Front matter (continued 3)

"Didn't it worry you to have him break out?"

"No, I don't know that it did," replied Mrs. Hulver, placidly. "It had its advantage. As William—that was my first—used to say when he and his contractor settled their accounts: 'Everything has its advantage if you know where to look for it.'"

"What advantage could your husband's bout of drinking have for you?" asked Eola, glancing at her in mild wonder.

"It gave me my chance of speaking. When he recovered and could listen to reason, even though his poor head ached badly, I had the opportunity of letting him have a bit of my mind, and of telling him some home truths I never could have put before him at any other time. Now with William, my second, it was different. He was always ready to come up to attention at a moment's notice. Stiff and straight, he lived by rule; and the whole time I was with him I never once got the chance of emptying my mind." Her voice had a distinct ring of regret in it as she made the confession. "I tried it two or three times; but the moment I began he rose from his chair and drew himself up haughty and proud, just like his colonel when the men came to the orderly room with their complaints. He heard what I had to say in a dead silence, that sort of cooled you down, and all he replied was: 'I'll look into the matter, Maria, and see what can be done;' and there it ended. With William, my third, it was a real pleasure to rate him. He was such a gentleman in his repentance and his apologies. But as I was telling you, miss, about this poor young man, Pantulu Iyer's son. I can sympathise with him in his change of religion as I sympathised with William, my third. It will take some time before he will get even with himself in his new faith."

"The cases are not on all fours, Mrs. Hulver."

"No; they are at sixes and sevens if all I hear is true. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Keep things straight and you'll be master; but let them get at sixes and sevens and they will master you.' He made a great study of his fellowmen and was full of wise sayings. I felt very lonely when he died."

"What did he die of?"

"Microscopes; the doctor said he swallowed some when he was out route" (she called it rowte) "marching. They were in the water that he drank by the roadside. They gave him fever which carried him off in three weeks, and left me a widow for the second time."

CHAPTER X

There was one subject alone on which Miss Wenaston and her housekeeper disagreed. It had nothing to do with the management of the house. It was marriage.

Mrs. Hulver having entered the bonds of matrimony three times considered that she was entitled to speak with authority on the condition of wifehood and widowhood.

Eola Wenaston was twenty-seven years of age and unmarried. When Mrs. Hulver had reached that number of years she had been a wife for a decade, and had entered upon her first period of widowhood. Although a British father had done much to form her character, her Eurasian mother had instilled certain opinions to which she firmly adhered. One fixed belief, as strong as any article of her faith, was that every woman ought to be married. It was the duty of relatives and guardians to forward that end; it was even still more the duty of the woman herself to attract and secure the best husband available without immodesty.

Miss Wenaston she found sadly wanting in self-help. Dr. Wenaston, her brother, was a very busy and sometimes overworked man. He did his best in Mrs. Hulver's opinion when he invited men to his house. His efforts, conscious or unconscious—Mrs. Hulver was not sure which—were not supported as they should have been by his sister. She made no attempt to attract in dress or manner. She was content to wear the same dinner-dress that served when she and her brother were alone; and she did not hesitate to allow Dr. Wenaston to absorb all the conversation if he chose, remaining silent through the dinner and perhaps through the whole evening as well. This was altogether a mistake, as Mrs. Hulver tried in vain to point out more than once. Eola listened in perfect good nature, but her replies were not encouraging, and the housekeeper was vaguely conscious that she was being kept in her place. She persevered however, and never lost an opportunity of putting in a word as far as she dared; but she always felt that there was a barrier that she might not pass.

A certain Major Ellingham appeared at Chirapore on his way to a shooting expedition in the Western Ghats. He was entertained by Dr. Wenaston for a week while the camping preparations were made. Mrs. Hulver devoted her attention to the catering; and with the assistance of Ramachetty and the cook sent in such meals as elicited the guest's warm approval. In the evening as she sat in her wicker-chair by the open door of her sitting-room, she smiled as she heard the strains of the piano, and Ellingham's fine baritone in "Love's old sweet song," or some such melody.

Nothing came of it, however; and the guest departed as heart-whole as he left Eola herself. Mrs. Hulver's even temperament was ruffled by a wave of annoyance as she thought of the enhanced bazaar account and all the trouble she had been put to in devising dainty cooking. One morning she ventured to suggest to Miss Wenaston that Major Ellingham would make a good husband. Eola agreed readily enough.

"Probably he will pick up some nice girl by and by, when his head is less full of shooting big game," she said indifferently.

"He is not the man to care for a young girl, miss. I take it from his appearance and general bearing that when he makes his choice, it will fall on a lady with some experience of the world, like yourself and about your own age."

Eola laughed outright and Mrs. Hulver was hurt. A joke she could understand, but ridicule was like a red hot iron, and she shrank into herself. Eola saw that her mirth gave offence, and she hastened to soothe and make amends.

"You need have no fear, Mrs. Hulver. He doesn't take my fancy, nor do I take his; so there is no likelihood of your losing me."

"It's not that, miss, which troubles me," the housekeeper explained. "Gladly would I see you go as I went myself to the arms of a husband. It's the proper place for every right-minded woman. As William——"

Eola interrupted her with another laugh that she found impossible to repress.

"You and I don't agree on the subject of marriage and never shall. I am single and you were very much married——"

Mrs. Hulver bridled and broke in upon her speech with some indignation.

"Indeed, miss! I was no more married than I ought to have been. To have been less married with my three husbands wouldn't have been respectable. And I am sure it has helped me along; I should have been a poor thing without it. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Humble wedlock is better than proud singleness. Marriage is like a good pair of boots to a woman. It will carry her through fair weather and foul. If the boots wear out before their time the best thing to do is to get another pair.' He talked like that when I was hesitating about taking him. It was not the man himself that made me doubt but the way he leaned. It was all towards truth and honesty."

"You are truthful and honest, Mrs. Hulver," protested Eola. "Don't say you are not or you won't be doing yourself justice."

"I have always shrunk from lies and thieving," admitted Mrs. Hulver. "I never could stoop to low conduct of any kind. But there is truth and truth. As William—that was my third—used to say when I gave him a talking to: 'Lay it on mild, me dear. Truth is like a mustard plaster. It may be very good for the patient but you've got to be careful how you apply it or you may hurt your best friend more than a little.' What troubled me was whether I could live up to the standard of my second."

"You might have been happier if you had not married him," said Eola, with a twinkle in her eye, as she controlled her lips.

"I couldn't have been happy alone with nothing to live up to and no one to tend. I chanced it and found it quite easy. All I had to be careful about was to prevent anything from coming to his knowledge that was not up to his mark. I soon got used to keeping things smooth; and there was never a married man happier than my second."

The thought of her success as William the second's wife restored her tranquillity of mind, and she left Eola to go about her duties in her usual contented frame of mind.

An Assistant Resident was the next person who all unconsciously fluttered Mrs. Hulver's hopes, raising them with regard to Eola only to dash them to the ground again. It so happened that a man came to act for six months whilst the permanent Assistant Resident was away on leave. He was unmarried, musical, and a great reader. Inclination and compatability of tastes often brought him to the college either to discuss new writers with Dr. Wenaston, or to try over new music with Eola.

Once more Mrs. Hulver concentrated her attention and energy on culinary matters. She had not been the chosen partner of three husbands without discovering how great a factor the food question is in the life of a man. She was able to quote from the sayings of all three on the subject. The Assistant Resident ate such dinners at the college house as he never forgot; but the way to his heart in his case was not through the stomach. Over the music and books he made a certain amount of progress; and had he seen any response to encourage him, he might have fallen into the belief that Eola was the one desirable woman in the world for him; but there was no such encouragement. At the end of six months he went away; and it was Mrs. Hulver's heart, not Eola's, that sank in despair.

