"Yes, sir. He must be more than sixty; but his love for her memory is just as strong as ever. She died of a fever, poor thing. And for that business," he again pointed with his stick to a tomb admirably preserved, "I used to get two pounds ten shillings a-year. That is the tomb of a little girl of five years old, the daughter of a civilian. The parents are now dead. They must be, for I have not heard of 'em or received anything from 'em for more than six years past."
"Then who keeps the tomb in repair?"
"I do, sir. When I am here, with my trowel and mortar, and whitewash, why shouldn't I make the outside of the little lady's last home on earth as bright and as fair as those of her friends and neighbours? I have a nursery of 'em, as I call it, over in yonder corner—the children's corner. Some of 'em are paid for, others not; but when I'm there doing what's needful, I touch 'em up all alike, bless their dear little souls. And somehow or other every good action meets its own reward, and often when we least expect it. Now, for instance, sir, about three years and a half ago, I was over there putting the nursery in good order, when up comes a grey-headed gentleman, and looks about the graves. Suddenly he stopped opposite to one and began to read, and presently he took out his pocket handkerchief and put it to his eyes.
"'Did you know that little child, sir?' said I, when it was not improper to speak. 'Know it?' said he, 'yes. It was my own little boy.' 'Dear me, sir!' I answered him. 'And you are, then, Lieutenant Statterleigh?' 'I was,' said he; 'but I am now the colonel of a regiment that has just come to India, and is now stationed at Dinapore. But tell me, who keeps this grave in order?' 'I do, sir,' says I. 'At whose expense?' says he. 'At nobody's, sir,' says I. 'It is kept in order by the dictates of my own conscience. Your little boy is in good company here; and while I am whitening the tombs of the other little dears, I have it not in my heart to pass by his without giving it a touch also.' Blest if he didn't take me to the house where he was staying, and give me five hundred rupees! That sort of thing has happened to me more than five or six times in my life, not that I ever hope or think of being paid for such work and labour when I am about it."
"That must have been a magnificent affair," said I, pointing to a heap of red stone and marble. "But how comes it in ruins?"
"It is just as it was left, sir. The lady died. Her husband, a judge here, took on terribly; and ordered that tomb for her. Some of the stone was brought from Agra, some from Delhi; but before it was put together and properly erected, he married again, and the work was stopped. I was present at the funeral. There was no getting him away after the service was over, and at last they had to resort to force and violence—in fact, to carry him out of the yard. But the shallowest waters, as the proverb says, sir, always make the most noise, while those are the deepest that flow on silently. Yonder is a funny tomb, sir," continued the old man, again pointing with his stick. "There! close to the tomb of the lady which I first showed you."
"How do you mean funny?" I asked, observing nothing particular in the structure.
"Well, sir, it is funny only on account of the history of the two gentlemen whose remains it covers," replied the old man, leading me to the tomb. "One of these young gentlemen, sir, was an officer—a lieutenant—in the Bengal Horse Artillery; the other was an ensign in a Royal Regiment of the Line. There was a ball, and by some accident that beautiful lady of our regiment had engaged herself to both of them for the same dance. When the time came, both went up and claimed her hand. Neither of them would give way, and the lady not wishing to offend either by showing a preference, and finding herself in a dilemma, declined to dance with either. Not satisfied with this, they retired to the verandah, where they had some high words, and the next morning they met, behind the church there, and fought a duel, in which both of them fell, mortally wounded. They had scarcely time to shake hands with one another when they died. In those days matters of the kind were very easily hushed up; and it was given out, though everybody knew to the contrary, that one had died of fever and the other of cholera, and they were both buried side by side in one grave; and this tomb was erected over them at the joint expense of the two regiments to which they belonged. I get ten rupees a year for keeping this grave in order."
"Who pays you?"
"A gentleman in Calcutta, a relation of one of them. I'll tell you what it is, sir. This foolish affair, which ended so fatally, sowed the seeds of the fever that carried off that beautiful and good woman yonder. She was maddened by the thought of being the cause of the quarrel in which they lost their lives. I knew them both, sir, from seeing them so often on the parade ground and at the band-stand; very fine young men they were, sir. Yes; here they sleep in peace."