Chapter XI

"C'est un ordre des dieux qui jamais ne se rompe
De nous vendre bien cher les grands biens qu'ils nous font."
VICTOR HUGO.

No sign of Audrey below stairs, to their exceeding relief. Lilamani hoped secretly that practical considerations had driven her to her room. So might the culprit escape unchallenged to her room. But when jealousy and curiosity join hands with an unwavering sense of duty, the culprit's chances of escape are small: and Audrey Hammond had every intention of speaking out her mind to both.

Reaching the hotel, saturate and rebellious, she had looked round for a sight of them, in vain. Dignity and the state of her own heart alone withheld her from going straight back through the rain; and she may be forgiven if irritation triumphed.

"What on earth can Nevil be doing?" she broke out hotly. "It is abominable of him to detain Lilamani like this, when she's wet through----"

"Not half so wet as you are," Broome said soothingly. "You got the full brunt of it, being on the weather side; and no doubt Nevil thought it better to take shelter till the worst was over."

"He had no business to think----!"

"Make allowances, Miss Hammond. It's a talent worth cultivating. I was nine-and-twenty once myself, and one remembers a thing or two. Seeing that shelter included ten minutes alone with a charming girl, I don't blame Nevil for taking it. No young fellow worth his salt would have done otherwise."

"Of course not. That's the exalted way you men look at things!" The concentrated superiority of modern girlhood tinged her tone. "But with Lilamani it is different, as he knows well enough. She is an Indian girl----"

"And Nevil is an English gentleman," Broome reproved her quietly. "Miss Lakshman Singh is perfectly safe with him; and I see no reason why we should risk catching severe colds on their account. If a layman of advanced age may presume to prescribe to a doctor--I should advise immediate change of clothes, and ammoniated quinine. May I see you to your room?" Again he had her metaphorically by the arm. Refusal would have been folly--undignified folly; and of that Audrey was incapable. At her door he had left her; and she, hurriedly exchanging a wet coat and skirt for a dry one, was out again on the landing before five minutes were up.

The lift halted; an elderly lady emerged, closing the door behind her.

Cool as she was by temperament, anger burned in Audrey Hammond like a white flame; anger against the man who had stolen her own heart unawares, and now--in the teeth of her straight-speaking--seemed set upon wrecking her dearest project, to say nothing of Lilamani's happiness. That he would be mad enough to offer his distinguished name to a Hindu girl-student--however well-bred--she could not bring herself to believe. He was simply indulging his masculine privilege of stealing with one hand the priceless thing he must needs throw away with the other. Oh, these men--these self-styled "lords of creation!"--with their unconscionable assumption that women, whose meed is worship, were created solely for their personal delectation! And the heresy dies hard; despite the pains taken by a subversive minority to refine away from man, the overgrown schoolboy, all the true masculinity, the essential barbaric, that spells national power.

Not that Audrey would have admitted this last. She merely rejected on principle the "lord of creation" theory of life: raged against it, rather, in her present mood. But so long as the bulk of "unenlightened" women persist in setting the needs of others above their own, what hope for the champions of self-assertion and so-called equality? What hope indeed, seeing that Nature--who abhors equality as heartily and justly as she abhors a vacuum--framed the other-regarding woman for her own great ends: a fact more frankly recognized in the East than in the West, as Audrey had good reason to know.

And Lilamani, angelic little fool, was, in this respect, Eastern to the core: misguided past hope of redemption! If Nevil had won her love, she would quite conceivably take a pride in prostrating herself at his feet, while he stepped over her quivering heart into more eligible arms.

Thus Audrey, pacing the empty passage; listening for the unconscionable two, who came not; and longing for the relief of speech, however inadequate.

Ah!--the lift again. She swung round, steeled to fresh disappointment; and lo, they were coming towards her. But there was that in both faces which proclaimed the futility of reproof. Baulked at all points, she could only listen, with impassive interest, to the transparent lameness of Nevil's explanation, that explained nothing save the one fact obviously suppressed.

"We were afraid you might be wondering what had come to us," he concluded airily. "But it was a punishing downpour; and Miss Lilamani is wet enough as it is."

"Yes, I will go at once and change. Good-bye for now; and thank you." She gave him her hand, but not her eyes; adding, for Audrey's benefit, with a desperate attempt at lightness: "I will make sure and remember the quinine!"

