Front matter (continued 6)

The cold supper in a dell, lit by the moon, proved a right merry meal; the syces and servants had made a big fire, boiled the kettle, and under Mrs. Bourne's directions, spread a substantial repast on a table-cloth on the moss. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy arriving rather late, had shirked the last two miles, and kept her company. They were a cheery young Irish couple, who always made an affair go off.

As from afar they descried Barbie and her escort, in the van of the sight-seers, Mrs. Kennedy remarked:

"I'm thinking, you'll be having a wedding at Kartairi, before long, Mrs. Bourne."

"Do you say so—who?"

"Is it who? Why, little Miss Miller and Mack, to be sure! He is a rich man by all accounts, and you will have to be looking round for another lady-help."

"Faith, and Mrs. Bourne will look a long time, before she comes across as pretty a girl as Barbie," said Mr. Kennedy, "the beauty of these Hills; her complexion would shame a rose!"

"I think you are both talking the greatest nonsense," declared Mrs. Bourne, who was busily cutting up cold roast guinea-fowl.

"Yes, Paddy is; it's his normal state," asserted his wife with a laugh, "I don't allow him to rave about other young women, and I shall give him six nice little strokes of my whip when I have him to myself at home—not that I don't agree with him about Barbie!"

The supper-party broke up about eight o'clock, and the revellers set out for the fourteen-mile ride. Mrs. Bourne mounted Geoffrey's pony, Ibex was led by a syce, and "The Blood Orange" and Geoffrey, took it in turns to ride the latter's hairy slave. Taking advantage of some discussion, argument, and the consequent delay, Mr. MacKenzie (always king of his company) led off with Barbie. He appeared to think, that owing to his standing and weight in the neighbourhood, he had an undisputed claim to the first place, and choice of partners.

Geoffrey looked after the pair, as they gradually disappeared into a steep valley. Well, it did not matter if Mack rode a few miles in the moonlight with Barbie,—though he sincerely wished himself in his place. Barbie was pledged to him.

The poor girl had a truly anxious and uncomfortable ride, and found extreme difficulty in warding off, and eluding, a second proposal within a couple of hours. Over and over again, the conversation became personal; and on each occasion, she called her woman's wit to her assistance, and guided the subject into generalities. Finally being at the end of her resources, the deceitful little creature pleaded such toothache, that she could not talk, and Mack more than ever in love, and impressed by her maidenly diffidence, reserved his declaration for a future occasion. How little he dreamt, that the girl's whole heart and thoughts were with the man he had nicknamed "the loafer," who was leading a lame pony a mile or two in their rear.

Mrs. Bourne received from Barbie the surpassing news, almost before she had time to change from her habit,—and strange to say, exhibited no surprise whatever.

"I like him very much, dear," she said, as she embraced her, "and you will, I believe, both be happy. My little Barbie will make a capital wife for a poor man!"

For the next few evenings, there was more conversation than music; plans were exhaustively discussed, coffee estates, crops, and furniture took the place of the most thrilling news of the day. There was also a certain amount of sitting tête-à-tête in the verandah, overlooking the moon-flooded estate, whilst kind Mrs. Bourne, wrote letters indoors, and made detailed arrangements for a trip to Madras, and home. These were evenings of beautiful happenings, magnificent castle building, close sympathies, and the thrill of touching hands.

The air was pure and cool, the nights were so still, that the whole world seemed to be at rest, not a sound disturbed the deep silence, but two young voices.

"I think you are very brave, Barbie," said Mallender, "you know, we shall be paupers!"

"Yes, and Mrs. Bourne says I shall make a splendid wife for a pauper, I manage so economically, and keep down the ghee, and charcoal. The cook is quite afraid of me!"

Her fiancé burst into a derisive laugh. "As if any man, woman or child, would be afraid of you! I'll work tremendously hard, and take that little estate Tom recommends, and we will have a jolly life, keep a couple of ponies, lots of dogs, and run down to Bangalore in the slack time. How will that be?"

"Delightful. I see, you have thought it all out!"

"Why not? We have no one to please, but ourselves—you have no consent to ask for, nor have I. Of course, I'll tell Fan and Fred. I know he adores you, partly I think—because you never gave Naughty Mary a sore back! You shall go and interview him, and melt his heart, and ask him to give you away?"

"If he were to see your scarred head, and thin sunken cheeks, that would be far more likely to touch him."

"Well, the Beamishes return in a few days, and I'll beard him when I go down to make arrangements for my run home. It will be awfully hard to leave you behind, Barbie."

"Yes; but I always think the one who is left has the worst of it!"

"No, no, no. However, hang it all, we are not going to grouse—three months will soon go by, and I shall be back before Mrs. Bourne starts, and take you over, Barbie, with all your liabilities."

These much-discussed plans of the young couple, were presently upset by a letter to Mallender, which said:

"Dear Sir,

"We are writing to request you to come to Madras immediately. If you can make it convenient to arrive by the mail at four o'clock on Tuesday next, the 11th inst., you will there be met by a messenger, and hear of something greatly to your advantage.

"We remain, dear Sir, "Yours faithfully, "Brown, Brown and Co."

"Just look at this!" said Mallender tossing it to Barbie, "the same old bait; but I'm not going to be had this time! I've been made a fool of too often, and you will not be surprised to hear, that I feel a pardonable misgiving. The burnt child dreads the fire!"

"But this is not from Jaffer," protested Barbie, "I see it is from Brown and Brown. I believe it is 'pucka'—and you are going to hear, or to see,—something at last!"

"Not I!"

"May I?" and Mrs. Bourne extended a hand. After glancing at the note, she said:

"Barbie is right, I am sure this won't be an April Fool's errand. I think you will have to go."

"But if I do, I must start to-morrow!" he protested.

"How I wish I might go too!" said Barbie, "I feel certain, that something tremendous is about to happen."

"Something tremendous will happen, if you don't see to the churning, Barbie. I must get as much work out of you as I can, dear, as I'm afraid I won't have you this time next year!"

"Next year!" echoed Mallender, "not likely! Long before that, Barbie will be making butter for me."

"And as for you, young man, you are to take the grey pony, and ride over to Sarma, and send a wire to say you arrive in Madras on Tuesday, without fail."

And in this imperious and high-handed fashion, Mrs. Bourne disposed of the happy couple in opposite directions.

CHAPTER XXX

It was growing dark as the train from Bangalore rolled into Madras Station, and the ceaseless moaning of the surf fell once more upon the ears of Mallender, who promptly descended from his carriage, and looked eagerly about him; as he did so, he noticed the stately approach of a gorgeous peon, who with a deep salaam enquired:

"Is it Captain Mallender?"

"Yes—all right."

"Then, please your honour, to come with me."

"What about my luggage?" indicating bag and suit-case.

"That we will send to cloak-room."

"Evidently I am not expected to stay the night," thought the traveller, with amusement. When his baggage had been disposed of, he accompanied his guide, to where a fine closed motor was waiting to receive him; as soon as he was seated the peon mounted beside the chauffeur, and they glided swiftly away. It was a magnificent car, evidently of great horse-power! Mallender noted its luxurious and expensive equipment, as he leant back and lit a cigarette, with the air of a man who has not a care in the world!

"This," he said to himself, "is the rummiest thing, that has happened yet! I'm in someone's two thousand guinea car, and I have not the faintest notion of who it belongs to,—or where I am going!"

He was undoubtedly on the track of an adventure; and this agreeable beginning, was much more auspicious than his various other openings.

Madras at this hour was crowded. The World had now descended from the Hills and Society was once more abroad. Many cars and carriages were flitting to and fro. Mallender noticed that he was not about to visit "fresh fields, and pastures new," but was being taken along a familiar road in the direction of Hooper's Gardens. Surely not there? No—they swept smoothly by the entrance, and as they passed, he looked out, and noticed, that there were lights in the house. So the Tallboys were at home! The next moment, the car came to a sudden stop, and then turned into a dark and densely overgrown drive; in places, the crowding shrubs seemed to lash, and oppose the motor; as it moved steadily forward, Mallender caught casual glimpses of a vast compound, and an impression of cattle, and tethered horses. The house, as they approached it, had an air of gloom and reserve, but when the car came to a standstill under the portico, he noticed a crowd of men, numerous as a Royal Body Guard, who were assembled in the lower verandah. Most of them were smoking and playing cards, but one was evidently doing "sentry go."

Undoubtedly this was the residence of some wealthy native. Why, how stupid of him! how infernally stupid, not to recognise the premises of the relative of the Prince of Gulberga; that pungent atmosphere of green burning wood, huka smoke, and boiling gram, had frequently assailed his nostrils, when he occupied a tent in the neighbourhood.

The door of the car was flung open, as Mallender alighted the sentry presented arms, and he was invited to ascend to the verandah. A peon held a flaming lamp at the head of the marble stairs, where stood a tall slender woman, evidently awaiting him. She wore a richly embroidered satin sari, and massive gold ornaments. In this dress, the now experienced eye of the traveller recognised the costume of a high-born Coorg lady, or Princess.

As she turned, and the light fell on her face, he saw that she was no longer young, but still preserved the remains of astonishing beauty. The nose was delicate and clear-cut, the skin like ivory, the drooping lips, and dark tragic eyes, told a tale of sorrow,—yes, on the whole, here was the most striking personality that the young man had ever beheld.

"So you have come," she said, speaking English in a low full voice. "You will be very gentle and patient, will you not? Remember that your Uncle has not spoken to a kinsman, nor an English officer, for many years."

"So then my Uncle is here?" cried Mallender excitedly.

"Yes," she assented, "now you shall see him," and with wonderful grace, she glided out of the verandah, and across an antechamber, pushed open a door into a large dim apartment,—and there abandoned him.

Mallender stood for a moment gazing vaguely about. In size and shape the room was a counterpart of the familiar drawing-room next door (the houses were precisely alike) only there, was brilliant electric light in the French chandeliers,—here, on a table, two candles in old-fashioned shades merely made the darkness visible. The room appeared to be almost entirely empty of furniture, and saturated with novel and aromatic odours; but as the visitor's eyes became accustomed to the twilight, he gradually made out some shadowy divans along the wall, a few rugs on the floor, and—he gave a slight start, as he discerned an arm-chair, and an outline of the spare stooping figure of a man in Europe dress. As he continued to stare, he noticed that he was wearing a black skull cap, a short black beard, and a pair of black-rimmed spectacles.

"You have arrived, Geoffrey Mallender!" said the figure in a harsh but muffled voice.

"Yes, I'm here," he answered boldly.

"Grope," continued the bearded man, "and you will find an arm-chair, draw it up to the table, and sit down."

Geoffrey obeyed without a word.

"So I have found you. You never found me," continued the mysterious individual, and he chuckled audibly.

"Do you mean to say that you are my Uncle?" enquired Mallender brusquely.

"I am."

"How am I to be sure of that? You see, I've been let in pretty often."

To this statement, a loud discordant laugh was the sole immediate response; after an appreciable pause, the bearded man added, "Ask me some questions, my doubting Thomas?"

"All right then. Tell me the address of our old town house?"

"Two hundred and ninety Bruton Street. Your father was born there."

"Good. Now the best fox cover at Opershaw?"

"Tylney Corner," was the prompt reply.

"And my grandmother's name?"

"Althea Chandos, she brought a beautiful foot into the family."

"Right, but perhaps you are a medium—or a clairvoyant or something."

"No—nor a tom-fool," he answered, "I am your Uncle Geoffrey."

