“Do you hope so? Wouldn’t you rather be ordered home?”
His tone, restrained though it was, told Penelope that the question was a crucial one. With a great effort she raised her eyes to his. “I hope with all my heart to come back to Alibad quite well,” she said. “Because”—voice and eyes alike fell—“Khemistan holds all that I care for—now.”
She felt his hand on hers for a moment as she played with her pony’s mane, and heard him say, “Thank you, thank you!” in a voice as low as hers had been; but she knew that she had removed a load from his mind, and she was glad she had conquered the shrinking repugnance which had held her. The vision of Colin’s face had floated between them when she looked at him; but she had taken her first step towards breaking the spell, and he could not know the effort it had cost her to defy her brother’s fancied wish as she had only once defied him in his life. As for Major Keeling, he rode back to Alibad in a frame of mind which made his progress a kind of steeplechase. He put Miani at every obstacle that presented itself, and drove his orderly to despair by leaping the temporary canal instead of going round by the bridge. As in duty bound, Ismail Bakhsh did his best to follow; and it was only when he had helped him and his pony out of the water, and explained matters to a justly indignant canal official, that Major Keeling realised the unconventional nature of his proceedings. He made the rest of the journey more soberly, planning in his own mind the last steps to be taken to make Alibad impregnable to a Nalapuri army. The Amir thought the place was defenceless, not knowing that in a few moments any street could be swept from end to end by guns mounted in improvised batteries. It was not for nothing that Major Keeling’s own house and the various administrative buildings were so gloomy and massive in appearance, or that the labyrinth of lanes in the native town could be blocked at any number of points by the simple expedient of knocking down a few garden walls. The Commandant had no misgivings as to the fate of the town, but he was much exercised in mind by the necessity of waiting to be attacked. The Nalapuri Sardars knew better than to let a single man put his foot over the border until they were quite ready, while in the absence of an actual declaration of war Major Keeling could not cross it to attack them, and his only fear was that they might succeed in dashing upon Alibad and spreading panic among the inhabitants (though they could do no more), without giving him time to intercept them and cut them up in the open desert. He could only rely upon the efficiency of his system of patrols, and wait for the enemy to make the first move.
Beyond the hills there was no rumour of war. The agricultural colonies, so to speak, planted by Major Keeling on the land reclaimed from the desert by irrigation, were prosperous and contented, and the reformed bandits, of whom a large proportion of the colonists consisted, were even more industrious and energetic than the hereditary cultivators. This part of the district was kept in good order by a European police-officer with a force composed of the boldest spirits among the colonists, so that Sir Dugald had little to do in the way of dispensing justice, and he passed on rapidly to the wooded country nearer the hills. This was a kind of New Forest, constructed by the former rulers of Khemistan as a shikargah or pleasance for hunting purposes, regardless of the objections of the ryots, who saw their villages destroyed and their lands given over to wild beasts. On the expulsion of their tyrants, the people had begun to creep back to their confiscated homes; and it was one of Major Keeling’s anxieties to ensure the proper control of this re-immigration. The forests were valuable government property, and as such must be protected; but where a clear title could be shown to land on the outskirts, and the claimants were willing to face the wild animals, he was inclined to let them return, under due supervision. But no European officer could be spared to undertake the task; and Sir Dugald, as he moved from place to place, found little colonies springing up in most unpromising spots. To organise the people into communities with some form of self-government, appoint elders who would be responsible for the behaviour of the rest and prevent wanton destruction of the forests, and devise the rude beginnings of a legal and fiscal system, was his work. Nothing could be satisfactorily done while there was no permanent official in charge; but at least the people understood that the Sahibs meant well to them, and they were in a measure prepared for a more formal rule when it could be established.
Lady Haigh and Penelope, who had not the cares of government upon their shoulders, were much more free to enjoy themselves. They made advances to the shy women and children of these sequestered hamlets, who fled in terror from the white ladies, never having seen such an alarming sight before. Sweetmeats and gaily coloured cloths were the bribes that attracted them most readily, and after a time they would become quite friendly, listening with uncomprehending patience while Lady Haigh, who was a true child of her generation, tried to teach them to adopt Western instead of Eastern ways. Those were the days in which much stress was laid by reformers on the importance of anglicising the native, and Lady Haigh was a good deal disheartened by the slight result of her efforts. The women listened to her with apparent docility, sometimes even did what she told them, under her eye, and then went home and made their tasteless chapatis, or put charms instead of eye-lotion on their babies, just as they had always done. She gave up trying to teach them at last, and vied with Penelope in making botanical collections, which were also a hobby of the day. Penelope collected grasses, of which there were many varieties; and Lady Haigh, not to be behindhand, began to collect wild-flowers, which were much less abundant. Sir Dugald, whose tastes were not botanical, collected skins and horns, for he managed to get a good deal of sport in his leisure hours, and when there was nothing to shoot, he inspected his wife’s and Penelope’s sketches, and sternly corrected mistakes in drawing. It was a happy, healthy life, and the colour began to return to Penelope’s cheeks and the light to her eyes. She could think of Major Keeling now without the vision of Colin’s anguished face rising between them, and the morbid feelings which had preyed upon her so long had become by degrees less acute. She and Lady Haigh called the district “the island-valley of Avilion,” rather to the mystification of Sir Dugald, who knew his Dickens better than his Tennyson. He was far too prudent, however, to show his bewilderment further than by pointing out mildly that the district was neither an island nor a valley—and besides, how could a valley be an island?
“Dugald,” said Lady Haigh one evening, when Penelope happened to be out of earshot, “don’t you think Major Keeling would like to pay us a visit here?”
“It’s not a bad place,” returned her husband, glancing round at the tents pitched among the trees. “But who ever heard of a sub inviting his chief out into camp to stay with him?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that exactly. He might come without being definitely asked. He would be sure to like to hear how we are getting on, wouldn’t he? Well, if I mentioned that you have had five tigers already, and were going after another soon——”
“You won’t mention anything of the kind,” growled Sir Dugald. “I’m going to bag that man-eater, if any one does.”
Lady Haigh laughed gently. “Well, perhaps I might find other attractions as strong,” she said. “But I mean to get him here.”