Two minutes later, she stood alone, behind the blessed shelter of her bedroom door; and Audrey heard the key turned softly. A knife turned in an open wound could hardly have hurt her more.

But Nevil was speaking again; apologizing for his disregard of advice, and for the anxiety it must have caused her, to say nothing of the wetting.

"But I sincerely hope you'll neither of you be the worse for that," he added with a fervor that hardened her heart afresh.

"Make your mind easy. Lilamani won't die of it," she answered him gravely. "But rain or no rain, you ought to have brought her straight in. You had no right whatever to do anything else."

A light she had not yet seen sprang to his eyes. But he controlled himself and said coolly: "That remains to be proved."

"Nevil! What on earth do you mean?"

He answered her with a direct look that drew the blood to her cheeks. "I can't give you a full explanation yet, Audrey. What's more, I'm not responsible to you for my actions."

"To me? No. But what of Sir Lakshman Singh?"

"We can settle that--when I see him to-morrow. Good night."

He was gone; and she stood alone, deliberately shut out from the confidence of the two human beings who, at the moment, made up more than half her world. Incredible that he could be in earnest. And Sir Lakshman Singh? If she knew anything of the man he would not hear of it. But still--it might be well to see Nevil before the morrow, in spite of his rebuff; and make him understand that, for Lilamani's sake, he must not persevere in so crazy a proposal. She would go down after dinner; leaving the father and daughter alone. Her heart cried out that she could not sleep till she had the truth from Nevil himself.

Fortified by this decision, she looked into the sitting-room, told Sir Lakshman (who was growing anxious) they had escaped with nothing worse than a wetting, and that Lilamani was lying down; then went on to change for dinner.

The meal that followed was not enlivening: Sir Lakshman preoccupied with the business that had kept him at home; Lilamani patently ill at ease; and Audrey, between snatches of machine-made talk, counting the minutes till she could decently make her escape.

On the arrival of coffee she rose with a hurried murmur about promising a book to Madame de Lisle, picked one up at random, and sped down the broad, shallow staircase, rating herself for the flutter of trepidation within.

Disappointment again. The Spinners of Destiny seemed in league against her all round. Nevil was nowhere to be seen.

He had dined early, in the restaurant, to evade the X-ray glances of his friends; and at the moment of Audrey's descent he was pacing the long path by the sea, "making glowworms" with an unimpeachable cigar and living the afternoon's triumph over again.

On this night of nights, the claims of father, family, social position, and trifles of a like significance to both, suffered total eclipse. The man saw nothing but Lilamani; his indubitably, by virtue of that dumb adoration in her eyes. To-morrow he would claim her openly, regardless of conventional arched eyebrows and uplifted hands--if only she could win the consent of Sir Lakshman. In this direction alone he admitted possibility of failure. Not all Love's sovereign egoism could blind him to the truth that upon those hidden rocks of duty and devotion to her father the storm-waves of passion would beat without avail. But surely if the man idolized her, as Audrey had said, all must be well.

Impatience racked him. How could he wait till morning, when by now his fate might be sealed!

And even while he paced and smoked, and built air-castles under the wistful stars, Lilamani knelt beside her father's chair, lids lowered demurely, hands resting lightly on his arm.

"Father mine--there is a thing I must tell before sleeping: a thing my heart is aching to tell. And yet--it is afraid----"

"Of me? Since when has it learnt such foolishness, joy of my life?"

His free hand covered hers.

"Since a few days only; and now still more--because, in returning from the boat--Mr. Sinclair----"

"Ah--what of him?"

The sharpness of his tone startled her. She looked up in dismay.

"Kindest, please not be too quick to blame, or how shall I find courage for the truth? To-day, after landing, when Mr. Broome and Audrey hurried on, he ... he waited me, under the arch, because of rain; and then he told me ... asked me.... How can I say all? Only that he wishes, very much ... oh, very much ... that I give him promise--of betrothal----"

Sir Lakshman felt the small hands quiver beneath his own, that closed upon them firmly in token of assurance, while, for her sake, he mastered his amazed indignation and spoke.

"My child, I have been fearing, these last days, that some such madness was in his mind. But this I did not look for, that he should presume, without my leave, to speak so freely----"

"He says ... English custom," she pleaded softly, not daring, now, to hint at freedom other than speech.

"With their own women, it is true. But in such a case, quite outside experience, he did wrong to make use of closer intimacy, permitted only for a time, by reason of his urgent wish. Yet, after all ... _I_ should have foreknown. Lacking true detachment, by reason of love's frailty, I had not courage to resist the offer of this picture, when your image in my heart should have sufficed. Seeing how your beauty had smitten him from the first, I should have been steadfast in refusal: and now--because the gods strike through our best-beloved--behold my punishment laid on you, who have already suffered enough. Is it not so, Lilamani? Is it he alone who wishes, very much--this impossible thing? Or do you also----?"

"I also."

The words were a mere whisper. She had bowed her forehead upon his hand; and it was wet with her tears.

"You told him this?"

"I told him."

A stifled sound escaped Sir Lakshman Singh: and she, choking back her grief, knelt upright, the tear-drowned eyes challenging his with a courage of his own bestowing.

"Kindest--if I did wrong, you will forgive. How should one heart lie to another, when both stand unveiled? Yet I gave no promise, except I would plead your consent to this, which you call impossible. Oh, Father ... to us it does not seem so."

"Kama, godling of the arrows, has thrown dust in your eyes," the man answered, smiling sadly. "And this Mr. Sinclair has not the smallest knowledge of what such marriage would mean--for you----"

"But I told him; saying also I was ready ... to forego all; in certainty nothing could quite cut me off--from you. Could it--could it?"

"No, sweetest one. With us, no division can come between soul and soul. Yet spirits are constrained to dwell in the house of the body. And the ocean is wide; as you know, now----"

Her tears overflowed. "I know ... bitterly I know. Only ... you would come more often, for my sake----"

"Assuredly: whenever possible. But what of your mother, your brothers, your religion? True, I have shown you sacred books of many creeds, that you might perceive how the light of the One great Unseen dwelling behind the veil of the seen shines alike through all forms of doctrine and worship. Yet for each man the form received from his own ancestors, his own country, is best. Believing this, as I do, daughter of my heart--you would surely not wish to change; even though you must lose all except essence of our faith?"

She drew in a tremulous lip.

"Oh, it is easy with lips alone to make sacrifice! But marriage and religion are one; and unless--by accepting the last, how shall I gain the first?"

"There is yet a way: only it is as if to cure one ill with another. In Europe they have an evil practice of making marriage by law, without ceremonies of consecration----"

"No--oh no! We could not have it thus. Sooner, I would make any sacrifice. From him I will learn of his creed, that his God may be as my God. In this first great matter husband and wife must be of same mind."

"Truly spoken, wise one. You have seen enough in your own home of the trouble that comes when they are not so, even though of same creed. But faith is not as a garment, to be taken up or cast aside--even at command of love. Believe me, child, yours would not change, though you deck it in new words and give it a new name. You would not ever have one mind with this man of traditions and ideals far away from your own. Knowing these things, I do well to say such union is not possible for this daughter of mine."

"Oh, Father--Father!" All the newly-awakened passion of her woman's heart, dutifully repressed till now, voiced itself in that despairing cry. "I will never go against you. But you said ... I have suffered enough. Now ... will you kill me right out?"

He winced: then gathered her close.

"Hush, dearest one; that is wild talk. If I am seeming cruel for a moment, it is only that I may save you from worse suffering--when too late. No, not to interrupt. Listen a little longer; remembering that I have lived in England and speak of what I understand. Even if you are ready to renounce all, endure all--and I am believing you capable of both--there are, for Mr. Sinclair, difficulties not to be brushed aside like cobwebs. Audrey tells me he is eldest son of a Baronet and by duty to his family----"

"That she told me, too----" For some reason Audrey's name pricked her to impatience, "and to-day, I tried to speak of it; but he said----"

"Yes, yes. I know well what young men of all nations say when their blood is on fire for passion of a beautiful woman. And you are a woman now, little one, beautiful as a half-blown lotus-bud in the moon. More than that, remember you are light of my eyes, the most priceless jewel of my heart; and you are asking that I shall bestow this upon a stranger, a foreigner, of other creed and race----"