Something in the accent—was it a faint resemblance to his father's voice?—carried conviction, and there came to Mallender, a keen sense of the importance of this revelation and interview.

"Now we are together," resumed his Uncle, "I may as well inform you, that you have provided me with an extraordinary amount of interest and amusement, during this last year."

"How was that?" asked his visitor sharply.

"I pulled all the strings, and you danced beautifully, my good puppet! I had Jaffer in my pay, and of course Shumilal his agent; it was I, who sent you on all those crazy excursions; for instance, to terrify Rochfort, and amuse old Beamish. I remember him thirty years ago: a splendid fellow even then. Poor chap, he still clings like a limpet to an outworn past. You see, I live behind the scenes; it is my rôle in every sense; I am a wire-puller. I have assisted at meetings. I was the writer who sat with his back to you in Shumilal's office, I was next door to you over the wall, when you stayed with Fred; I paid you a visit one night at Panjeverram. This sort of half-light existence, the life of a bat or an owl, is all that is left to me now."

He ceased to speak, evidently expecting his listener to make some remark, but Mallender remained dumb; he was furiously angry with his Uncle, and could not trust himself with words.

"I don't know how long I should have continued to amuse myself at your expense. I intended to pass you on next, to a miserable devil of a lunatic, who believes he has committed a murder, and has lived in hiding for years—but you were spared that, by a paragraph in a little local rag."

"Oh!"

"It mentioned that you had met with a frightful accident, and were at the point of death; so then I realised that I had gone too far. I despatched a special messenger to Wellunga, tracked you to the Hills, and summoned you at last. I must confess, that the news of your accident gave me a shock. I sent the paper in next door—of course by post. I did not see why Fred should not have a bad shock too!"

Mallender made no reply, his heart was hot within him. So all the time he had been—as his Uncle declared,—a mere plaything, or puppet, who was made to dance for his amusement! Probably his companion was struck by his silence, and the judicial attitude of his young relative.

Leaning suddenly forward in his chair he said, "And now I am going to unveil the mystery; a mystery unexplained for a lifetime. Only for you, it would never have been cleared up,—and I confess, that your eagerness and determination to find either my murderer, or myself, has touched, and flattered me. There was a smack of romance about the whole thing! You have shown extraordinary pertinacity, and in spite of all sorts of obstacles, and many failures, have held on with the grip of a bulldog, or grim death. It's going to be a fairly long story, so if you smoke—I know you do—pull out the drawer in the table, and help yourself to cigarettes."

Geoffrey deliberately did as suggested, produced matches, struck one on the sole of his boot, and throwing himself back in his chair, prepared to listen to his Uncle's disclosure.

CHAPTER XXXI

"Of course, the old story, of how I disappeared in the hot weather of '81, is well known to you," began Captain Mallender senior, as he moved his chair a little nearer to his nephew. "We had capital sport in Coorg,—it's shot out now.—I was fond of exploring all over the place, when my lazy pals were lying on their backs, reading novels, and smoking. In this way, I happened on a lady and her servants, who were in a bad fix; their bullock carriage got stuck in crossing a ford, and I came to their rescue. It turned out, that the lady was of the Royal house of Coorg, an Ikeri Princess; her name was Puvaka 'the flower sister.'—She has since been baptised Alida. The Princess was sixteen years of age, and amazingly beautiful; never had I seen such a face, and I fell madly in love with her, on the spot. The Princess Puvaka spoke a little English, I, a little Canarese, and well—I leave the details to your imagination. We had several moonlight meetings. I was absolutely infatuated, so, poor child, was she. I knew very well that her people would never consent to our marriage,—nor mine either, for that matter, but I threw such trifles to the winds! As for my family, my regiment, and my future, I never gave them a thought. Speaking dispassionately, and as an old man—there is no question, that such love, is undoubtedly a species of insanity! I decided to elope to Madras, there to get married, and see what turned up? I had money, she had astounding beauty. We were both young, and the world was before us! Our plans were on the point of maturing, when one moonlight night, we suddenly found ourselves betrayed, and surprised. Alida's infuriated kinsmen fell upon me like savages, I made a hard fight—but it was no good, one to fifty; when they had overpowered me and bound me fast, they cut off my nose, ears, eyelids, and upper lip. The Coorgs have a special instrument for this operation,—a sort of slicing knife called an 'Odu Katti.'"

Mallender had hastily risen to his feet, and in a strange hoarse voice exclaimed, "Good Lord, now—I understand!"

"Sit down—sit down!" snapped his Uncle. "Yes, death would have been far better; but the Coorg capital punishment,—trampling with elephants,—was not at the moment available. I was left mutilated, and all but dead. Alida escaped her brother's vengeance, they simply cast her off. She and her woman, and an old man, carried me to a hiding-place, and with native herbs and oils, gradually healed my wounds; but I was, and am, a frightful and repulsive object; for theirs was no gentle operation, but a frenzied hacking, and hewing. Naturally, it was impossible for me to return, or ever again show my face in England! At first, when I realised all I had lost, I was determined to put an end to myself,—but Alida barred that way. She has been my good angel, a miracle of patience, and forbearance, has made me a home, cultivated the English language, and mitigated my life in death. We live here under a native name, for part of the year, and in the hot weather we go into camp out in Mysore, or to Bangalore, where I have a large house, near the Fort. Time, and money, have blunted the raw edge of my misery; I have my luxuries, shooting, horses, motors, yes! the rupees are a wonderful balm. I take a keen interest in native and European life, and am acquainted with many matters that are hidden from my countrymen, and I pull various strings for my country's good. I have had my eye on you, Geoffrey, my namesake. You take after me, and are bold, and enterprising—not like your father, who was dreamy and bookish, poor fellow, and naturally stagnant."

"But, you know, I came out here to look for you, by his wish."

"So I understood."