"Mr. Fressenden will miss you and the Doctor, miss," remarked Mrs. Hulver, austerely, the morning after his departure. "You have been very hospitable to him."

"I daresay he will," was the indifferent reply.

"He should get married. An Assistant Resident has to receive a lot of company; and a house without a woman at the head makes a poor show."

"Our present Assistant has a very nice wife."

"It's a wonder that Mr. Fressenden doesn't follow his example."

"He will find a wife in time," replied Eola, as she added up the column of figures given her by the butler that morning. "I make it half an anna less than Ramachetty. I must go over it again."

"He had better not be too long about finding a wife," continued Mrs. Hulver, determined not to let the subject drop till she had had her say. "If a man waits too long he ages in looks and manners, and he is not taken for himself. He may think that he is, for God deals out vanity with a liberal hand when a boy is born. But with a middle-aged man there are other considerations at the back of a woman's mind besides love; like houses, for instance." She broke off shortly with a little laugh. "It tells on both sides for that matter. If William—that was my first—hadn't had a little property behind him, my mother would never have chosen him for her daughter with his dark complexion."

"Was he very much darker? After all I think Ramachetty is right, and that it is my mistake not his."

"He was quite four shades darker than me; some people might have said it was five; but that was his age. Being older than me he showed it more."

"Yes, the butler has added it up correctly," said Eola, laying down her pen. "You were telling me about your first husband. It must have been a drawback to have had him darker than yourself."

"I am not so sure, miss, that it wasn't an advantage. William knew that he was blacker than me by several shades, and that I was his superior in European descent. Both his parents were Eurasians. With me it was only on one side, my mother's. That being so he never dared to cheek me or speak disrespectfully as country-born people are apt to do when they lose their tempers. It's a very powerful thing in our sex, is the tongue. I'm sure I don't know what we poor women would do without it. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'The tongue is a wonderful thing, Maria, me dear! It may be as sweet as sugar; or sharp as a lime; or as stinging as red pepper.' He used to add that the devil himself loosened Eve's tongue for her when she took the apple, knowing that she would have no chance with ould Adam unless she had that advantage."

Yet a third prospective husband, in Mrs. Hulver's opinion, appeared in the person of an executive engineer in the service of Government. He was highly favoured by the housekeeper since Delaine, her first husband, had been a subordinate in that same service. With renewed hope she flung herself into the campaign, and left nothing undone in the commissariat department that might propitiate and lead on a faltering suitor.

It was all to no purpose. He departed like the other two without speaking; and Mrs. Hulver in her vexation could not refrain from unburdening herself on the subject at the first opportunity.

"When a man in the Public Works Department gets to be an executive engineer he ought to have a wife. Mr. Fearing is just throwing away his opportunities by keeping single. He seems such a nice gentleman, too. There ought to be no difficulty."

"Except that perhaps marriage has no attraction for him," suggested Eola.

Mrs. Hulver stared at her in sheer unbelief. The man or woman sound in mind and body who did not desire marriage in the abstract was unthinkable. Choice was another matter; many an individual deferred making his choice for reasons that might be good or indifferent, but were sufficient all the same. It was impossible in her opinion that any one could look upon the estate of matrimony as undesirable.

"Begging your pardon, miss, if I may be so bold as to say so, I don't think either you or your brother know much about marriage. Your minds have not been brought to bear upon it. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Thoughts are like guns; they are no use until they are trained on an object.' You haven't had an occasion to train yours yet on to marriage. Now in my case they've been trained all my life on matrimony, and I can speak with knowledge and experience. If a man tells you that he doesn't want to get married, you may take it that either he can't get the woman he wants, or he hasn't made his choice. If a girl tells you that she doesn't want to get married—" Mrs. Hulver actually panted with indignation at the mere thought of it—"She's—she's—well! she's a liar—at least she is in this country."

Eola's light laugh was the only reply to such an assertion, and Mrs. Hulver took herself off to her sanctum at the back of the house with the nearest approach to wrath in her placid good nature she was capable of feeling.

Then Bernard Alderbury appeared on the scene, causing Mrs. Hulver doubt and perturbation of mind. He was a vigorous worker in the ranks of one of the large Church of England missionary societies, a strenuous parson who held a charmed life against the many evils prowling in his field of labour. He seemed immune to the effects of bad water, coarse food, poisonous mosquitoes and a tropical sun. His exemption was not obtained by disregard of the conditions of Indian life up-country. On the contrary he observed the greatest care in safe-guarding himself by the use of such appliances as science provided. He took the minimum risk and the maximum care and forethought. Aided by a magnificent constitution and an endless store of confidence and hope that killed depression, he preserved the health and good spirits so essential to his particular work.

Wenaston and Alderbury were old college friends. When the missionary spirit threw its mantle over the latter, Wenaston, by no means an irreligious man, did his best to persuade the other from—as he put it—throwing himself away on the colonies and hiding his light under a bushel. A man of his abilities and private means should have different aspirations.

Alderbury received the advice in his light-hearted manner, and assured his friend that going to India as a missionary would prove his own salvation and keep him out of the morasses of modern thought and controversy.

"I must fight some one," said Alderbury. "I don't want civil war; I want an enemy outside the pale of Mother Church. Hinduism seems to me the very thing, a noble and worthy foe; an ancient faith, a marvellous system of philosophy with a crafty degenerate priesthood. Doesn't the mere thought of it stir your blood and make you tingle to be up and fighting? Grafting upon the obsolete creed something infinitely better, a glorious oriental Christ, soul-satisfying and sufficient, Who will lift India's millions into a fresher and purer atmosphere of life and thought."

Wenaston glanced at the shining eyes turned upon him in enthusiasm as he would have looked at the symptoms of an obscure disease. It was a thing he could neither understand nor account for; but some instinct made him hold his peace. If the man was right, well and good; if he proved wrong, he would find it out for himself. He forbore to comment or to combat the new resolve. Alderbury pursued the course he had mapped out for himself, and in due time went to India.

Wenaston continued the student and developed into the school-master. When a vacancy occurred in the college of Chirapore he was asked if he would accept it. Until that moment he had not thought of going to the East. His sister, who had a great desire to see India, added her weight to inclination, and he decided to take the appointment.

Once more the two friends met, and Alderbury rejoiced in the renewal of their intimacy; for among other facts he learned that none pressed more heavily upon him than the loneliness of the missionary's life, its isolation and the complete absence of congenial companionship. Under the circumstances it was not to be wondered at that he never lost an opportunity in his missionary itineration of spending a few days with the Doctor and his sister. It was a little out of his way, but that did not matter. The holiday was the more complete since there was no duty within reach. The missions he superintended were in British territory, beyond the borders of the native state. He would have established work of some sort in Chirapore, but he was not encouraged to do so by his society nor by the Government of the State. The society already had more than enough irons in the fire with an open field in British India clamouring for yet more workers. But Alderbury could never visit his friend without casting envious glances at the big classes of boys assembled in the college hall. He would dearly have liked a free hand on the platforms of the classrooms; however this was not permissible. One of the conditions attached to the appointment of Principal was that there should be no attempt at proselytising; a condition to which Wenaston easily subscribed, since he had not even a spark of missionary enthusiasm.

Eola was of her brother's way of thinking. She too looked at Alderbury's work with something like detached curiosity. His energy, his whole-hearted desire to see India Christianised, his indefatigable and unceasing sacrifice of self, appealed to the instinctive hero-worship that is implanted in every woman's breast; but though she could wonder and admire and was insensibly drawn by his personality, she could not understand the fascination that held him to his chosen profession.

