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

world, just for each other. Don't you care for me enough to take the risk?"

She did not answer, because she feared if she spoke at the moment she might burst into tears. He misunderstood her silence.

"I tell you," he went on impetuously, "I tell you again, as I told you yesterday morning, that nothing matters to me in the world but your love. It means more to me than my work and my aims, my life itself. Without you, success in the Service would simply be dust and ashes. I'd sooner live on a desert island with you than be Viceroy of India. Are you afraid to trust yourself to me?"

She struggled for self-control. His eyes were pleading, his face looked drawn. She longed to give in, to tell him she asked nothing better than to be with him for always, at whatever the price or the punishment. Yet surrender at best must mean greater sacrifice for Philip than she on her side could offer, and she meant to hold out even should it all end in a parting that left Philip with the impression that she valued her worldly well-being beyond his love. Her thoughts were simple, direct; but she felt if she tried to explain, urged the fact that she cared too much for him to become a drag on his life, would find compensation in knowing he was free to go forward untrammelled, she might only appear to be[Pg 157] setting herself up on a pedestal of self-righteousness at his expense. She temporised.

"Let us think it over," she entreated; "let us give ourselves time, by one of us going away, at any rate for the present."

"Time would make no difference as far as I am concerned. It would only be the same thing all over again! But if you think it would help you to forget, then of course I must agree."

"Oh, it isn't that," she protested, tortured beyond endurance. She cast about in her mind for further argument. "Do you remember one day when I told you how I regretted I wasn't a man to do what little I could for India, and you said my chance might come?"

"Oh, you sweet, silly child!" he scoffed. "Do you honestly imagine that India would crumble to pieces without me?" He laughed as he seized her in his arms, kissing her madly. She wrenched herself free, stood swaying, confused, overcome with the force of his passion, the thrill of his embrace. Then came the sound of Robert's returning footsteps, and she held up a warning hand, bent over the bowl of flowers on the table as though to rearrange them. Philip moved his chair back to its original position and busied himself with his cigarette case, but he could have wished that Crayfield had surprised them; then there would have been an end to all subterfuge, of all Stella's doubts and scruples. He felt a cur because he did not stand up and proclaim the truth there and then, so setting her free from the onus of decision.

[Pg 158]

"That's done!" said Robert. "Now, when Sher Singh comes back, perhaps we shall get to the bottom of this pearl business. Are you ready, Flint? We ought to be off again if we're to see to that farther chain of villages. It looks like more rain, thank goodness. Stella, you'd better go and lie down; you look like a ghost."

"I feel like one, too," she answered, and as he turned to leave the room she followed him quickly. "Robert, wait a moment." She caught his elbow. "Come into my room, I want to speak to you."

He acquiesced, though with impatience. "Well, what is it?"

"I must have a change," she began volubly; "I can't stand the heat any longer. I believe I shall die if I don't get away from it. You can't think how awful I feel."

He looked at her in astonishment, with which concern, vexation, and a shade of indefinite suspicion were mingled.

"You want to go away? You know perfectly well I can't ask for leave with all this distress in the district, even if the rains break freely in the next few days."

"But I could go alone," she pleaded. "Mrs. Cuthell would have me, I know she would. I'd come down again directly I felt better. It isn't gaiety I want, only to feel better."

"Antonio must come and have a look at you. Perhaps——"

"No, no," cried Stella. "It's not that!" She almost wished it were, that she might have stronger[Pg 159] excuse for flight. The idea even crossed her mind to feign doubt in order to gain her purpose, and though she dismissed it with horror she clung ignominiously to the straw that floated detached from definite deception.

"If I could only get strong," she hinted shamefacedly, "it might make a difference. I feel such a wreck, Robert. I'm so sorry, but I can't help it."

It was all true, she told herself wildly. She did feel a wreck; she was sure she would be seriously ill if she stayed on at Rassih, unless—unless Philip would go instead.

"Well, wait till this evening," said Robert, "and we'll see. I must be off now; Flint is waiting, and we've a long afternoon's work to get through." He advised her to rest, and kissed her in kindly, if perfunctory, farewell.

When he had gone, Philip with him, a hot muggy silence descended upon the premises. The servants went off to their quarters in the compound for the customary midday meal and sleep, save for a couple of peons on duty who snoozed in the front veranda, and the ever present shift of punkah pullers. Since the downpour of rain the west wind had ceased to roar and rage over the land; Nature seemed motionless, as though waiting in patient expectance for the swollen clouds to discharge their burden of water.