"He was full of remorse; because he had not answered your letter in person."

"To what good?" demanded his brother, with a touch of passion, "I was done for. I have paid the price of my folly; and yet Alida is a treasure. She endures my fits of depression, my irritable, exacting, temper. Sometimes I tell myself, that her fate has been the worst. We were married by a missionary,—since dead,—and she is your lawful Aunt, Alida Mallender. I know, you have a stout heart, nephew. Would you care to carry out your bold intention, and see me really face to face?"

"Yes," of course, was the confident answer. "Many a time, I have sat gazing at your picture in the dining-room at home."

"Ah, I'm glad I'll go down to posterity, as that good-looking young fellow. Now, you shall see the original," and Captain Mallender—late of the Blue Hussars—fumbled for a moment with spectacles and beard, then rose, and slowly advanced into the full light of the two candles.

Geoffrey braced himself, and rising from his place stood up to meet his ordeal.

He looked over at the man who confronted him across the table, yet in spite of strong nerves, and a certain amount of preparation, he gave a sharp involuntary cry. What he beheld, was a grey bent old man, wearing a black skull cap; his withered cheeks were deeply sunken, his scanty beard, was white, and oh, the awful noseless face, the bare grinning teeth, the lidless eyeballs,—expressing mute agonised interrogation, and years of hopeless anguish.

The sweat stood out on Mallender's forehead, as his eyes were set in a fixed, and horror-stricken stare.

"You could not blame me for hiding?" asked his Uncle thickly, "could you?"

Mallender caught his breath in a sort of sob, and stammered:

"No."

Then the expatriated victim, turning his back, and resuming his disguise, once more seated himself, and there ensued an eloquent silence. Mallender the younger, was so severely and unexpectedly shaken, that for some moments he could not articulate; he felt completely stunned, and incapable alike of speech or coherent thought. At last he said in a broken voice:

"Oh, Uncle Geoffrey, I can't express—what I feel for you!"

"Thank you, my boy," came the answer in a husky tone, "now that you have had your wish, you understand, don't you?"

"Yes, oh my God, I do!" responded his nephew.

"Few are acquainted with this horror—my fate," resumed Captain Mallender senior. "Some devoted Coorg dependents, screen us from the world, and their fellow-servants. I pose as a wealthy native who has made a fortune in tobacco, and am related to the old princely family of Gulberga, now, I may tell you, extinct."

"But isn't it impossible to personate a native?"

"Not at all. I had always a talent for languages, I speak Tamil, and Canarese like my mother tongue. I pretend, that I was educated in England—this accounts for my English tastes, my books, manner of riding, choice of food, and so on. I have an English sitting-room, with English arm-chairs, and lined with books, here and at Bangalore. It is looked upon as one of my numerous eccentricities. On the other hand, I smoke a huka, I maintain a royal reserve, and state; I give to the poor with both hands, and I tolerate at least a hundred parasites."

"And what of Brown and Brown? How much do they know?"

"They know everything," was the startling rejoinder. "Never withhold secrets from your men of business; and besides, in my case, they are necessary to manage my affairs, remit money, receive letters, and keep me in touch with England."

"Yes, I can see that, they did not give me much of a welcome—a pair of sun-dried old scorpions!"

"Don't be hard on them, Geoffrey. Your unexpected descent naturally put us out terribly. Probably you can now imagine how very uneasy you made me feel, until I discovered that your methods were childish."

"The whole thing was childish on my part."

"No, I won't allow that. I am more than thankful that you came. You have roused and shaken me out of a groove; to know, that a real live nephew, had so far exerted himself, as to come to India to find me! made me once more think of myself, as Geoffrey Mallender, and not as the Nawab Dooloo of Idacotta. And now tell me something about yourself?"

Geoffrey had not yet weathered the shock of his Uncle's history and its illustration; in a few halting sentences he spoke of his upbringing, his having left the service, and his hitherto uneventful career.

"Well, out here, your career has been fairly eventful, thanks to me," said his Uncle. "I intend to make up to you, for your hardships. I expect you are in pretty low water with regard to money, eh, my boy?"

"Yes, I am afraid so; however, I have enough to take me home."

"You have. Brown and Co. have executed a deed in which Mallender is made over to you altogether. Of what use is it to a man like me? it is now yours absolutely."

"But that would never do! I could not accept it," protested Geoffrey, "what are you to live on? If you will continue the allowance you made my father——"

"Don't worry about me," interrupted his Uncle, "I am not a poor man, even minus Mallender. For thirty years, my expenses have been moderate. I've no society to entertain, no clubs, no cards, no racers, no polo ponies. Like old Beamish, I have put by, and invested large sums, most of which will go to you after my death and Alida's. I've left some legacies to servants, and pensioners, and a trifle to Freddy; what a stiff-necked little beggar it is!"

"Yes, but as far as I'm concerned, I don't blame him."

"Little does he guess, that I am his obnoxious next-door neighbour! or how I like to hear him storming at me, for a nuisance, when we burn weeds and woods, and the wind is his way; nor does he imagine, that I am often in Madras. I wear a pair of goggles, and sometimes drive my own car, and get about a good deal. I go to races, and cricket matches, I was at the polo, and witnessed your performance. When I appear in public, I wear a turban and beard, and sit well back in the car like a 'Gosha' woman, so as to keep up my reputation, of an eccentric native gentleman of high degree. You ride well, Geoffrey, and I intend to give you a horse to take home; a splendid black Arab called 'Baber.' I shall like to think that he who has carried me out here, later on, will gallop round the old park, and the place where I was born."

"Surely something could be done for you, Uncle Geoffrey?" said Mallender. "Why not come home yourself? In these days, surgeons and science seem to work miracles."

"My good nephew! I now see that Fred has some ground for saying you have a strain of madness in your brain. I'm beyond human help. Here, I have dree'd my weird,—here I'll die. Supposing I were to accompany you home,—and my old heart leaps at the thought!—what do you think people would say? They'd swear I was a rank impostor. Mallender of the Blue Hussars, was drowned years and years ago."

"But you could do the same as out here, take another name?" urged Geoffrey the persistent.

"Always optimistic, and full of schemes, I see! No, no, the Nawab will bide in Madras."

Then rising from his place he came nearer, a strange but not horrifying object, with false nose and beard, the eyeballs looking out from the black-rimmed glasses wore a soft expression as he said:

"You must make it up with Fred, tell him, you've carried out your project and seen me, are reinstated, and sole owner of Mallender,—park, property, house, and its contents down to the very teaspoons!"

"But listen to me, Uncle Geoffrey. I really cannot take it all like that, in your lifetime."

"You can, in short, there's no help for it. Mallender is yours now, as much as the coat on your back."

The new owner of Mallender was about to expostulate, but his Uncle held up his hand.

"To let you into a secret, Geoffrey—I am proud of you!"

"It's awfully good of you to say so, Uncle, but although I meant well, I've been more or less, of a pig-headed idiot."

"As for that, I happen to know, how you came to the rescue of that unfortunate girl, Miss Sim; packed her off home, and paid her passage. It was you, who faced Rochfort's wife, stifled a terrible scandal, and made peace. Finally, I'm told that you saved the life of old Beamish's daughter, and nearly lost your own. Now for each of these deeds, I give you a good mark."

Mallender laughed uncomfortably.

"Your next exploit, must be to find a really nice girl—and marry her."

"I have found her."

"What! Who? Not Tara Beamish? No—no."

"Miss Miller—you may have seen her?"

"Yes, a pretty little fair girl, rides like a bird—had a narrow escape of marrying her father's old pal. That young woman has grit; I give you my consent, and she shall have a suitable wedding present. I'm glad you did not fall in love with the other!"

"Then you've seen the youngest Miss Beamish?"

"Yes, in Bangalore—a beautiful creature, with wild, blue blood in her veins. I've also seen her mother—that was many years ago.—And I knew more of the girl's history, than her adopted parents; but then, as I've told you, I live behind the scenes and hold many secrets. Well, there is no mystery about your future wife, and I wish you joy. The moon is favourable, and to-night, we shall celebrate two great events; your visit to me, and your engagement. I shall inaugurate a big Tamasha and my retainers will call it the feast of the full moon; but to me, it will be the fête of Geoffrey, and his little lady! Now, my boy, this has been a trying interview; I know," and his voice broke, "that you feel for me; but you'd better go now, and come again—I'm rather played out. I know I need not ask you, to keep my secret," again his voice failed, and he sat down, and struck a little hand bell. Instantly the door opened, and the Coorg Princess appeared beckoning from the threshold.

"It has been an amazing exertion," she said as she and Geoffrey stood together in the verandah, "I'm thankful it is over."

"Yes," assented her companion, "so am I."

"He likes you so much, you have been such a great interest to him, and made him so proud and happy, for you have always been an honourable gentleman. We heard of you up in Coorg, my country, and in beautiful Mysore. I am your Aunt Alida."

Mallender bowed assent, then as he looked into her face, stirred by an inexplicable impulse, he stooped, and lifted her hand to his lips. Why not? She was his Uncle's wife, and she held herself like royalty. For a moment, she surveyed him earnestly with her burning black eyes, noting as she did so, that the young man was woefully thin; his cheeks were sunken, his clothes worn, and almost shabby. Undoubtedly, he had tasted both sickness and poverty.

"You have had a hard time," she murmured gently, "but if one leaves the beaten road,—one has to pay!"

As Geoffrey gazed into her worn but beautiful face, he realised with a pang, that this low-voiced Aunt, who had abandoned a beaten road,—had paid, heavily.

"You will come again," she urged, "we will arrange with Brown and Brown; they forward letters; the motor waits to take you wherever you please. Good-bye!" and turning towards the drawing-room, she waved him farewell.

CHAPTER XXXII

His Aunt's offer of the splendid Panhard was not accepted by Geoffrey; he preferred to depart on foot, realising that after his recent experience, he must get away alone, into some quiet retreat, there to steady his mind, and nerves. As he descended the steps, even in the dim ill-lighted premises, he received the impression of an atmosphere of wealth, extravagance, and a certain amount of slackness, secrecy, and state; moreover an establishment crowded with retainers. The servants' liveries were gorgeous, the massive ill-trimmed hanging lamps, of beaten silver, splendid Persian rugs were carelessly strewn on the flagged portico, and that curious smell, beyond analysis, that belongs to the East hung in the air. From the rear, came the bitter pungent odour of wood fires, cooking the evening meal, the cries of children, the shrill whinny of horses. What, Mallender asked himself, was he doing in this native milieu? He seemed to be under some spell of unreality! Still walking as in a dream, he passed through a group of salaaming peons, into the dark overgrown avenue. There he encountered many vague stealthy figures, going or coming, and was presently overtaken by three men; mounted Sowars, on fine horses, who clattered by, in haste,—evidently bound on some important errand. Arrived once more at the shabby entrance he halted, and looked about, standing out of the traffic, under the shade of a great tamarind tree. As yet, he could not bring himself to face his next door relatives, or enter their well-ordered, well-illuminated English home; the contrast was so sharp between the household of his Uncle, and his cousin—that even to think of it made him flinch.

For nearly an hour, he slowly paced the dusty road; enclosed within high walls which lay between two entrances; where one, his nearest relative lived, cut off from his own people, surrounded by mystery and natives; whilst the other, great garden house, was no doubt as usual, overflowing with gay, appreciative guests, the cream of Madras society.

As he strolled along, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, he was haunted by the face of his Uncle; that awful mutilated countenance, with its jagged mouth, and wild bare eyeballs; he shuddered more than once, that warm still evening, and tried to thrust the hideous memory from his mental vision. Had such a fate overtaken him, how would he have borne it? He could not, would not, survive—no, even Barbie should not prevail. He endeavoured to put himself into his Uncle's place,—as a young man of his own age and profession, full of life, energy and expectation, suddenly shut out from his kindred, friends, and nation. Left alone, to struggle as best he might, with an absolutely hopeless future; abandoned to an existence of isolation and pretence. Why, why, should fate exact through years of misery, such remorseless punishment, for one folly?

Undoubtedly Alida represented some mitigation of the sentence; but a woman of another race and outlook. No doubt, she had been an angel of mercy, yet could even Alida replace a wasted youth?—a lost world?

Those first years must have represented the torment of Hades! they made Mallender think of quivering flesh, and a fiery furnace, of a blind lark in a tiny cage, of a starving old thoroughbred in a cheap coal cart.

What could he do to relieve a miserable existence? Yet if his Uncle were to be believed, he had already—if unconsciously—contributed a certain amount of interest and amusement to brighten some dark days. Doubtless sensibilities become deadened by time—for to a man of eight-and-twenty, thirty years seem an age;—perhaps his Uncle was right to stick to India, and a disguise, since Mallender of the Blue Hussars could never reclaim his former identity. It was close on eight o'clock, when Geoffrey at last gathered his forces together, and turned towards Hooper's Gardens. Here was a wide trim enclosure, guiltless of jungle, cattle, or even goats, an admirably kept well-lighted "Europe" establishment, from whence came the faint sounds of a piano, and a woman's voice.

Under the portico, the stout and stately butler received the visitor with a beaming countenance; possibly this was an indication of gratitude for past generosity—possibly, merely a token of welcome and good-will. This particular young man was well spoken of in the go-downs.

Mallender ran up the steps, into the familiar verandah, and immediately came face to face with Nancy Brander in evening dress.

"Geoffrey!" she exclaimed, lifting her hands in astonishment. "Oh, my dear boy, how thankful I am to see you again!"

"The same to you," he answered gravely.

"We have been in such misery about you. When Fred saw that notice in the papers, he was utterly crushed; he blames himself for everything—for allowing you, a mere innocent, to go off alone. He says he should never have let you out of his sight,—even if he had to accompany you, and take Fanny! Where have you come from?"

"A coffee estate in Mysore. I'm all right now. I suppose the house is crammed as usual?"

"No, indeed, we are alone. Fan and Fred are in no spirits for company, they wired for me, and I arrived two days ago. Tom says I live here; but on this occasion, my visit lies at your door!"

"Nancy, Nan!" came a voice from within, "who are you talking to out there? Why don't you bring them in?"

"I must break it gently," she whispered. "Shall I go first, and prepare them?"

"Do, do," he urged, and stood aside, as she swept into the drawing-room.

Freddy was sitting near a lamp, pince-nez on nose, holding a paper in a limp hand. Fan was knitting with an abstracted air. They looked up when Nancy entered.

"My dear people, I bring you good news," she proclaimed, "very good news! Geoffrey is all right—he is coming!" They had both risen to their feet, when she added, "He is here!"

Knitting and paper were hastily discarded, as the prodigal nephew followed his herald into the drawing-room. His welcome was rapturous; what a scene for the stage! Freddy nearly dragged his arm off. Fanny sobbed and shed happy tears, but the many things she would have uttered, choked in her throat.

"A nice fright you gave us, my boy!" said his cousin blowing his nose, "that note in the Royàpetta Star—you see, we had not had news for months—my fault! my fault! and when I saw this, I telegraphed off to General Beamish, but got no reply; though I wired three times, answer prepaid; then I tried the postmaster, and he said you were dead."

"He mixed us up," said Geoffrey, "General Beamish is dead,—he died a month ago."

"Yes, so we heard to-day, and that you had been taken away somewhere."

"You are all right again, are you, Geoffrey?" asked Fanny, as she scanned him critically. She, like her next door neighbour, the Coorg Princess, noticed that he looked thin, haggard, and shabby, in comparison to the Geoffrey of old days.

"You want feeding up, that I can see," she remarked with emphasis, "eggs and milk,—and early hours."

"There's dinner," exclaimed her husband, "come along with me, Geoffrey, and wash your hands in my room; your own will be ready in a brace of shakes. Where's your luggage?"

"I've very little, but that's at the station, most of my kit is still here."

"That's all right. Anthony can get it out, and unpack."

"Oh, I did not bring him down with me, but I'll wire for him to-morrow."

(He had left Anthony at Kartairi by the advice of Mrs. Bourne, who said:

"I believe that you will come to the end of the mystery this time, and if so, you don't want to take the whole bazaar into your confidence. I am aware of Smiler's good qualities—but I would not trust him with a family secret, till you know all about it first.")

"I expect you are starving," said Fan to Geoffrey, as he entered, and occupied his old place.

"Yes, famishing. I had breakfast at ten o'clock at Jollapett."

"Then you must have got in at four!" said Nancy, "But why didn't you come up at once?—where have you been?" In Geoffrey's opinion this was Nancy's one shortcoming, her mental eye was extraordinarily penetrating,—she was much too sharp.

"I had some business to attend to. I'll tell you all about it afterwards," and the traveller glanced significantly at the eager-eyed attendants, who were as anxious to hear Captain Mallender's news, as any of the company. Why all this bobbery and trouble, and coming and going? What had he been doing? they asked one another, and there was unfortunately no Anthony to set their minds at rest.

"We are a small party," said Colonel Tallboys, "we had invited a lot of people, but we put them off."

"Any of last year's lot?"

"No, Sir William and Lady Bream are at home," said Fanny, "he has just bought a place in the country, miles from everywhere, which she loathes, poor dear! She wants a house in Mayfair, and a smart villa at Roque-Brune."