As for Mrs. Hulver she had her own reasons for disapproving of his visits, and it had nothing to do with his missionary zeal. Nevertheless she did not fail to provide a table worthy of her master's position. The food was substantial rather than recherché, nourishing rather than dainty. She had formed some fixed opinions upon the subject of missionaries generally; they were deeply rooted and unalterable. As a class missionaries required feeding up; their wardrobes needed the services of the dirzee to mend and patch and darn. She was puzzled more than a little when she found that Alderbury paid no particular attention to the food, and ate sparingly, with a distinct inclination towards daintiness. As for his wardrobe it was in better condition in some respects and needed less attention than the Doctor's. Not a sock required darning; not a coat needed stitching; and what was more, his clothes were not only new and none the worse for wear, but they were of the best and finest description. The pay of a missionary was known to be of narrow proportions, leaving no margin for luxury. It did not seem fit and proper in her eyes that he should be better dressed than his host. That he possessed anything besides his salary did not enter Mrs. Hulver's head; because if he had private means he never would have come to India as a missionary; he would have adopted the military service and been an officer in the army.

Alderbury came and went at his own convenience, never announcing his proposed visit by more than a day or two, and never prolonging it beyond the two or three nights, which gave him at least one complete day's rest, so essential sometimes to the worker for whom Sunday is the busiest day of the week. How intensely the man enjoyed that day his hosts had little suspicion. Whether he discussed the latest theory in science or religion with Wenaston, or the latest novel with Eola, it was all pure happiness unclouded by a single anxiety.

Mrs. Hulver was the only person who was disturbed. The laughter of the happy trio awoke no sympathetic joy in her. She was relieved when she heard only the low tone of the masculine voices, indicating that Miss Wenaston was taking no part in the conversation. It was fortunate for her peace of mind that she could not see Eola's eyes dwelling on the long figure extended in the cane lounge placed between her own easy chair and her brother's; nor how she watched him when, carried away by excitement, he pulled himself forward and even sprang to his feet the better to emphasise what he had to say. As he stood before them, speaking to the Doctor, but often turning his deepset eyes upon Eola, the girl thought of St. Paul. By what mysterious force was he driven? What fire was it that kindled in his eyes as he talked and made him look different from any other man she had known? The Indian world as she knew it was very peaceful; the people of the native State of Chirakul were notorious for their content and for the absence of all sedition and unrest. Yet to hear him talk one might be brought to the belief that it was not a peaceful model native state, but an enemy's land, a field for a deadly battle with a worthy foe.

Alderbury passed out of their little world as suddenly as he came in, leaving them slumberous and quiescent. Eola missed him, but Mrs. Hulver indulged in a sigh of relief. Much as she desired to see Eola married she drew a rigid line at missionaries. Not that missionaries should be debarred from marriage. On the contrary, a wife was more needful in the mission house than anywhere else. But the missionary's wife belonged, in her opinion, to quite another class. She did not know where the wives were bred. They were endowed with many admirable virtues, and were eminently suited to be helpers to their worthy husbands in proselytising among the heathen; but of one thing she was sure; there was a wide difference between them and Miss Wenaston. Their rambling bungalows had a certain amount of plain solid comfort about them; and they made the best of the country fare that their limited salaries obliged them to buy, but there was nothing dainty in either dress or food or furniture.

The large compounds in which their dwellings were placed contained outbuildings where the natives gathered for instruction; both bungalow and compound were haunted with mild-looking converts in white muslin; their happy faces an indication that Christianity and the pastoral supervision of the missionary agreed with them.

On the other hand who ever heard of a missionary's wife being invited to the Presidency town to take a share in social festivities? Who ever saw, asked Mrs. Hulver, with raised eyebrows, "a missionary's lady" at a race meet or at a Government House ball? Miss Wenaston belonged to the class that welcomed Viceroys and figured at races and balls. Thus it happened that after some of these flying visits Mrs. Hulver had remarks to make.

"Missionaries are very good sort of people in their way. I often wonder how they can keep it up."

"Keep what up?" asked Eola, mystified.

"Their spirits and their belief that they are doing these natives good."

"Of course they are doing good, Mrs. Hulver," said Eola, as if she were slightly shocked. The half-formed doubt occasionally slipped unbidden into her own mind but she had never put it into words.

"I didn't say that they were not doing good. I left it open. As William—that was my first—used to say when the native overseers had too big a grasp on the profits: 'You can't wash a crow white nor expect anything of him but a croak.' It's the thought of the millions and millions of heathen in India that is apt to stagger one. It's like trying to empty a tank with a teaspoon. However, as William—that was my second—used to say when I was down-hearted about the way anything was going: 'You lay your brick and lay it sound and leave the rest to others. No man ever built a church steeple all by himself and yet old England is full of churches and steeples.' Anyway, I shouldn't like to be a missionary's wife. I could dress up to it; I could feed up to it; but I couldn't stand the converts trapesing through the compound and hanging about the verandahs. I shouldn't feel as if the house belonged to me."

"Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary to have them there," suggested Eola, who read between the lines with secret amusement.

"Oh! yes, it would; it's their reward; their right," replied Mrs. Hulver with conviction. "Any lady that's suitable to be a missionary's wife makes no objection; but she must be, so to speak, born to it. It's not a job that would suit you, miss. As William—that was my third—said when he heard that the Chaplain was going to marry the Colonel's daughter: 'If the church mouse takes the field mouse to wife there'll be a difference of opinion about the mode of living.' You could never put up with mission ways."

"You never did any mission work, I suppose," said Eola, turning the conversation from a subject she was not prepared to discuss with her housekeeper.

"No miss; but my husband William—that was my second—he tried his hand at it once, only once. He saw some of the canteen servants doing pujah to a stone image that stood under a tree behind the canteen. He went up to them in the middle of the pujah and said: 'Boys, you're all going to hell that way.' One of them that served the Presbyterian minister spoke up and said: 'No sar! It's the Roman Catholics that are going to hell, not us!' William walked away without another word; and when I asked him about it, he said that missionary work wasn't his job, and that he would leave it to those who knew more about it than he did."

"It was very good of him to make the attempt."

Mrs. Hulver looked pleased at the praise and approbation of the departed William the second.

"He was a right-minded man about everything, loyal to his God and his King; and he was the father of my only child."

CHAPTER XI

Eola sat at the tea-table in the verandah. Her brother, punctual to the stroke of four, came in without haste, crossing the compound from the college buildings to the private house. Punctuality, he declared, was his salvation. He could not have stood the rush of work had he not rigidly adhered to the hours of his meals. Afternoon tea was the one he liked best. He gave himself exactly thirty minutes for it. It was thirty minutes of solid rest.

"Where's Alderbury," he asked, as he seated himself in a comfortable cane chair.

"He has gone to see Ananda."

"You don't mind if I read, do you, Eola? The new magazines came two days ago and I haven't had time even to open them."

He tore off the cover of an illustrated monthly and handed it to her. A second magazine was opened for himself, and he was soon deep in an article professing to give the last word on the chemistry of biology. Whilst he read he drank his tea. A bell rang and he jumped up, instantly detaching himself from the magazine and breaking off in the middle of a paragraph. He hurried away in the direction of the college without another thought for his visitor. At his departure Mrs. Hulver appeared.

"When you go out, Miss, will you kindly get some carpet thread for the tailor. The motor is ready."

"I can't leave the house till Mr. Alderbury has come in. He promised to be back to tea at four o'clock. He must have been detained."

"Oh, yes, miss, I daresay he has been detained," assented Mrs. Hulver. "Our master might be kept if he chose to allow it. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'There are some men who will be in time for every meal, hungry or not; and there are others who will be in time for nothing but their own funerals.'"

Eola ignored the implied depreciation of her guest and proceeded to give orders that would ensure his comfort.

"We shall want another pot of tea, please. Tell the matey to keep the kettle boiling, and he is not to make the tea until Mr. Alderbury comes in."

"If you like to go out now, miss, I can see to Mr. Alderbury and give him his tea. I am sure he won't mind. His head is that full of his missioning that he won't notice whether it is poured out by you or by me. As William—that was my first—used to say: 'When a man is bothered by business he has no room in his head for a woman and can't tell one from another.' Mr. Alderbury is bothered with this business of Pantulu Iyer's son coming Christian. It has all been done in a hurry, as I was telling you. As William—that was my third—used to say——"

What William the third said was lost in the sudden appearance of the guest.

"So sorry I'm late, Miss Wenaston. Yes, please, I should like some tea. What with the dust and the amount of talking I've done, I'm as thirsty as a fish."

He hurried away to his room to get rid of the powdery ochre blown up from the laterite roads. Mrs. Hulver glanced after him with as much disapproval as she dared to show.

"Next to schoolmasters, missionaries should be particular in being punctual. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Men should be valued like watches for the time they keep.'"

"And he was quite right from a military point of view. Will you see about the tea, please, Mrs. Hulver!"

"It's being made, miss. I've got my eye on the matey. It will be ready as soon as Mr. Alderbury is ready for it. Like as not he will read those letters that have come while he has been away and forget all about his tea." Mrs. Hulver looked at Eola as much as to say, "And you too." She continued: "A man with a lot of business needs a good head. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Drive your business with a firm hand and a clear head or your business will drive you."

Alderbury's appearance checked the flow of Mrs. Hulver's wisdom, and she departed to her room. As he received his cup from Eola's hand he said:

"You would like to hear how I fared, I am sure."

"Yes, please; tell me all about it."

The words did not ring quite true; they were wanting in sympathy, and seemed to the quick sensitive ear of the missionary to be spoken more out of polite curiosity than real interest. He glanced at her and tried to swallow some of the scalding liquid with the aid of the teaspoon. The innate love of fighting in a good cause rose within him, and he determined to try conclusions with her. She should become interested, and more. He would conquer her indifference and rouse her sympathy.

"I had no end of a difficulty in seeing the parents. It was the father I wanted to get at and he was very inaccessible."

"You had an interview with Ananda, of course. I knew him in England, and should like to hear how he is getting on. I don't care a bit about his stupid old father. Why can't the father let the son alone, and allow him to take his own line?"

"The step involves so much."

"If that is so, then Ananda shouldn't have taken it."

Alderbury put down his cup suddenly, his mind entirely diverted from the business of tea-drinking by her words.

"You don't mean that you really think he ought not to have become a Christian?" he inquired, in a grave voice that had lost the lightness with which he had greeted her on arrival home from his visit.

The seriousness of his manner awoke a spirit of perverseness.

"I am of the opinion that he might have had more consideration for his father's feelings," she said, with a levity that jarred. "Why should existing relations that seemed so satisfactory be disturbed?" Then, as Alderbury remained silent, she continued: "There is a time for all things. It is too soon to ask educated India to accept Christianity; the way is studded with such colossal difficulties. Don't you often feel that you are fighting against almost insuperable obstacles?"

"In short you think it would be more expedient for the missionary to run away or temporise, instead of buckling on his armour and standing up to the enemy. What about our responsibilities and lending a helping hand to our fellow-men? The marsh is a good enough place for the horse to wallow in, and the man enjoying the firm ground of the meadow has no duty towards the poor beast! Miss Wenaston, that is a poor creed."

"Are you so sure that the Hindu is in the mud?" she asked, more in a spirit of provocation than honest inquiry.

There was a fearful fascination in rousing him, and she took the risk of his anger for the pure pleasure of seeing him come up to the fighting line. The eyes that met hers shone with the light of battle, and she inwardly trembled at the spirit she had wantonly raised.

"Am I sure, you ask?" he cried derisively. "If you knew what Hinduism meant you would never put such a question to a man of my profession. You cannot realise how encrusted it is with insidious error appealing mischievously to the sensual part of humanity. You know nothing of the practices at the worship of Kali—of the life led by the dasis in the temples of Southern India——" he stopped abruptly, conscious of having been led in his excitement and enthusiasm a little too far. It was impossible to pursue such an unsavoury subject with an English woman.

"I don't know much about the worship of Kali; and I am sure that I never heard the word dasi before. What is a dasi?"

"Oh! never mind," he exclaimed, the fire subdued. "Please give me another cup of tea, and I will tell you about Ananda. Perhaps when you hear what has driven him out of the faith of his ancestors, you will be able to sympathise."

He explained the theory of transmigration, and how Ananda had revolted against it on the loss of his friend; how he put himself under instruction in England and took the step voluntarily and without pressure. From the story of his conversion he passed on to the description of all that had followed since Ananda arrived in India.

"The man is being persecuted in all kinds of ways. They have supplied him with food, but they have employed an out-caste sweeper to carry it to him. The prejudice of fifty generations is not to be conquered all at once, and Ananda cannot bring himself to receive his food at the hands of a man whom he holds more unclean than we should consider an unwashed workman who had just emptied a sewer."

"How has he been existing?"

"On biscuits and milk, a poor diet for a healthy hungry man. It has kept him from starvation however. Your brother did wisely in sending for me after receiving Ananda's letter. He needs advice and support, and he will require help of another kind when the small amount of cash in his pocket is finished."

"I suppose you talked to him—and prayed with him?" said Eola, conscious of the banality of her words even as she spoke them.

"Dear lady! does a man stop to fall on his knees when he sees a comrade drowning? You will think me a poor sort of missionary, perhaps, when I confess that I forgot to pray with him. I was too busy chucking life-belts to the poor chap. Already he was assailed with doubts as to the wisdom of the step he had taken. 'I have been too hasty,' he said. 'I did not consider how seriously it would affect my father's peace of mind and his health.' Then he drew a picture of the old man's feeble appearance as he came to him two or three mornings ago in the compound. 'He was so bowed and bent he might have been seventy instead of fifty.' It gave him a shock, and he seems to have entertained a suggestion made by his father which was nothing less than the contemplation of partial apostacy. I fought against the weakness. I preached free-will and choice. I appealed to his honesty and combated the cowardice that prompted retrogression. He admitted that he could never again accept the Hindu doctrine of transmigration. Then I pointed out the responsibility that falls on a man's shoulders when his eyes are opened and the choice of road lies with him. I dug away and rooted about to find a little courage. He has more obstinacy than courage at present. I hope that the one will breed the other."

While he talked he drank tea and devoured bread and butter with the wholesome hunger of a schoolboy. Mrs. Hulver appeared once more.

"The motor is waiting, miss. I'm afraid I can't do without the carpet thread."

"I will go at once," replied Eola, rising from the tea-table to put on her hat. "Will you come for a run in the car, Mr. Alderbury?"

"I should like it immensely," he replied with a promptness that did not escape the ears of the housekeeper.

She was not satisfied with the result of her interruption to the conversation. By despatching Miss Wenaston on a shopping errand she had aimed at putting an end to the tête-à-tête. The guest, she supposed, would be driven to his room or into the garden until Dr. Wenaston was released from his duties and could join him. As Eola disappeared in the direction of her room Alderbury turned in his impulsive way to Mrs. Hulver.

"I haven't had a moment to ask you after yourself. How have you been since we last met?"

"I've been keeping pretty well, thank you, sir. All that troubles me is the haricot veins in my legs. If I stand about too much, they swell and become very painful."

"How is your son?"

Mrs. Hulver beamed suddenly, and the severe expression that she had worn since he appeared in the verandah vanished. Next to talking about her late husbands she loved to expand on the subject of her boy.

"He is very well and grown quite the man. He tells me that he has just been made a corporal. He's in his father's old regiment, and it has been ordered out at once. He ought to be landing in less than a week's time. He has promised to come off and see his old mother the first minute he can get leave. They say that the regiment is going to Bangalore. If so I shall see him often."

"I hope he will prove a good son."

"No fear but what he will," said Mrs. Hulver, with the unshaken confidence of a proud mother. "He is happy in his work and likes soldiering. As William—that was my second and the boy's own father—used to say when I talked of the child following any other trade: 'Bring up the foal to the shafts and don't try to teach him to drive a wheelbarrow.'"

"He was perfectly right; each man should follow the line for which he is best suited."

"But they don't do so always. There are many men—and women, too—who, being square, find themselves in round holes. Now you, sir, I take it, are in the right-shaped hole. So am I; and so is Miss Wenaston. She would do badly in my hole, for instance; for she would be cheated every hour of her life by these budmashes of servants; and she would be still worse off in your hole. There's nothing of the missionary about her, as any one can see with half an eye. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'It doesn't need a uniform to show you who's a born soldier.' He was a fine figure and had a handsome——"

Miss Wenaston appeared and the car drew up under the portico, cutting Mrs. Hulver short. She watched the pair drive away with renewed misgivings. "I don't like that look in her face. She's feeling just as I used to feel when William, my second and the father of my boy, took me out walking in the bazaar, he looking so fine in his corporal's uniform." She called to the butler. "Ramachetty! Come here; I want you. To-morrow is pay-day. I'm going out into the garden to count the roses. Where's the gardener?"

She descended the steps of the front verandah and walked slowly, displaying an imposing dignity, to the spot where the roses stood. She counted the pots.

"—six—seven—" As she arrived at the seventh the gardener pointed with feverish anxiety to the eighth. It bore a beautiful double pink blossom full of fragrance, proclaiming itself a true and genuine La France, "Eight; good! Wasn't it just as I said?" she asked the butler triumphantly. "With care the roses would turn back to their proper sort. Why haven't the others turned, too?" she inquired, looking severely at the gardener.

"They are turning now; all coming nicely if missus will please wait."

"Mind they do come," she replied, lifting a warning finger that indicated a determination to exact the fulfilment of her demand.

"Missus will let off the fine!" said the gardener in an insinuating voice.

"Certainly not! There will be four rupees fine to-morrow; four rupees kept back until the missie has twelve good, sweet-smelling double pink roses."

"I am a very poor man!" whined the gardener. "I have a large family and two wives, both big hungry women. What can I do if missus stops my pay?"

"You should have thought of that before you spoilt the roses," said Mrs. Hulver, showing no sign of relenting.

"I am not a bad man," pleaded the gardener. "Missus must please forgive. I am same religion as missus—a Christian——"

"What!" cried Mrs. Hulver, with such startling emphasis that they all jumped, butler, gardener and gardener's assistants.

"A Christian, a poor worm of a Christian, same religion as missus and master and missie!"

"How dare you call yourself a Christie?" cried Mrs. Hulver, in deep indignation. "How dare you say that you belong to the same religion as me and the master and our missie? You! a spoiler of roses! you! a lazy idle budmash of a gardener! You! with two big hungry wives!"

The unfortunate bigamist trembled visibly before this outpouring of wrath. He felt that he had made a false step.

"Ramachetty! is that man a Christian?" she asked, turning to the butler with an abruptness that upset his self-possession.

"I never heard that he was, ma'am. He doesn't belong to my Church, the Roman Church."

"Is it true that he has got two wives?"

"Yes, ma'am; one to cook and keep the house, and the other to mind the field and the buffalo and make the butter. My Church doesn't allow two wives."

"No; nor any other Christian Church. He calls himself a Christian because he thinks I shall be sorry for him and let him off his fine. Tell him that only heathen people marry two wives and turn pink roses into red. He is the sort of budmash who brings Christianity into disgrace. I'll double his fine if he dares to say again that he belongs to my religion. When he has learned to keep pink double roses pink and double, then we will talk about his being a Christian and belonging to our religion; but mind! I don't give him much hope. I never knew any missionary that allowed two wives."

The butler was not indifferent to the pronoun used by Mrs. Hulver when she spoke of "our religion." He dismissed the gardener to his duties and followed the housekeeper to the back verandah. She retired to her room to make out the pay-list for the establishment. Against the gardener's name she ventured to write the full sum of his wages and made no note of any fine.

"Those four missing plants will all be back by to-morrow unless I am very much mistaken. Christian or heathen, I'll keep him and the rest of them up to the Christian standard or my name is not Maria Hulver. As William my third used to say, he having been in the Artillery: 'Drive your team straight whether they're horses or mules, and you and your guns will get over the ground without a spill.'"

CHAPTER XII

After dinner that same evening Alderbury sat in the verandah with Eola and her brother. The end of the verandah was enclosed with a trellis over which creepers were trained. From the roof hung a lantern that shed a subdued light. If Eola desired to work or her brother to read, a lamp was brought and placed upon a table. This evening the lamp was not required.

While the servants waited at table, Alderbury could not speak of the subject uppermost in his mind. No sooner had the coffee been handed round and the cigars lighted, than Ananda's name was brought up, and he described his visit to the convert.

The chief thing accomplished was the moral support he had been able to give to the convert. He devoutly hoped that it would sustain Ananda until something could be effected to improve his condition. All that had happened since his return home was quite sufficient in itself to induce depression; and there was always a danger lest depression should be followed by apostacy.

"I want your help, Wenaston," said Alderbury suddenly.

"You shall have it," the other responded without hesitation.

"You promise without knowing what it is."

"You want to borrow the motor-car. It shall be ready at sunrise to-morrow. I can't drive you myself, much as I should like it. I haven't time. The chauffeur will take you where you want to go."

"I shall be very grateful. The car transforms travelling from purgatory to pure delight. It was not the car, however, that was in my mind. I want something else—help for Ananda. His money won't hold out a week longer, and then it will be in the power of his people to starve him."

"He will have to take food from his pariah servant—a practical beginning of his education in the brotherhood of man," remarked Wenaston.

"Lately no food of any description has been sent to his room. Unless I am very much mistaken the supply will stop altogether."

"And his father will give him no money?"

"I am sure of that."

"What are Ananda's rights as a son? Can't he claim assistance and support from his nearest relatives by his caste laws?"

"If he were still a member of the Hindu religion he could claim house-room, food and clothing from his father. These benefits are conceded by the unwritten law of caste custom. Having abandoned his faith and become an outcaste, he loses all his rights legal and social."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite certain. I called on the chief lawyer in the town on my way back to find out what his position really was—the reason I was late for tea, Miss Wenaston—and from him I learned the law regarding converts to Christianity as it stands in the native State."

"Is it different from the law in British India?"

"Entirely; the 'vert has no legal standing at all, no civil rights whatever. He is an outcaste in every sense; in other words an outlaw. Neither by inheritance, nor by deed of gift, nor by a duly executed will can he inherit his father's property. He has no power to compel his wife to live with him. She may contract any other alliance she chooses as if he had never existed; and he has absolutely no control over his children. What is more they are empowered to divide his patrimony among themselves exactly as if he were dead."

"How unjust!" exclaimed Eola in indignation.

"It is nothing less than iniquitous," responded Alderbury, with some warmth. "But there it stands. We cannot alter it and Ananda must face it."

"He should get away from his home and his people; he is at too great a disadvantage where he is," remarked Dr. Wenaston.

"Exactly so; and we must help him," said Alderbury.

"If it means a sum of money, of course I am ready——"

"I don't want your money, Wenaston," protested Alderbury, speaking rapidly as was his wont when excited. "I want your help in another way. Ananda is very unwilling to leave his home to which he has only just returned. He is devoted to his parents and cannot at present bring himself to believe that they are lending themselves to this system of persecution. He attributes it to his uncle. Until he has proof that his father's hand is actually turned against him, he wishes to continue living under his roof. He would like to obtain work of some sort in Chirapore that would enable him to keep house with his wife and child separately. Can you find anything for him to do in your school? He is quite capable of teaching English, mathematics, history, geography or anything of that sort to boys."

Wenaston was silent and unresponsive to the appeal.

"I suppose you haven't a vacancy and don't see your way to making one on the staff," said Alderbury in a disappointed tone.

"As it happens there is a vacancy, but——"

"Why this hesitation, then? It would be a clear way out of our immediate difficulty if you would give him a trial. I feel sure he can teach. You know him personally and need no testimonial as to his character."

"I wasn't hesitating over his character or his qualifications as a teacher. I was wondering how much sympathy was extended in the town to the family, and whether feeling runs strong on the subject of his conversion."

"It will not affect his status in the college. Of course he understands that religious discussion is prohibited. You may depend upon him for not proselytising; he will not even introduce the subject; and I am sure that he will be ready to fall in with your wishes in every way. Poor fellow! I know he will be very grateful."

The pleading on the part of Alderbury roused Eola's sympathy, and she added her entreaty to his.

"You must lend him a helping hand!"

"It is against my better judgment," replied her brother, giving in reluctantly.

"If it doesn't answer you can put an end to the arrangement at once; a day's notice, if you like, will be sufficient. Take him on for a week, and let me hear at the end of it whether the plan is working successfully or not. It will be a great relief to my mind to know that he has employment of some kind, not only as a means of living but also as occupation. Later on I will try to persuade him to leave Chirapore and get work elsewhere. With a testimonial from you he should have no difficulty in finding a situation as schoolmaster in one of our missions. If he will only sever his connection with his family and place himself beyond their influence I see a grand future before him in the mission field. We so rarely win over a man of good caste. At present he clings with all the force of a great love to his family and to his wife and child. Patience! patience! I am a most impatient man, Miss Wenaston," he concluded, turning to her with a boyish laugh that echoed through the verandah.

Having discussed the details of Ananda's immediate employment, Alderbury dropped into a thoughtful silence. From a few words spoken casually by the Doctor he was not satisfied that Wenaston appreciated and valued Ananda's conversion as much as he should. Eola's remark earlier in the day also hung in his mind; yet he did not want to preach or to talk shop, as he sometimes called it. His difficulty of finding an opening was solved by a question put by Eola herself in the pause that ensued.

"You said this afternoon that I knew nothing about Hinduism. Don't you think you might enlighten me a little? I am open to conviction, and quite ready to believe that the Hindus will be the better for the Christianity you are giving them. Of course idolatry is only fit for savages, and the people of India ought to adopt something better as they are not savages."

"You mustn't think that the Hindus are a nation of idolaters. The ignorant masses worship idols and probably believe that the images themselves have some mysterious power of divinity in them; but the educated Hindu will tell you that the idol is symbolical; that they look beyond and through the image to the Deity. Their conception of the Deity is different from ours. He is impersonal and He is the creator of good and evil."

"A bold theory of the infinitude of the Deity on one hand and the existence of evil on the other," said Wenaston, who was listening, although Alderbury addressed his remarks to Eola.

"The Hindu believes that the world exists for a retributive purpose so that spirits may find embodiment, and suffer pain and joy according to their deserts. Through their sufferings in cycles of rebirths they progress towards their final state of impersonal beatitude. The retributive world with its process is eternal and lasts through all ages. If the world dies, it dies to be born again.

"A wonderful conception but deadening in its effects, whether one contemplates rebirth in this world or absorption into Brahma," commented Wenaston. "The marvel to me is that Hinduism has held its own so long."

"Its preservation is due to its wonderful system, its width and breadth. It preaches on one hand an asceticism which is acceptable to the most exacting fanatic. On the other it gives a licence, in the name of religion and the worship of Kali, that appeals irresistibly to the lowest and most sensual side of man. Hitherto its isolation and its marvellous power of absorbing other religious systems have been a tower of strength; but it cannot be saved much longer from the inrush of the modern spirit and stands in danger of being broken down."

"By what?" asked Eola.

"By the response to modern thought and by the awakening of Hindus like Ananda to a yearning after something better. Under the influence of the new spirit of inquiry they are demanding more freedom, more spirituality in their doctrines. They revolt as Ananda has revolted against the hopeless theory of transmigration, and they require something more satisfying in its place."

"The Hindus are a religious people, with strong cravings that must be satisfied. This is shown clearly by the absence of any desire on the part of my boys to shirk their religious duties," said Wenaston.

"By and bye those boys won't be content with the performance of superstitious pujah with a pantheistic leaning. They will require one God for India, not a million gods; they will demand an uplifting of suffering humanity, and they will rebel against a horrible creed of fatalism and predestination."

"What have you to offer to a man like Ananda?"

"Our own faith."

"Can he comprehend it with its spiritual teaching?"

"Ask him some day and he will tell you that in the teaching of Christ and in the following of Christ's example he has found a soul-satisfying substitute for his worn-out creed and childish rituals."

"Alderbury, you are an incorrigible iconoclast. With one blow you would annihilate the longest-lived religion of the world!"

He was on his feet in a moment, as was his way when excited, and his voice rang out into the night.

"You obsolete old professor! you bag of dry bones!" he cried, as he strode up and down the verandah. "The ancient Greeks and Romans killed their conquered enemies, I know; but modern conquerors pursue a different plan. They preserve; at the same time they subdue and bend the conquered to their will, making use of the good and pruning away the bad. We shall treat Hinduism in the modern manner; remodelling its rites and its institutions. Even that bugbear to all mission work, caste, shall be reformed. Hinduism will be transfigured in God's good time by the spirituality of Christ. It will merge into a fuller, richer Christianity than we of the less imaginative West have ever contemplated."

Eola felt the blood coursing through her veins with an emotion that was startling. Alderbury's enthusiasm, his magnificent faith, his absolute optimism and trust in the future roused her admiration, almost her envy. She felt the infection of his hope and belief; but because she was a woman, there was something behind it that detached her mind from the cause for which he battled, and centred her thoughts upon the man himself. While she listened, carried away by his words, she was conscious of his splendid personality, his strength, his confidence, his purity of heart. He was a born leader of men with a strong personal influence that was not to be denied; and the messenger occupied her mind more than the message he carried. Alderbury was unlike any one else of her acquaintance; and each time they met she became conscious of a growing attraction that she was unwilling to acknowledge even to herself.

When the hour for retirement came, Wenaston said good-night to his guest and departed to his sitting-room to read. Eola stood for a few minutes after she had shaken hands. Alderbury waited, his quickened perception where human beings were concerned telling him that she had something to say which was for his ear only.

"I am sorry I spoke as I did about Ananda and his religion. I am afraid I gave you the impression that I thought one religion as good as another."