Stella, torn with emotion, wandered from room to room, unable to rest, Jacob pattering at her heels. She found herself longing for the peace and security of The Chestnuts, for the home of her childhood that in her young arrogance she had despised, rebelling[Pg 160] against its restrictions. Now she visualised the old house and garden bathed in serene summer sunlight, the village, the common, the cornfields; remembered with regret the small vexations, her ignorant, stupid little grievances that were as grains of sand compared with the mountain of trouble before her. She wept with self-pity, with terror of the future. The word "disgrace" rang in her ears, disgrace for herself and for Philip unless she had strength to resist him; and yet if she remained steadfast, what of the long empty years that lay ahead like a limitless desert? Even to face them with courage—for Philip, that Philip might go forward unshackled by fetters riveted in shame—seemed more than she had power to undertake. Could she tell Robert the truth, entreat him to help her, to let her leave Rassih for a time? No; such a scheme was unworkable. She knew him well enough to feel sure she might as well throw in her lot with Philip at once. Robert would never forgive, understand; and could she think that he might, she herself had rendered such a course impossible by her way of deception—allowing him to believe that she loved him, leading him to assume that she but tolerated Philip's companionship. Even from Philip there was no hope for such help as would support her in her struggle.

The room grew dark. At first she fancied that the gloom must be of her own mental making; then came a dull roll of thunder, followed by a close, threatening pause, full of portent. A little breeze rose and whispered through the house, stirring the curtains, like a scout feeling its way in advance of the attack[Pg 161] to come. She went out on the balcony, to see huge purple clouds, rent with forked lightning, rolling up rapidly from the horizon. The air was full of dust; birds were wheeling and crying against the sinister background. Jacob cowered, trembling, at her feet. A drop of rain fell like a bullet on the balustrade, another, and another.... In a few seconds a rush of wind drove her indoors, and with a mighty tumult of sound the rain fell in one solid, relentless sheet as if giant buckets were being emptied from above.

Stella threw herself on a sofa in the drawing-room, Jacob cuddled at her side. She ceased to think, was conscious only of the noise and the darkness that seemed to continue for hours, until, exhausted body and soul, she fell asleep.

Robert and Philip returned late in the evening, drenched. Robert, despite his wetting, was cheerful over the fact that, to all appearances, the rains had arrived to stay, though he grumbled because there was no further news of the necklace, and because Sher Singh had not yet arrived. Philip looked white and ill as they sat down to a belated dinner; once or twice he shivered, and he ate little or nothing. Stella watched him in anxious concern; a return of malaria was only to be expected after his long ride in wet clothes. By this time the downpour had slackened, and from without came the clamour of frogs—"Croak, croak, co-ax, co-ax"—in regular rhythmical chorus. The temperature had fallen, punkahs were almost unwelcome; the reaction was depressing. A damp mist crept into the great room; little black insects gathered[Pg 162] in multitudes around the lamps on the walls; lizards darted among them, enjoying the feast they provided. Stella could have cried with dejection, and, to add to it all, as they passed from the dining-room they encountered Sher Singh, salaaming, full of important concern. He had heard of the robbery, understood why he had been recalled, though he explained humbly that in any case it had been his intention to return next morning. The Sahib's telegram had, of course, hastened his departure. The matter of the necklace, he added miserably, was to him terrible, a disgrace to the household; he, the slave of the Sahib and Memsahib, would neither sleep nor eat till the thief was discovered, the pearls restored; until then his face, as chief servant, was blackened.... He showed signs of prostrating himself at his master's feet, and Robert, to escape a scene, bade him go and do his best to clear up the mystery, thus tactfully dismissing him.

Philip, with Stella's warning in his mind, had regarded the man closely during this interview. Stella was right; he felt certain Sher Singh was up to no good, that his leave had been part of some treacherous scheme, and he made up his mind to remain in the house till he knew what it was. If Sher Singh meant to make mischief, to arouse his master's suspicions in regard to his mistress, he, Philip, must be at hand to see Stella through; it might even bring matters to a crisis, help to decide for them both. He had a presentiment that, whatever Sher Singh's intention, something would happen that night, and,[Pg 163] ill as he felt, he assumed liveliness, made conversation with Crayfield, discussing results should the rain prove to be merely local, the effect that severe distress would have on the various areas under their control. Robert, lured from the subject of the pearls, talked freely, held forth on his experiences in a famine that had occurred early in his own service, and how abominably he had been treated, his efforts ignored by the Government.

"It's always been the same," he complained; "the fellows who do the real work may die in harness, literally driven to death, and get no credit; while those who have done nothing but talk and write, are smothered in decorations and shoved up to the top of the tree. Thank goodness I could retire to-morrow, if I felt so inclined, and snap my fingers at the lot of them."

He cited instances of his contemporaries in the Service, who, without a quarter of his own claim to distinction, had been given the C.I.E. and the K.C.I.E., the C.S.I. and the K.C.S.I., until Stella felt that the alphabet, as well as the Government, must be to blame for failing to recognise Robert's meritorious achievements; and her memory turned to the evening at The Chestnuts when she had wondered if he were sore because no Order had yet been bestowed upon him. Since then she had not thought of it, but now she suspected that the omission rankled in his mind, and her sympathy with his possible disappointment went out to him. She knew how he worked, and even if he worked without enthusiasm, surely that was even more to his credit than[Pg 164] if he were spurred by romantic inspiration? She wished he had confided in