"But Father--are you not forgetting he is of the race you admire more than all?" she pleaded eagerly, inspired by despair to one last eloquent appeal. "Is it not from your own so big mind I have been learning, all these years, to join your admiration of this great England and those her ideals you told of only yesterday? Is it not you that have shown me, by stories and poems of her highest writers, how it is beautiful, this love-made marriage between freely-consenting hearts of woman and man? Is it not you who saved me from that other marriage, worse than death, and gave leave for the picture that has brought to me this--crown of life? Have I not heard you speak often against those lines about East and West, that the two may not meet; because you must believe there might one day come closer understanding, through sympathy--through love? Is it only from your _lips_ this believing, Father mine? And if from the heart--how better to prove such belief than by giving even your most priceless jewel to a man of this fine race----" Her voice broke on the words; her flash of eloquence died out. "Oh, Father, I beg you not take away all hope!" she cried piteously, and hid her face upon his breast.

For many minutes she lay thus, a quivering sheaf of sensibilities, soothed by the strong pressure of his hand upon her head; praying passionately to Mai Lakshmi, goddess of Fortune, who, being a woman, must surely hear and make him understand. Then, in a tense expectancy, she waited--waited for the words that seemed as though they would never come: not realizing, in her anxiety, that his silence proved the strength of her appeal.

In language the more arresting for its simplicity, she had set before him the truth that unwittingly he himself had led her, step by step, toward this undreamed of consummation. He saw her--his priceless jewel--set between the devil and the deep sea; between the hideous marriage from which he had snatched her, and a life of barren womanhood, devoted to uncongenial work. To this pass he had brought her through insistence on a Western education, and delight in her sweet companionship; or, in the language of his own creed, through lack of detachment, whereby all evils come.

Dare he deny her so miraculous, if questionable, a chance of escape? No student, it was plain--this lovely and lovable child of his begetting; but just true woman, who, having found her lode-star, must follow it, "to her triumph or her undoing." And he who so heartily wished to see concord replace conflict between East and West, could it be thus that the gods bade him give proof of the desire, the belief that was in him--as she had said?

"Lilamani." He spoke at last, lifting her head from its shelter and framing her face with his hands. "Habit is master even of the strongest. I have never denied you in small things. How should I deny you in this--greatest of all? Your words have the force belonging to truth. That which my own acts have brought about, I have no right, no power to undo. Marry this man, child, if you cannot find happiness except in taking such tremendous risk. I was hoping in time you would get more pleasure from your studies. Selfish hope, because in the end they would bring my uncaged bird back to the nest."

"I also was hoping, and for that same reason--dearest," she made answer steadily, though tears gleamed on her lashes. "But ask your private heart only--is woman created for wisdom in book-lore, or in heart-lore? Is she, before all things, Life-healer, or Life-bringer? Audrey might think--the first. But I ... never! And will it be great harm for England if I give to her a few children with best blood of India in their veins?"

For such a mingling of young simplicity and womanly wisdom he could find no answer but a lingering kiss on her brow.

"That is the seal of your consenting?" she whispered. And he: "It is the seal of your freedom, rather, to make your own decision. Only this I counsel, that you give no promise of betrothal till you have considered, with cooler brain and heart, all that you must lose for this one gain. Best wisdom, believe me, child, is that you should go without any sight of him for one whole week. Abstinence will bring surer knowledge of your own heart; also, in detachment of spirit, you will see more clearly to judge true judgment."

"And--he?"

"I will myself see him to-morrow. I must know something more of him and of his own people, before I can fully give consent. After seeing him, I will ask him to go right away for one week. Not too long, little one?"

She shook her head with compressed lips and puckered brows.

"I shall put very clearly to him all you must forego, and see that he too is ready to face his share of difficulties like a man. Because ... if he should make you unhappy----?"

Murder gleamed in the dark of Sir Lakshman's eyes; and she leaned to him, lightly smoothing his brow.

"On that account, Father, have no fear."

"Yet even so--there is too much that might bring you trouble; and I not by to help. Think, my child, if the Gods in anger should take him from you, leaving you a widow--young, beautiful, cut off from home and country----"

"Oh, please, please hush!" she cried out, covering her ears. Then, with a sudden dawn of inspiration in her face, she added low and fervently: "Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone? If the Gods smite me through him--I go also. I am _suttee_. There are other ways than the funeral pyre."

She set her small hands palm to palm; and he pressed them between his own, knowing well that she spoke truth. Yet, for all his enlightenment, was he too innately a Hindu to voice his conviction that surely she was of those whom the Gods themselves could not wittingly harm.