Chapter XVIII: Noontide Glare

What marvellous transformation scenes we behold in Nature! One day we look on the ocean, a seething mass of turbulent waters, leaden-tinted, save where the angry wind lashes it into foam; the next day a fair expanse of blue lies before us, scarcely dimpled with even a ripple, and sparkling in sunshine! Lingering winter has made some landscape dreary and bare; scarce a flower lifts up its head; the trees stand like gaunt skeletons without apparent sign of life. A few hot genial days, a blowing of wind from the south, and the whole scene is changed! The primrose nestles under every hedge, "the larch hangs her tassels forth," the meadows are enamelled with daisies, and the fruit-trees are decked with the loveliest blossoms! Again, dark moonless night broods around; not even a star gleams through the sable canopy of cloud; there is an incessant dripping of rain. Anon sunrise bursts over the landscape, the clouds are golden, the raindrops gems, all Nature laughs in brightness and beauty!

Such transformations occasionally occur in the life of man, especially after seasons of trouble bravely endured. Such a transformation was experienced by Walter after his return to India and civilised life. The interest which had been excited by his disappearance was intensified by his return. Afghanistan, on account of the war then commenced, being in every one's mind, a gentleman who had actually resided for seven years in a fort in that country was naturally an object of curiosity and attention. Walter found that every Englishman whom he met was his friend. Invitations followed invitations. Go where he might he found a home; he was welcomed into every circle. This was principally, but by no means entirely owing to young Gurney's romantic adventures. It was known that, though himself poor, he came of what the world calls a good family, and his popularity was also greatly due to the uncommon attractions with which Walter had been endowed by Nature. The ladies declared him to be the very beau-ideal of the hero of a romance.

There was some talk of a subscription being raised to place the young man at college, either in England or India, that he might complete his education, partially neglected in early life, and for seven years entirely suspended. But Sir Cæsar Dashley, a civilian of high position in the service, and a distant relative of Dermot Denis, insisted on taking the whole burden of expense on himself.

"I will be responsible for all charges," said he. "It is clear that Gurney's imprisonment was the result of his devotion to my unfortunate and gallant cousin. I am glad to have the opportunity of serving so fine a fellow. Whilst I remain in India, Gurney shall never want a home."

After much prayerful consideration, Walter decided on pursuing his studies in India; not because it cost him nothing to give up his long-cherished hope of visiting England, but because he would not unnecessarily tax the generosity of a friend, and also that he could best, by remaining in Hindustan, master other Oriental tongues besides those of Urdu and Pushtoo. Walter entered a college in one of the capital cities of India, and at once set to work with vigour. His mind was as a soil which produces a hundredfold after lying fallow for several years. Study, a weariness to many, was to Walter Gurney a source of pleasure. He enjoyed it for its own sake, and not merely as a means to an end. The consciousness of success in every effort which he made, was exhilarating to the young man's spirit. Walter was like one who arrives so late in a hunting-field that he fears that he will never overtake the riders whom he sees at a distance before him, but who finds that his first-rate steed not only overtakes, but soon leads on in advance of them all.

"We never before had a student here who combined such ardour and perseverance in study with such brilliant natural ability," observed a college professor to Walter's patron; "were he at Oxford or Cambridge we should some day hear of Gurney's coming out First Wrangler."

"And yet his fancy has been to qualify himself for the obscure work of a missionary; and in Afghanistan, too, of all places in the world!" exclaimed Sir Cæsar. "The idea is utterly absurd."

"Preposterous!" echoed the professor, "Gurney has too much common sense to throw such talents away."

The patron's generosity was not long required. When an account of Walter's adventures, concluding with the baptism in the Eagle's Nest, drawn up by Mr. Coldstream, appeared in the _Times_, it excited general interest. The letter was copied into almost every other paper. Of course it reached the breakfast-table of his uncle, Augustus Gurney. The successful banker, who had now retired from business on a handsome fortune, was proud of the now famous nephew, whom in obscurity he had despised. Walter had not been two months in college before a black-edged letter arrived written in the same stiff hand as that whose contents, seven years before, had pleased him so little. This letter was comparatively kind, and contained, moreover, a cheque for three hundred pounds. Augustus was perhaps softened by trials which had come upon him during the years which had passed. He told his nephew of the successive deaths of two of his three sons by consumption. He let Walter know that if he chose to come to England he would have a welcome either in Eaton Square or at Claverdon Hall. Walter was pleased at the invitation, though he did not accept it, and wrote back a grateful letter of thanks.

The young man cashed his cheque, which appeared to him a mine of wealth. His first care--to him a delight--was to purchase numerous presents for Sultána, her husband, and many other friends in the Eagle's Nest. The difficulty was how to send them, for the city where Walter now resided was many hundreds of miles from the frontier, and it was by no means easy to make arrangements for the safe transmission of valuable goods through a country like Afghanistan, where utter lawlessness prevailed. Walter spared neither trouble nor expense, but still felt uncertainty as to whether either his gifts or his letters would reach the Eagle's Nest.

Walter's next care was to repay his pecuniary debt to Sir Cæsar--no small relief to the young man's mind. He procured a smaller cheque, which he enclosed in an envelope, with a note to his benefactor of thankful acknowledgment of kindness unsought. Sir Cæsar was sincerely glad that young Gurney had an uncle with a good long purse; put the cheque into his pocket, and the note into the waste-paper basket.

Walter was now, indeed, basking in the sun of prosperity, and his present good fortune was all the more dazzling from contrast with its dark antecedents. The first years of Walter's life had been spent in utter obscurity; and straitened means had at last seemed likely to end in utter destitution. Then had come a struggle which had involved loss of liberty, and perpetual hazard of life. This struggle, more or less severe, had lasted through nearly seven long years. Walter had never felt sure that some fierce fit of anger,--nay, some mere caprice of Assad Khan--might not bring on himself a bastinado, or even loss of eyes or head. Young Gurney had pursued evangelising work under difficulties which most men would have deemed insuperable. No trophy had been won from Islam without a perilous conflict. In addition to this harassing state of insecurity, it had been no small trial to Walter to be debarred from all intercourse with men of cultivated minds,--to live amongst the ignorant and savage, deprived of access to literature. Social intercourse was now a choice feast, and Walter partook of it with the relish of one who has been intellectually starved.

Young Gurney was not so utterly absorbed in his studies as to have no time for recreation, and he enjoyed intensely such pleasures as had on them no stigma of vice. Very delightful was it to go out in the cold weather, camping for a-while with Sir Cæsar, enjoying constant change of scene, and riding a spirited horse by the side of the Commissioner's daughter. Still more delightful, when camping season was over, to stand by the piano in the evening, and listen to, and join in, such classical music as enchanted his soul. The fair Flora never cared to sing solos when Walter's rich melodious voice was available for a duet. He watched her white jewelled fingers as they touched the instrument with faultless execution and exquisite taste, and almost felt, in the enthusiasm of his admiration, that he could look and listen for ever.

As Flora occupied an increasingly large place in Walter's thoughts, she must find some space in our pages. She was the eldest daughter of Sir Cæsar, and in the absence of her mother, whom ill health and the charge of younger children detained in England, Flora reigned supreme in the handsome establishment of the Commissioner Sahib. She was possessed of considerable personal beauty, and the Bird of Paradise was the sobriquet by which she was often spoken of in the circle of her admirers. There could scarcely have been a greater contrast than that between the training of the Bird of Paradise and that of the little Afghan Eaglet in her wild mountain nest. Imagination could hardly have pictured Flora Dashley scrambling about rocks barefoot, cooking her own dinner, or eating it with her fingers! Sir Cæsar, of rather pompous manner and ostentatious character, took pleasure in relating what fabulous sums he had spent on his daughter's education. She had had first-rate masters in music, drawing, and dancing, and to perfect her accomplishments had passed several years on the Continent. The result was such as perfectly to satisfy her father. In charms, personal and acquired, few could equal his Flora.

It was prognosticated as soon as the young lady joined Sir Cæsar in India, that before many months had passed she would certainly change her name. But years had passed, and she was Flora Dashley still. The Bird of Paradise enjoyed her freedom. She could hardly be more pleasantly situated than in the house of her wealthy father, with no heavier trials than the sleepiness of _punkah-walas_* or the spoiling of a dress by the moths. Besides unnumbered native servants to obey her commands, Flora had always some of her young countrymen eager to anticipate every wish, to break in a horse, or copy out music, or even undertake the heroic task of trying to tune her piano.

* Men employed in India to mitigate the heat by pulling a large fan.

