"Base, I call that! But all the more honour to the chivalrous helper!"
"Well, I often think if they could only see what a short-sighted policy their attitude is, even from a selfish point of view, I should not encounter the opposition I do when I seek posts for really capable young men. Why, they often prefer natives in offices! In fact, it is the declared policy of the Imperial Government that appointments should be reserved only for pure Indians. A false policy to my mind, and one that in the end will not strengthen the British Raj! But I must not preach sedition to a Covenanted member of the Service! I am forgetting myself!"
"By no means; your point of view is valuable to me. I seek enlightenment. It does seem the irony of fate that such a state of matters should exist. I feel it is a good omen, Mr. Morpeth, that I should so early in my day have met with an inspirer like you. I shall not be able to give you the help I might had I not been going to Puranapore. But whatever I can do is at your service. You must let me help you with your various organisations. My income is much more than sufficient for my personal wants," said Mark, as he rose to go.
"Well, rupees are needed, as Mrs. Fellowes will tell you. She is an excellent beggar! But I hold now what I value more than silver and gold," said David Morpeth, as the young man laid his hand in his. "That is the clasp of a friendly hand. May it prove a hand that shall undo heavy burdens, loose the bands of wickedness, to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke, as the prophet calls on us to do in a voice that rings through the ages!"
As Mark Cheveril looked into the face of the lonely man, he felt the spell of the beauty of holiness, and was more glad than ever that he had made his first call on one so stimulating, though his name was not on Mr. Alfred Rayner's visiting list.
As he waited at the white gate while Mr. Morpeth's butler was signalling to the drowsy syce to bring up the carriage, Mark was accosted by a young woman who had evidently been hanging about the neighbourhood of the cactus-hedge which skirted the compound. She was a weedy-looking girl, with a slender swaying figure dressed in tawdry finery, but her face was undeniably pretty.
"One of Mrs. Fellowes' protégées, no doubt," Mark decided, and was about to step into the carriage when the girl said breathlessly, keeping her eye fixed furtively on the white gate evidently in fear lest the master of the house should put in an appearance:
"I'm awfulee sorry to trouble you, sir, but I saw you in a lovelee mail-phaeton with Mr. Alf Rayner last night, and when I spied you steppin' in here I thought I should make so bold as to ask where he's livin' now—Alf, I mean?"
Mark felt distinctly surprised at this familiar mention of his friend's husband, all the more as he recalled Mr. Rayner's remarks concerning the domiciled community to which this girl evidently belonged.
Perceiving his hesitation, the girl hastened to explain: