“But who had carried her off, and whither?” repeated Sir Dugald Haigh. He was a poverty-stricken soldier burdened with an inherited baronetcy.
“Sure I told you”—with some irritation. “A band of Arabit horsemen, and they would be taking her to the Fort. The parents were inconsolable—they said she was to have been married next week.”
“They would be—they’ll have to return the gifts,” said Sir Dugald drily. Then his tone changed. “Well, ma’am, that puts an end to the business. When a girl—or a woman either, for it would have made no difference if the marriage was a week ago instead of a week hence—is taken to the Fort, there she stays.”
Eveleen gazed at him, horror-stricken. “Any girl—and against her will—and no one minds?”
“That’s the way here,” curtly.
“You see, Mrs Ambrose”—Captain Crosse took up the parable—“it ain’t the same with these people as it is with us. The Arabits take a girl when they want her just as they take anything that pleases ’em from a shop in the Bazar. These women don’t mind that sort of thing—rather like it, in fact—think it a bit of an honour, as you might say.”
“If you had seen that poor old father and mother, you would never believe that!” indignantly.
“That’s just for to-day. It’ll be all right when they have got over it a bit. A ruler always exercises this power in the East—why, just as it was in the Bible, you know.” He spoke with increased confidence, feeling that the thing had been set on a proper footing. “I assure you there are thousands of these women in the Fort—place is swarming with ’em. So you see, it’s quite the right thing here.”
“But how can it be right just because it’s always done? And I am sure it’s not done in India.”
“Not in our districts, of course; but believe me, in some of the native states within our borders, not only would the girl have been taken, but the parents would have been killed for offering resistance, and the house set on fire—for a warning to others, you see.”