Star of India by Alice Perrin (new reading .TXT) 📖

is, how you can ward off another attack; Rassih has a bad reputation for intermittent fever once it gets hold, and stopping in this infernal little bungalow won't help you. What do you say to coming to us for a bit? Plenty of room and no lack of ice and good milk; we'll soon have you fit. I'll send the tonga to bring you up, and your man can follow with your things."

In Philip's present enfeebled condition of body and spirit the temptation was severe; setting aside the pleasant prospect of creature comforts, food properly prepared (his own cook was woefully careless) there would be—Stella! He strove to hold on to the arguments that at the moment of Colonel Crayfield's arrival were in process of bracing his will and his judgment; now they were slipping away—if only time could be gained in which he might call them to heel, summon strength to refuse with firmness....

He stirred uneasily: "It's exceedingly kind of you, sir, but I couldn't think of giving you and Mrs. Crayfield the trouble. I'm not really ill; to-morrow I shall be as fit as ever again. It's nothing but an ordinary go of malaria."

He felt he was gabbling what his chief would regard as merely conventional protests; even to himself they sounded futile, unreal.

"Rubbish!" the ejaculation was no more than he might have anticipated. "Don't be an ass. Give me a bit of paper and a pencil and I'll send word to my wife. The tonga can be here in two shakes, and I'll wait and go back with you myself."

[Pg 139]

He began to shout orders. The groom was to return with his horse and the note. Philip's personal servant was bidden to produce paper and a pencil, moreover to pack a portmanteau with his master's requirements. In a few moments the whole matter had passed from Philip's control, and he resigned himself to Fate. But what irony that Stella's husband, of all people, should be the means of forcing him into a position that, unless Fate proved unnaturally considerate, might lead right and left to disaster!

[Pg 140]

CHAPTER XII

"Oh, do go on—don't stop. I shall be miserable till I know what John Holland and Anne decided."

"But I don't know myself. That's as far as I've written. I was going to ask you what you thought they should do. What do you think?"

Flint laid the sheets of manuscript, the George Thomas Romance, on the wicker table that stood between himself and his hostess. The two were seated on the balcony, though it was late in the morning. Rain had fallen over-night, and the temperature was lowered for the present—not that the monsoon had actually broken up-country, but reports were hopeful, and for the past few days there had been a welcome gathering of clouds culminating in a heavy downpour. Still the fear remained that the clouds might yet disperse, to leave the district parched and arid as before.

The desert steamed like a gigantic hot-bed, the atmosphere was reminiscent of an orchid house, but at least there was temporary respite from imprisonment in closed and darkened rooms, and the air wafted from a hand-punkah, wielded with vigour by a youthful coolie, was comparatively cool and refreshing. Philip Flint, set free from the tortures of the Rest House, had quickly recovered condition despite a recurrence of fever—just a sufficient recurrence to justify prolongation of his stay with the[Pg 141] Crayfields, a short extension of idleness encouraged by his unsuspecting Chief. To-morrow he intended to return to his uncomfortable quarters; work must be resumed; meanwhile he had lived in a golden dream, oblivious of the future that now loomed before him like a grey, empty tomb, compared with the rapturous present.

As he gazed unceasingly at Stella nothing seemed to matter if only he could hear from her lips that she cared for him. Beloved! how perfect she was from the sheen of her pretty head as she bent over some trifling needlework, to the tips of her little arched feet; and her nature was as sweet and tender and white as her slim body——

"Well, what do you think?" he persisted recklessly; and in repeating the question he knew he was heading for danger, as a rider might put a runaway horse to an impossible fence that the inevitable crash should come quickly, prove neck or nothing.

She hesitated, sighed. "Oh! I don't know. To begin with, you see, Anne was married, and her husband, though she hated him, was fighting like John, under George Thomas. Would it have meant trouble, disgrace, for John if——"

"If they had bolted? Perhaps; though in those days it might have been different. But apart from that—what about the marriage question? If you had been Anne?"

"I should have done what was best for John."

"Even if it meant parting from him for ever?"

"Of course!" she said stoutly.

"Not simply because you were married?"

[Pg 142]

She raised her eyes from the foolish strip of embroidery engaging her fingers.

"Stella!"

There! The fence was taken, the crash had come. Now they must both face the truth, outwardly self-controlled because—what bathos! because of the punkah coolie and the open doors. Philip cursed the fact that privacy in India was next to impossible; he saw that Stella's eyes were brimming with tears. How her hands trembled! Yet he did not dare give her comfort by taking her in his arms. As in his dream, she was far from him, inapproachable as her namesake, a star.

The silence that fell between them was tense; the swish of the punkah went steadily on, the heat grew heavier, more saturating; in the hazy sky a vulture alternately sailed and dipped, hung motionless as though suspended by an invisible wire, on the outlook for some carrion prize below.

Then Philip found himself speaking rapidly, in a low voice; his hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles showed white and hard through the skin. He scarcely knew what he was saying, self-mastery was gone, and in the flood of his passionate declaration Stella shivered and blanched. He saw love in her eyes, but fear also—fear and helpless despair. He paused, drew in his breath sharply, but so far he felt no penitence, no remorse for having let himself go; he was conscious only of a wild exultation, for he knew that in heart and in soul she was his. He craved to hear from her lips that she loved him; she must tell him—not with her eyes[Pg 143] alone. That it was cruel to force the admission he did not, in his madness, consider.