"I have made some discoveries about Lady Bream," announced Geoffrey, "she is the grand-daughter of old General Beamish, and was your school-fellow, Fan. It, excuse me,—seems incredible!"

"Yes," replied Fred, "didn't I keep the secret well. I wonder what Bream will say, when he learns the sum-total of her age, and debts!"

"As for her debts, he may possibly hear the truth," said her school-fellow, "but Lena is so ridiculously sensitive about her age. She likes to pass for eight-and-twenty, and would not reveal that she was forty-two last October—no, not if she were agonising on the rack!"

"Oh, well, everyone is the age she looks," said Nancy cheerily. "Our dear friends, the Wylies, who were here with you, Geoffrey, are now in Japan, the guests of an American millionaire."

"I'm not interested in the Wylies," said Mallender, "I hope I may never come across them again."

"You will—if you ever become rich, they will both be devoted to you!"

"I need hardly tell you, that I'm dying to hear all your adventures," said Fan. "We have not seen you for eight whole months."

"No, and I've lots to tell you, important news too, but I'll wait, if I may, till we are in the smoking-room, with no audience."

"Meanwhile, I am on pins and needles," said Nancy, "and my imagination is filling in the most wonderful adventures and scenes."

"I saw some wonderful scenes when I was up in Coorg, and Mysore," and the traveller proceeded to give brief descriptions of his excursions, and experiences—omitting, however, all mention of Panjeverram, as he had no desire to bring Major Rochfort's past into the supremely happy present.

"You were somewhere near Madras once," said Colonel Tallboys, "for Proudfoot saw you, several times."

"Yes, I was after, what turned out to be a mare's nest!"

"I suppose you heard in the Hills of our anxiety and enquiries, and came down at once, like the good fellow you are?"

"Ye-e-s—that is to say, I had to come anyway."

"Oh, the usual thing, I suppose, eh?" said his cousin with a sly smile.

"The usual thing," repeated Geoffrey, but instead of a smile, a momentary spasm crossed his face.

"Now do begin at once, and open the budget," urged Fanny, when they had all disposed themselves comfortably in the smoking-room, and the butler had withdrawn, bearing the empty coffee cups. Mallender had not found himself a seat, but walked about restlessly, with an unlighted cigar between his fingers. At last, he came to a standstill before Fanny, and said:

"Well, my first piece of news is, that I am going to marry Barbie Miller!"

"Barbie!" echoed Mrs. Tallboys, then after a moment's pause, "Oh, my dear boy, I am so glad, so glad!" and she rose from her chair, and embraced him.

"I would follow suit," said Nancy putting down her cigarette, "and kiss you too, but Barbie might not like it."

"I call it a very sound choice," said Colonel Tallboys, "and I congratulate you, my boy. Yes, though there's no money, and a terrible mother, Barbie is the nicest little girl I know, what hair, and what hands!"

"I never noticed her hands," said Nancy, "I always look at feet, she has such pretty feet!"

"Hands, on a horse's mouth."

"But," resumed Nancy, sitting very erect, "I thought——"

"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Mallender precipitately, "that's all right now."

"Nothing like beginning, or going on, with a little aversion?"

"There was no aversion on either side. I admired Barbie from the first moment I saw her."

"So did I. I was always fond of her, she is a darling; but oh, my poor Geoffrey, have you thought of your mother-in-law?"

"No, and I am not going to think of her!"

"Is anything settled?" inquired Fanny, the matchmaker.

"Mrs. Bourne and Barbie are coming down next week, and something will be arranged then."

"They stay here, of course," promptly put in Colonel Tallboys. "Fanny, you will write at once."

Geoffrey, who had taken another turn round the room, again came to a halt, and said:

"There is something else I have to tell you." After a momentary pause, he added:

"I have found my Uncle."

"God bless me, you don't say so!" ejaculated Colonel Tallboys, leaning both hands on the arms of his chair, and rising slowly to his feet.

"You have found him," echoed Nancy, "then Peary must hide his diminished head!"

"Where is he? Why does he conceal himself?" demanded Colonel Tallboys excitedly.

To this double-barrelled question, Geoffrey at first made no reply, then he said, "That is his secret, and one which I am bound to respect."

"There's no disgraceful element in the matter?"

"None. But please don't question me, for I can tell you nothing."

"I think it remarkably strange, that I am to be kept in the dark," said Colonel Tallboys speaking with a pink complexion, and rising temper. "How is he? At least I suppose you may answer that. Is he much changed—eh?"

"You forget that until lately I had never seen him."

"Yes, that's true. I knew him long ago! Such a smart handsome young fellow, full of go and enterprise, and very popular. Lord! how I admired and envied him!"

"I think I may say, that he is fairly well in health, that he will never leave India, was glad to see me, and to hear I was going to be married."

"And I am delighted that you have carried out your undertaking," added Fan, "and not had all your searching and trouble for nothing!"

"On the contrary, my trouble, as you call it, has been rewarded by a fortune; my Uncle has made Mallender over to me altogether."

"Hurrah! Hurrah!" cried Freddy clapping his hands, and once more the soul of good-humour. "This is something like news! So you are actually now, as you stand there, in your shabby serge, and disgraceful 'chuklers'' boots, Mallender of Mallender, with eight thousand a year!"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"I presume Brown and Co. have arranged everything, and made out the deeds; if you'd like me to go and look into matters, you know, my dear boy, you have only to say the word and I am heartily at your service!"

"Thank you. I believe it's all right, I've not heard any details, but I'll let you know later on how things stand."

"And so this, was your business in Madras, my rich young adventurer?"

"Partly."

