And his meditations having thus led him, by a somewhat different route, to much the same conclusion as that which Colin had long ago reached, Mr Crayne bade his scruples trouble him no more.
Four days later Ferrers dropped in at the fort again, on his way back to Shah Nawaz, after leaving his uncle at the river, and was asked to stay to tiffin. The invitation was given, with impressive solemnity, by Sir Dugald, Lady Haigh having flatly refused to offer Ferrers any hospitality. She would have liked to see him forbidden the house, and urged that Penelope would be much happier if he were, to which Sir Dugald replied that in that case it was a pity she had promised to marry him, but that it was not her hostess’s business to keep them apart. The Chief had accepted the man’s apology, considering that he had acted in good faith, and it was impossible to go behind his decision. Nothing could have been more correct than Sir Dugald’s attitude, nothing more heroic than his efforts to treat Ferrers as he might have done any other comrade; but the old frank friendliness was gone. Come what might, Ferrers had put himself out of the circle of those who loved to call themselves “Keeling’s men.” It was not merely the charges he had brought, but the attitude of mind that they revealed—the readiness to admit the possibility of a stain on Major Keeling’s honour—which had made the difference. Sir Dugald’s anxious cordiality and laborious attempts to make conversation on indifferent topics confirmed the impression produced by the scarcely veiled aversion of the other men the night of the dinner-party, and showed Ferrers that he had committed the unpardonable sin of the frontier. Many things could be forgiven, but not a want of loyalty to the leader. From henceforth he was an outsider.
Out of sheer pity for Penelope, Lady Haigh softened so far as to second her husband’s efforts, and do her best to make the meal less uncomfortable, but the harm was done. Ferrers had come in excited, brimful of some news which he was anxious to tell, but withheld in order that he might be pressed to tell it, until the constraint by which he found himself surrounded sealed his lips. It was no better when he was alone with Penelope afterwards. She did all in her power to make him feel himself welcome, and questioned him on every point of his journey, with the double object of convincing him of her interest in him, and of keeping Major Keeling’s name out of the conversation. It was far easier not to mention him at all than to hear him belittled, and she knew Ferrers’ opinion of him by this time. But her efforts to please her lover were vain, perhaps because of this very reservation, and Ferrers expressed his disappointment to Colin as they rode out of the town together.
“It’s pleasant to feel that there’s some one who cares for one’s news,” he remarked. “You could guess I had something to tell, couldn’t you?”
“I was sure you had news of some sort. Well, what is it?”
“I gave Penelope a hint of it the other day, but she didn’t seem to take any interest,” Ferrers grumbled on; “and to-day again—I said I’d tell her about it if she’d ask me nicely, but she wouldn’t. There’s no meeting you half-way with Pen; one has to make all the running oneself. She doesn’t care what happens to me; but when I said that as soon as we were married we would drop that fellow Haigh and his ugly wife, she looked ready to cry.”
“She and Lady Haigh are great friends,” said Colin, anxious to make peace, “and they have both been very kind to her. You would not wish her to be ungrateful, surely? But I haven’t heard your news yet.”
“Ride as close to me as you can, then. I don’t want those sowars of yours to hear. Well, then, my chance is in sight at last. I know where to find Shir Hussein!”
“The outlaw?” asked Colin, rather disappointed.
“Of course. And I mean to catch him and his gang, and so leave Khemistan in a blaze of glory. You shall have a share in it, because you’re the only fellow that has treated me decently over this business. The rest will look pretty blue when they hear about it.”