"Speak to me, Stella—just say it, say it once. Tell me."

Her lips moved, he bent forward. But before he could catch the whisper she had risen abruptly, to pass with swift steps into the house. He rose in his turn to stay her flight, and was confronted on the threshold of the open doorway by Sher Singh.

Disconcerting as was the man's unexpected appearance, it was to Philip merely an accidental, if enraging, check to his intention; it accounted for Stella's sudden retreat—from where she had sat she must have caught sight of Sher Singh's approach. But relief quickly followed exasperation as he realised how narrow had been their escape from an equivocal situation, for next moment Colonel Crayfield was in the room. Sher Singh's unwelcome intrusion had, after all, been timely, and thanks to the numerous exits of an Indian habitation Stella had vanished just a second or two before the entry of her husband....

The rest of the morning was charged for them both with repressed emotion. They sat at the breakfast table outwardly composed, inwardly fearful of meeting each other's gaze. Stella's mental disturbance was increased by the conviction that Sher Singh was on the watch; he must have observed that she and Philip were engaged in no ordinary conversation when he surprised them on the balcony, must have noted her confusion as she passed him in her flight. Now she realised her folly in not[Pg 144] having held her ground; she should have remained in her seat and given warning to Philip by speaking promptly to Sher Singh, since of course the man shared Champa's belief that a guilty understanding was afoot between herself and "Fer-lint sahib." No doubt it was he who, in the first place, had suggested the idea to Champa. Her fears in connection with Mrs. Antonio's warnings had dwindled during the days of Philip's visit, but now mental torment returned with the feeling that Sher Singh was but biding his time for mischief with the deadly patience of the Oriental. Dread lest he should lead Robert to scent the situation that had arisen between herself and Philip turned her sick.

Deeming it more prudent to avoid Philip for the immediate present, she sat in her room while Robert rested, her mind in confusion as she pretended to read. To ignore Philip's outpouring, to continue as if nothing disturbing had occurred, was clearly impossible. Philip must be warned; but how to contrive that warning without risk of being spied upon was a problem. Even could she accomplish it safely she shrank from facing the days to come with this secret between them. She contemplated appealing to Robert to allow her to take advantage of Mrs. Cuthell's invitation, on the score that she could endure the heat no longer; but should he refuse, as was more than probable, could Philip be induced to apply for leave, however short, on the plea of health? Something must be done, and without delay, that she might gain time to set her mind in order, free from continual trepidation. If[Pg 145] only she could secure the chance of a long private talk with Philip....

Wearily she sat in the drawing-room before the tea-table that afternoon, awaiting the two men. Robert, when he went to his dressing-room, had said that if the courts were not too damp for tennis, and if Flint felt up to it, they might try a game. He was the first to appear, and evidently he was not in a good humour. Stella's heart sank at sight of his frown, but bounded next moment with relief when she heard the cause. It seemed that Sher Singh, as well as herself, desired "leave of absence."

"Confound the fellow," Robert grumbled, "he's just had a telegram, and says he must go off at once to see to the funeral of some near relation."

"How long does he want?"

"He says only two or three days, but with natives that may mean anything."

Stella trusted privately that in this case it might mean two or three weeks.

"He suggested that if Flint were staying on with us for the present his man could look after me for the time."

"But Mr. Flint has arranged to go back to the Rest House to-morrow——"

"Then he'd better alter his arrangements. He's no trouble, and it's far more comfortable for him here. Don't you want him to stay?"

"I don't care particularly one way or the other, but on the whole I'd rather we were alone."

Oh, shades of conscience! Stella bent over the tea things, ashamed of her hypocrisy.

[Pg 146]

Robert's face cleared. He beamed complacently. "We can't always expect to be alone, little selfish one!"

"When does Sher Singh want to go?"

"By this time he's gone, I imagine. He intended to catch the afternoon train."

"Well, it can't be helped," said Stella, "and of course if you wish it, I'll press Mr. Flint to stay. Now he can be at work again I shan't have to entertain him——"

"Or listen to his eternal novel."

"I don't mind that; but it's a bore making conversation."

"Yes, I understand. Well, anyway it's a charity to put him up for a bit longer, and he can sing for his supper by trying to beat me at tennis every day. Here he comes——"

Stella looked up. There was Philip in flannels; his expression was sad, dispirited, as though he too had been ground in the mill of mental perplexity during the last two or three hours. There came a singing in her ears, a mist clouded her vision. How horrible for them both to be forced to play a part—a part so ignoble, opposed to her whole nature, and, she felt assured, to his also.

"Enter Mr. Flint!" declaimed Robert with jovial intonation. "The memsahib and I were just talking about you, my son."

"What were you saying? Nothing nasty, I hope?" He avoided Stella's eyes as he seated himself and took the cup she held out to him.

"Quite the contrary," puffed Robert. "We were[Pg 147] planning to persuade you to stay on with us, especially as my bearer has demanded short leave, and yours, with your permission, might fill the gap for the time being!"

Stella noted a slight flicker of Philip's eyelids, and