the sun tipped over the lower hills to make the morning glories, festooned from rock to rock, open their eyes, they opened them upon the coffin-like dhooli going rapidly down hill to the accompaniment of shuffles and grunts, and recurring protestations that the sahib was 'do mun puccka.'[[4]] If the heaviness of heart could have been measured, George might have weighed a ton.
Even at the best of times the descent from the cool hills to the hot plains is never easy, and in this case paradise lay behind, purgatory in front.
'I am so sorry Mr. Keene has gone,' said Rose Tweedie at breakfast. 'I shall miss him dreadfully.' Lewis Gordon's eyebrows went up superciliously.
'No doubt; but he was right to go, in more ways than one.'
Colonel Tweedie, busy over a virtuous plate of porridge and milk which in some mysterious way he regarded as a sign of youth, gave his preliminary cough.
'I scarcely agree with you, Gordon. In my opinion there is--er--a savour--of--of insubordination; or, not to speak so strongly--a--a want of respect, in this sudden departure. Of course, the zeal and the--the desire to do his duty--are pleasing, very pleasing in so young a man. At the same time, a little more confidence in--er--the judgment of----'