It was a rich enjoyment to Walter to converse with so refined and highly educated a young lady; it was to him a new, and most delightful phase of existence. Walter seldom cared to talk to others of his life in the Afghan mountains, but Flora drew him out with her questions, and it thrilled the young man with pleasure to see the interest shown by her in his strange adventures. Walter was by no means certain that his charming companion had yet given her heart to the Lord; but was not her ready listening to accounts of conversions amongst the Afghans a sign that a missionary spirit was stirring within her? Gurney guessed not how utter would have been Flora's indifference had the tales been told by some grey-headed pastor.

Walter would fain have persuaded himself that the pains taken by Flora with the church-choir denoted pious inclinations; he cared not to think that her exquisite singing of hymns and sacred songs was due to her love of music, and not to her love of God. If her admirer could not hide from himself that the lady delighted in worldly amusements, Walter made every excuse for her education and present surroundings. Flora could enjoy reading a volume of Miss Havergal's beautiful poetry which he had placed in her hands; this Walter took as a token for good. He tried earnestly to draw the fair English maiden upwards, as he had been the means of drawing Sultána, and did not at first recognise the truth that, blinded by his admiration for Flora, he was making an excuse to his conscience for remaining in a position which imperilled his own spirituality.

But conscience, in Walter's breast, was too faithful a watchman to be easily silenced. If the Christian had found the pillar of fire his cheering light in the dark hours of tribulation, the pillar of cloud was now shading him from the more dangerous glare of prosperity's sun. It was not only that it kept his life pure in the midst of many temptations, but it made him search his own heart. Walter became painfully aware that, while advancing in everything else, he was not advancing in spiritual life. Secular study sometimes encroached on time that would otherwise have been given to study of Scripture; and the image of Flora's dark eyes intruded often on his devotions. Walter was not contented with his own state, and that uneasiness was in itself a good sign.

Was Walter's promise to Sultána forgotten amidst the eager pursuit of knowledge and the fascinations of civilised life? No; morn and even the little band of Christians in the Eagle's Nest were remembered in earnest prayer. But it is natural that visible surroundings and the interests of daily life should engage more constant attention than what belongs to memory alone. During the fascinating two years which Walter passed at college, he received no communication of any kind from his friends in the fort. Walter wrote repeatedly to Ali Khan in a large printed hand, which he had taught Sultána to read, but it need hardly be said that there was no available post to the mountain home. Walter was in uncertainty as to whether his letters or presents ever arrived, as no one in the fort was able to write. This difficulty of communication, with doubt as to its success, was very discouraging to Walter. It seemed as if he were as little able to exchange tidings with his Afghan friends as if they existed only in dreamland.

And, as time wore on, increasingly did Walter's engagement to return to his little flock in the mountains press on his heart like a chain. Every one with whom the young man entered on the subject, more or less condemned his plan as impracticable and wild. Yet Walter could not let himself be persuaded that a resolution made with earnest prayer should be put aside because man thought it unwise. The remembrance of the blessing which had followed his efforts in the Eagle's Nest could not be blotted out by college professors speaking of wasting talents, which would give him influence over thousands of educated minds, on a few bloodthirsty Afghans. Walter was not convinced when Sir Cæsar spoke indignantly of a promising, rising young man throwing himself utterly away; but, though unconvinced, Walter felt that inclination was constantly drawing him more and more away from a course pointed out by honour and duty, till he regarded almost with aversion the idea of returning to Afghanistan.

"I must end this miserable indecision," thought Walter, "and act as my conscience prompts."

Young Gurney wrote a letter to the committee of a Missionary Society in England, describing his own position. He informed the committee that a bishop in India had consented to ordain him, after a two years' course of study, should he pass the required examination. The examination would be over before a reply could be received from England, and should the result be favourable, Walter offered himself to the Society for a post in Afghanistan. He described the small nucleus of a Christian Church existing in the Eagle's Nest; it might be a centre of missionary effort amongst a people yet unreached by the Gospel. Walter mentioned no personal qualifications but fluency in Pushtoo, and an earnest desire to win souls.

Walter despatched his letter to England, and then confessed to Miss Dashley what he had done. Flora looked surprised, and a little annoyed, but presently said with a smile, "The committee will not accept you; you will have to submit to remain with us, Walter." It was the first time that the young lady had called him by his Christian name; how exquisitely sweet it was to hear that name from her lips!

"Would you believe it, papa?" said Flora to her father, who entered the room at that moment; "Mr. Gurney is offering himself for a mission in Afghanistan."