"What a match for Barbie!" suddenly exclaimed Nancy, "dear little simple girl. But only think of Mrs Miller!" she added with a touch of light-hearted cruelty. "She will be lying in wait for you at Victoria Station—if she is not arranging the house for your reception at Mallender, with triumphal arches, and a band."

"Don't mind her, Geoffrey," said his cousin, "she is only trying to draw you. I should be sorry to think you were not able to grapple with Mother Miller."

"It is really incredible, what a change a couple of hours can make," said Fan. "This evening, I felt so utterly miserable and depressed, I would have thoroughly enjoyed a good cry; now, only it would be too remarkable, I'd like to run out into the compound, and sing! We must fill up the house at once, I'll wire first thing to-morrow for Mrs. Bourne and Barbie. Nan, my dear, we shall have a right merry Christmas!"

"Talking of singing in the compound, and a merry time," said Colonel Tallboys, who had stepped into the verandah, "I'm blessed if the old boy next door isn't sending up rockets, and fire balloons!—the best sort too!—it's worth your while to come out, all of you! There must be some big Tamasha in his family,—probably a wedding!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

The wedding of Captain Mallender and Miss Barbara Miller, was one of the most popular functions of the Madras season. Scores of invitations were issued from hospitable Hooper's Gardens, and not only was the house crammed for the occasion, but the supplementary encampment was on such a scale, that it might have been mistaken for a Durbar. Among the guests, were the three Beamishes. Tom and Jessie were commonplace enough, and appeared to be not a little bewildered by their gay surroundings, but Tara, their bridesmaid sister, created a profound sensation. Her beauty, lofty carriage, air of distinction and absolute self-possession, found hosts of admirers; these were struck dumb when they learned that this young Royal, and Imperial Highness, was merely the daughter of old Beamish, and his third wife,—an homely humble body, whose father had been an hospital dresser. The girl presented an almost ludicrous contrast to her relatives! Tom passed as a young planter, a rough diamond in his way, and a good sort: he soon made friends; but Miss Beamish, who was shy and ill-dressed, did not know what to talk about, or what to do with her hands—and grand climax, impartially distributed little pink tracts, dealing with the souls of the heathen!

Her sister, on the contrary, wore her clothes with admirable grace, and seemed not merely to find herself at ease, but to dominate the company! As people looked at Tara, a fragile aristocrat seated with nonchalant dignity in the midst of her Court, and then at Jessie, bashful and self-conscious, perched on the edge of a chair, feverishly twisting her ugly fingers, they decided that "Heredity" was an amazing factor in human life,—and enchanting Miss Tara a most remarkable "throw back."

But Mrs. Fiske, who had recently descended on Madras, put an entirely different construction on the case; one alas! that was not creditable to the virtue of Mrs. Beamish.

In his mysterious excursions through the Presidency, it was evident that Captain Mallender had picked up some strange acquaintances—this was another of Mrs. Fiske's pronouncements. On the afternoon of the wedding, amidst the fashionable crowd in the Cathedral, were two youths, who were almost black, and an elderly European woman, conspicuous in green velveteen, yellow silk gloves, and an appalling hat. Yet to the trio, the bridegroom, whilst awaiting the bride, most particularly addressed himself. What could he possibly have in common with such low people? Here even Mrs. Fiske's lurid imagination was at fault; and besides these undesirables, close to the entrance, and completely in the background, Mrs. Fiske was amazed to descry, two natives! A black-bearded man, wearing spectacles and an immense turban, and a lady who was closely veiled. Apparently, anxious to shun recognition, they were the last to arrive, and effected a stealthy departure before the Wedding March burst forth, and the bridal procession left the altar.

Barbie, who looked lovely, and wore wonderful pearls, and a lace train and veil, was given away by Colonel Tallboys, whilst Captain Byng supported his friend. There were eight charming bridesmaids, many brilliant toilettes and smart uniforms, and it was pronounced to be the prettiest and most popular wedding that had been celebrated in Madras for years.

Subsequently, the reception was held at Hooper's Gardens; here the presents were on view; these were numerous and varied; from an Annamulley cane, and a bamboo tiffin basket, to a moon-shaped amulet set in brilliants, and a string of magnificent pearls.

When, a few weeks later, the happy couple sailed for home, their departure was deplored by many,—even although they had faithfully promised to return ere long.

Pending this fulfilment, Anthony had accepted service with Colonel Tallboys; he talks much in cook-house, and pantry, of his master, the Captain, and boasts, that before he went away, he paid in one hundred pounds for him, Anthony, to the Madras Bank. "Two thousand five hundred rupees, all for me, and my services. My master thinking plenty much of me therefore, fortune giving."

This as it happened was the truth; but his jealous associates comforted one another with the statement, that it was only one of Anthony's many lies!

On the day of departure, the Tallboys, accompanied by the Branders, ascended to the flat roof of Hooper's Gardens, in order to see the very last of the steamer that was bearing their relatives to England. Their eyes followed it, or rather its smoke, till it dwindled and dwindled by degrees, and as the little speck finally faded below the horizon Nancy turned, with a dramatic gesture, and addressed her companions:

"They're gone, and only think of it! just one year ago, Geoffrey came out here, on a wild-goose chase, a stranger in the land, and empty-handed,—for his allowance was cut off from the day he arrived. Behold, now, he returns, leaving crowds of Indian friends—not to mention a weeping Anthony—and carries away with him, a sword, a horse, a fortune, and a bride!"

THE END

Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.

MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY has rapidly come to the front as one of our most successful novelists. Her stories excel in wit, humour, observation and characterisation. The complete and uniform edition of her novels, as under, will be published, at short intervals, during the Spring and early Summer, at the popular price of 1/-.

By MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY

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An Undressed Heroine Marguerite's Wonderful Year Hilary on Her Own Two in a Tent—and Jane The Third Miss Wenderby Patricia Plays a Part Candytuft—I mean Veronica The Vacillations of Hazel

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