"It certainly crossed my mind that such was your attitude," he replied gravely.

"I ought not to have said that it was a pity that he had changed. I am sorry."

She was sweet in her penitence, and Alderbury was constrained to take a firm grip of himself.

"People have a habit of making loose statements of that kind, and of expressing a vague regret that we interfere with the Hindu creed. They don't realise what they are practically admitting.".

"It is so! I have often heard English men and women say that they would rather have a good heathen servant for instance, than an indifferent Christian."

"The standard of one is entirely different from the standard of the other. A 'good heathen's' religion makes the practice of certain sins a religious act. Among the 'indifferent Christians' there are a great many who have no religion at all; but they claim to be of the faith of those they serve, thinking that they will be more favoured."

"I mustn't get into the habit of making loose statements."

"Nor of believing everything a native tells you. I am sure Mrs. Hulver is careful how she receives what they say of themselves. I should like to hear her on the subject, and also on their habits, good and bad. She would be sure to quote one of the Williams."

"I know what they would have said!" cried Eola, the cloud dispersed, and on good terms with herself again. "William the first would have held that habits had their advantages and might be acquired with discretion. William the second's views would have been more rigid. Habits were good and bad; the good were to be adopted at all costs and the bad avoided. William the third would have been of the opinion that habits, good and bad, were unavoidable in poor weak human natures and must be accepted with the man."

Alderbury's laugh rang out; and Mrs. Hulver, dropping off to sleep on her cot under the mosquito curtains, heard it. She stirred in sleepy protest. Missionaries had no right to joke and laugh like that with "society ladies." How could they expect to convert the heathen if they indulged in such levity? As William used to say——; but here she fell asleep and happily forgot Miss Wenaston and the missionary, together with the words of wisdom that fell from the lips of her trinity of Williams.

CHAPTER XIII

At sunrise Alderbury started off in the motor to drive back to that particular mission centre of which he was the superintendent. It was situated in British India, about forty miles from the town of Chirapore.

On his way he stopped at the house of Pantulu. He walked quickly round to the side where the room assigned to Ananda was situated. He found him sitting on his deck chair in the open doorway. He was trying to concentrate his attention on a book, but his eyes often wandered to the hills. He heard the tread of footsteps and looked up expectantly. As soon as he caught sight of Alderbury he rose, pleasure plainly written on his face.

"I did not think that you would have time to call and see me again," he said, as he shook hands warmly.

"Dr. Wenaston's offer of the car has made it possible. I come with good news. He has consented to my suggestion that you should take up a post as junior master in the school. The salary you will draw will enable you to support yourself and make you independent of your father."

Ananda's eyes grew bright at the prospect and he questioned his visitor eagerly as to his duties. They were explained, together with the subjects that were forbidden.

"I shall like it beyond all things," said Ananda. "For the present I will go on living here. I am getting used to the room. It is not as bad as it looks."

"Have your people sent you any food this morning; any coffee and rice cakes?"

"No; they have never yet sent me anything in the early morning. The pariah has returned, I am glad to say, with permission to sweep and perform his usual duties."

Alderbury began to dive into the deep pockets of his travelling overcoat. He produced bread, butter, a bottle of strong coffee, cake, sugar, salt and various other eatables.

"You don't mind accepting these things from Miss Wenaston. Her housekeeper gave them to me with her own hands. When you go to the college to-morrow morning, call at the house and say you are grateful."

"Of course I will. I'll see the housekeeper as well as Miss Wenaston."

"And let me give you another piece of advice, Ananda. You must fill up the whole day with regular employment, whether you are at the college or at home. You must not allow yourself to drift into the habit of idleness. It is bad for any man, European or Indian. You must read and make notes of what you read. You must write to me and tell me what you are teaching your class. I will send you some books addressed to the care of Miss Wenaston as soon as I get back; and if you want lighter literature you can borrow of her."

They talked of various matters for some time, and then Alderbury looked at his watch.

"Half-past eight! how the time flies! Is that your man outside? Hi! come here! I want you!" he called in the man's language.

The sweeper ran forward, and Alderbury gave him directions.

"Go to the car and bring me a small basket you will find on the seat."

The pariah returned and was directed to lift the lid, which he did. As he held it open Alderbury took out a packet of sandwiches.

"I may as well save time by eating my breakfast whilst I talk."

The food disappeared without any hindrance to the conversation, and the fact that it had been received from the pariah did not affect the missionary's appetite.

"Put down the basket and give me that bottle and cup," said Alderbury to the man. "Hold the cup while I pour."

The thermos flask was full of steaming coffee, and Alderbury took the brimming cup from the hand of the despised pariah, giving him back the flask to replace in the tiffin basket.

"This is Mrs. Hulver's own make; I never tasted better coffee. You have got the same brew in that bottle, but without milk. It should last you three or four days. Boil your milk and add it to the cold coffee. Don't heat the coffee or you will spoil the flavour. I was to be sure and tell you this from Mrs. Hulver. Good-bye and good luck go with your new venture. Come along my man; bring that basket and put it in the motor."

The lesson was not without its effect although nothing was actually said. Somehow when the Englishman accepted food from the hand of the pariah the action had a different complexion, and it set Ananda thinking. Alderbury hoped it would bear good fruit, and help to make matters easier if the time should come when no food was obtainable except through the pariah. He was anxious to be off, and he bade Ananda good-bye, parting with him at the entrance of the little yard where the gourd spread its vivid green foliage.

As he approached the gateway of the compound leading into the road a messenger met him with a request that he would come into the verandah in front of the house. Pantulu Iyer desired a word with him. Quite ready for an interview whatever might be its nature, hostile or friendly, he mounted the stone steps.

A few minutes elapsed before Pantulu, accompanied by his wife, appeared. They approached silently, their hands placed together palm to palm, and stood before him with bowed heads.

"Sir!" began Pantulu, then he paused, unable to command his voice.

"Speak, Pantulu Iyer; what do you wish to say? I am ready to listen."

Alderbury's gentle manner broke down the nervous constraint and opened the flood-gates of speech. In a voice that was so charged with emotion as to be near breaking point, the old man prayed for the missionary's assistance in the restoration of his son, his only child. There were numbers of others, he pleaded, who were ready and willing to join the Christian religion. Their apostacy would not be felt by their families. With him it was different. In taking away his son the missionary deprived him and his father and grandfather of happiness in a future life. Who was to perform the shraddah ceremonies when he, Pantulu, was dead, if his son Ananda refused to perform them? The thought of his fate and the fate of his ancestors was intolerable, unbearable, appalling!

As he poured forth his entreaty Gunga's tears flowed down her haggard cheeks and fell upon the folds of her tawny silk saree. Her grey hair was dishevelled, and its silvery strands were sprinkled with the dust she had thrown upon her head according to custom in overwhelming grief or misfortune.

Keenly sympathetic to human trouble at all times, Alderbury could not listen unmoved. The appearance of both father and mother told its own tale, and he fully realised the havoc that had been wrought in one of the happiest homes of India. It was ever the same, even from the very beginning of the story of Christianity, he thought with a sigh. All pioneer work must run on similar lines; and although he knew that it was inevitable, his heart ached at the sight of their distress.

"If you feel thus about the future why not take the same path your son has taken? He is right. Go with him and you will find such joy and peace in your old age as you have never experienced before."

"Can the bullock learn a new method of drawing the cart after spending all its life under the yoke? We cannot change at our age. We must follow in the footsteps of our fathers. Oh! sir! if you would only say the word, and bid my son remember his poor old father, all might yet be made right. Let him conform outwardly, whatever he may believe inwardly, for our sake."