"The thing is impracticable," said Sir Cæsar in the tone of one who lays down the law. "My term of service being nearly completed, in two months we shall start for England, and Walter had better come with us. You will have your uncle's interest to give you a good start in life," he continued, addressing himself to young Gurney; "I advise your entering on a course at the bar. I should not wonder," he added more gaily, "if you ended your career on the woolsack."

As in the interim between sending his letter, and receiving its reply, Walter never entered again with Flora on a distasteful subject, the lady almost forgot the whole affair. She was much engaged in preparations for a fancy ball, which she could not persuade the student to attend even by the lure of seeing her in Afghan costume personate his favourite Sultána. But often--very often--even in the midst of hard study, did Walter think, almost without fear, of what the mail from England might bring. His reading up for examination gave him a fair and true excuse for seeing less of Miss Dashley; but very hard was it to keep almost entirely away, except on Sundays, especially as the dreaded time of parting was every day drawing near and more near.

With almost feverish impatience the secretary's reply was opened when it arrived about a week after Walter had passed his examination with brilliant success. The letter, though couched in rather formal terms, was full of Christian courtesy. The committee, it said, had given due consideration to Mr. Gurney's offer to devote himself to founding a mission in the country of the Afghans. His high motives, his devotion and zeal, were highly appreciated. But after much thought the committee felt unable to send any agent into so dangerous a field, beyond the protection of the British flag. If Mr. Gurney would volunteer for work in India, his offer would be gladly entertained.

Walter gave a sigh--was it of disappointment, or of relief? He could scarcely have defined his own feelings. Almost intuitively he bent his steps towards the dwelling in which Flora resided, but paused at the entrance to listen to the delicious tones of her voice. He found the young lady at the piano. Flora had just finished her Italian song, and received her visitor with a smile.

"I thought that you were forgetting us," she said; "I have been wanting you for a practice."

Silently Walter Gurney placed the letter in Flora's hand, and watched her face to see what emotions it might call forth.

"The committee show some sense," the lady remarked, returning the letter. "I hope that now you will give up for ever your mad idea of re-visiting the Eagle's Nest."

"But my promise?" murmured Walter Gurney.

"You are not bound by so foolish a promise. Suppose that I promised to spend a week in the house of a friend, and on my arrival found all the building in flames! Does honour compel me to stay and be burnt?"

"The case is not quite to the point," said Walter. "I have passed seven years in the Eagle's Nest, and my danger would not be greater, but much less than it was at the first. When I entered it, I had not amongst the Afghans a single friend, save one poor child; now I have seven friends, Christian friends, to help--or desert!"

"Oh, I cannot argue on such matters," said Flora, turning over the leaves of her music-book to find some particular duet. "But really, Walter--Mr. Gurney--you should turn your mind from such projects, as regards Afghanistan or any other place. The profession of a missionary is not quite that of--of-----" She hesitated, not wishing to give offence. "I mean, that with prospects like yours, you might do a great deal better."

These few words gave Walter acute pain; they betrayed such utter want of sympathy in what regarded the spreading of the Gospel, in the woman whose favour was to him as the very sunshine of life.

Flora ran her fingers lightly over the keys. "It is for the bass to begin," said she.

Walter mechanically sang through the duet; his thoughts were far, far away. When the practising was over, he somewhat hastily took his departure.

Long did young Gurney ponder over the conversation at night, in the solitude of his chamber, with his Bible open before him. Had he not, again and again, given himself, with all his powers, all his talents, to the service of a crucified Lord, and now was he not suffering the world gradually to enclose him in a snare, none the less strong because its meshes were formed of the softest silk? Whence came his increasing repugnance to fulfil his promise to Sultána? Was it not the impossibility of taking an English bride to the Afghan mountains? Walter dared scarcely think of Miss Dashley in connection with his own future; union with Sir Cæsar's daughter seemed almost as utterly beyond his hopes as if she had been a star; yet--yet--things more impossible had happened before. Oh, how delicious were day-dreams! but were they safe?--were they right?

Walter knelt down and prayed for guidance, that Divine guidance which is never honestly sought in vain. He remained long on his knees. The young man arose with a pale cheek and a heavy heart. He opened his desk, and wrote a letter to his bishop, offering himself as a candidate for orders in the ordination shortly to take place, previous to entering on honorary missionary work. Walter enveloped the letter, and shut it up in his desk. He then retired to his couch, but not to sleep; no slumber visited his eyes on that night.