The Path to Honour

by Sydney C. Grier

"Surely, my friend. The passage continues until it reaches the old outer wall of the palace, and there ends with another turning stone, concealed from those without by a tree that has struck its roots into the masonry."

"But if that tree should be destroyed, the entrance would become visible."

"It must not be destroyed. You must see to that, as I have done. I gave large gifts to a fakir of great sanctity to declare that a spirit had taken up his abode in the tree, and must on no account be disturbed, though the people might bring offerings and venerate it from below. Should it fall, or be thrown down by a storm, you must at once plant a seedling or a shoot from it in the same place, sheltering the tender plant by mats let down from the top of the wall until it has grown sufficiently to conceal the stone. And now let us return. Stay! my friend has refused all the gifts that I would fain have heaped upon him, until I offer him no more in the sight of men for fear of courting further rebuffs. Here no man sees us. Will he then take with him one of these bags of pearls, such as any prince might desire in vain to buy, and any queen might wear? What! I have offended him again? Say no more, my friend; your ways are not as ours. Even to my friend I will not offer twice what he is too proud to take. But come, for there is more to be done to-night."

Gerrard rather wished it was not so as they retraced their steps through the long passage and the lions' den back to the quiet garden and the lotus-covered tank. The deaf and dumb man was waiting, and ferried them over, and on the terrace below the tower the Rajah bade Gerrard leave the turban and robe he had been wearing, which he did thankfully, for the night was hot. Then, as he stood erect in his white mess uniform in the moonlight, the old man laid his hands upon his shoulders.

"O my friend, I have tried you with gold and with fear and with the lust of power, and you have stood the test. Now I am about to repose such confidence in you as hardly one man of your race has known since the world began. You will come with me into the zenana, that the mother of Kharrak Singh may know whom she is to trust. This I do now, that when I am dead, you may demand admittance as by right—the right I confer upon you—and talk with her through the curtain, thus avoiding the danger and delay of go-betweens."

Gerrard had felt a lurking fear more than once that this crowning proof of confidence was to be conferred upon him, but had silenced his uneasiness by reminding himself that such a thing was almost unheard of. One or two of those orientalised Europeans to whom the Rajah had referred earlier in the evening had enjoyed the honour, as had one or two British officials held in almost divine veneration, but otherwise it had been the supreme mark of favour reserved by a ruler for his most tried, trusted, and faithful servants. It was a sensible thing to do in the circumstances, as Partab Singh had manoeuvred them, he owned, but the idea shocked him almost as much as it would have done a native. It was so incongruous.

"If Bob gets wind of this, I shall be chaffed to death!" he said to himself, and then realised that the Rajah was waiting for a reply from him. "I appreciate deeply this proof of your Highness's confidence, and trust I may show myself worthy of it," he said formally, and Partab Singh linked his arm in his and drew him along.

They went through the tower, across the courtyard, and up the steps into the hall of audience, passing thence through rooms and corridors till they reached a barred gate, guarded by soldiers, whose weapons clashed angrily as they perceived Gerrard. The Rajah made a sign, never loosing his hold on the young man's arm for a moment, and the gates were opened from within by zenana attendants, the guards standing rigidly with their backs to them. Inside, Gerrard knew enough of the etiquette of the occasion to walk with his eyes cast down, and obey every motion of the Rajah's arm, but he was aware that the darkness seemed to be full of eyes, and the silence of whispers. They came to a standstill at last before a pillared colonnade, with a crimson curtain hanging behind the pillars. No light came from behind the curtain, and Gerrard realised suddenly that he distinguished its colour by means of a light behind him. At a word from the Rajah, two old women came forward with flaring lamps, and stationed themselves one on each side of Gerrard, so as to throw his face into the clearest possible relief. Then Partab Singh spoke.

"Let the mother of Kharrak Singh look well upon this Sahib, that she may know whom to trust. I have given him freedom of entrance here, that he may speak with her through the curtain, and she may take counsel with him for the welfare of her son."

There was a moment's pause, and then a muffled voice made an inaudible reply from somewhere behind the curtain, apparently close to the ground. The Rajah turned to Gerrard.