Yielding to a sudden impulse, Pantulu and his wife fell at Alderbury's feet, touching their foreheads to the ground. By this time the tears were falling from the old man's eyes.

"Our son! our dearly loved son! Give us back our child, our little one! the only child that was ever sent by the gods to bless us!"

Not a word of reproach was mingled with the prayer which made it all the harder for the missionary to bear.

"He cannot return to you. You must go to him," repeated Alderbury.

"Sir! if you will bring him back to us—and he will come! I know he will! if you so much as hold up your finger—I will give you a lac of rupees to build a temple for your God. Your God is merciful and kind. He will take the church in exchange for the only son of two heart-broken parents. He will be satisfied if you build it large and put much gold and jewels in the sacred place. You shall have money and jewels and gold and silk and rich carpets and hangings—all these and more than you ask you shall have, if you will only give him back to us."

"Give him back to me, his mother! Let me have my little one again! my little one whose tiny hands upon my neck awoke the mother-love within me," prayed the proud Gunga at his feet in abject humility.

It was getting beyond Alderbury's endurance. His human pity brought the tears to his eyes. He bent over the prostrate figures.

"I cannot grant your request even if I would. There can be no return for your son. You must go to him; he cannot come back to you. May my God, the God of love and mercy, help you!"

He turned and left the verandah. In another ten seconds the car was speeding down the road hidden in a column of golden dust in the bright morning sunshine.

*****

The following morning, punctual to the minute, Ananda, accompanied by the Principal, entered the class room where he was to instruct twenty-seven boys whose ages ranged between twelve and fourteen. He had already received his instructions, and was relieved to find that nothing was required of him in the teaching line otherwise than what he was easily able to perform.

The class had assembled and most of the boys were studying the lesson that was to be repeated. There was a buzz of voices as each individual conned aloud the portion he had prepared. A few talked together in low tones with a solemnity that would be strange in English schoolboys. Whether studying or chatting they all behaved quietly, with a total absence of trickery or exuberance of spirits. This self-contained orderliness, peculiar to native children in India, renders it possible for a teacher to manage a class of fifty pupils. Not only are the boys attentive, but many of them show an eagerness to learn which is surprising to the English master.

There was a sudden breathless hush as Wenaston entered; and twenty-seven pairs of eyes were fixed in rounded wonder upon the new teacher. He was recognised by most of the boys. Many of them belonged to families known to his own people.

He took his seat at the desk and began the lesson. Wenaston, after listening a few minutes, nodded his head in approval and left the room. His own class of young men preparing for one of the higher examinations was waiting for him.

At twelve o'clock the classes broke up and the boys went home to the midday meal. It was customary to reassemble at half-past one for games in the playing-field and begin work again an hour later.

After lunch Wenaston put on his sun-topee and strolled into the cricket-field. A few boys stood about in couples idly talking, but no game was in progress. He called to one of the big boys and asked why there was no practice at the nets. The reply was to the effect that most of the boys were leaving at once for home where their presence was required by their families, without waiting for afternoon school.

Wenaston was accustomed to the absence of his pupils on the occasion of domestic ceremonial; but it was usual to let him know beforehand. The reason was sometimes stated but not always. He passed on to his private sitting-room in the college where he had papers to look over. At three he went to the hall. His class was small; so also were the classes of the other masters. At half-past five the bell rang and the boys dispersed. He met Ananda outside the building.

"Come in and see Miss Wenaston," he said. "How did you get on this afternoon?"

"Very well, indeed, sir, as far as my subject was concerned. It is a great pleasure to go over the old ground again and renew my acquaintance with it. I had very few boys this afternoon; only ten out of the twenty-seven turned up."

"There must be some public festival going on; for the other classes were also small. Do you know what it is?"

"Not a regular feast day, I am sure. If there is anything of the kind it will be of a private nature: a wedding or a funeral. I am in Coventry as you know, sir; and so I hear no news whatever."

"I hope you will not have to remain long in that uncomfortable position. You must establish yourself in a house of your own."

"I intend to do so as soon as I can consult with my wife. Up to the present I have not been allowed to see either her or the child."

"You will not leave without them?"

"No; they must come with me. As long as I remain in the house I have a better chance of obtaining an interview."

They found Eola in the garden looking at the roses. Her favourites were all back in their places, a dozen beautiful La France plants. Whether they were the originals she could not say. The pruning was always a severe process that deprived the bushes of individual features and made them all of one pattern. Mrs. Hulver was not far off; and the gardener, beaming with satisfaction at the thought that his full wages were assured, was half concealed behind a bank of ferns where he was pretending to be very busy picking off dead leaves. Eola greeted Ananda with a friendly welcome that set him at ease; talked of her roses and other matters of no importance.

"I want to thank you, Miss Wenaston, for all that you sent yesterday by Mr. Alderbury," he said.

"You must thank my housekeeper. It was her thought. Mrs. Hulver! Mr. Ananda is very grateful to you for thinking of him in his need."

Mrs. Hulver, thus encouraged, approached and cast her shrewd grey eyes over the visitor. His neat European dress and manner met with her approval.

"I am glad the food was acceptable. I saw to the cooking of it myself. Mr. Alderbury told me that you had been obliged to live on biscuits—poor stuff for young stomachs. What a man wants is a hot meal once a day. There should be meat as well as bread or rice. I wasn't able to send you any meat, Mr. Ananda."

"I don't eat meat, so it was all right."

"Do you like fish?"

"Yes; and vegetables curried; but I have not tasted a curry since I landed."

"Then you've gone to bed hungry more often than not in spite of your biscuits. As William—that was my second husband—used to say: 'Sharp stomachs make short tempers.' The best temper will sour under starvation."

A little later Ananda said good-bye and walked back to his father's house. On the way he met Bopaul. Mayita was his companion. Regardless of ill omens the brother had renewed his friendship with his sister; he took her for daily walks, avoiding the places where men and women congregated.

"Not afraid of being contaminated by the company of an outcaste?" said Ananda with some bitterness, as Bopaul turned to stroll part of the way with his friend.

"No; nor of being overshadowed by the widow," replied Bopaul with a light laugh. "How are things going with you?"

Ananda related the experience of the last week and his employment at the college, together with his plans for the future.

"You will certainly have to clear out of your father's house as soon as you can if you want any comfort."

"I shall not go without my wife and child," said Ananda, with the old obstinacy.

"How is the child?" inquired Bopaul.

"The child! Is it ill that you ask?" said Ananda, startled.

"It had a fall the day you returned. No effect was seen at first but a few days ago it complained of pain; and my mother, who went to see it, thought that it was ill, though not very bad. Haven't they told you?"

"I hear nothing and I see nobody but the sweeper. Bring me news if there is anything important to tell," said Ananda, trying in vain to hide the sudden anxiety that sprang up as he heard that the child was not well.

"I will," answered Bopaul, with a note of sympathy in his voice.

He stopped to turn back towards his own house, and Ananda passed on with downcast troubled eyes that failed to see how his friend stood watching him.

"Poor fellow!" thought Bopaul. "They are making it very hard for him; but it is only what he might have expected. There is more grit and endurance in him than I expected. I thought he would have given in by this time. Pantulu Iyer's brother has met his match, and he won't step into Ananda's shoes quite as easily as he thought."

The following morning Ananda arrived at the college, and was in his place punctually to the strike of the clock. The bell rang but without response. A strange silence prevailed in the college close, in the hall and in the class rooms. Not a boy was visible. The masters were in their places and the Principal in cap and gown on the platform ready to begin his lecture. He waited a short time and then went to the Vice-principal's room, a native who had taken a good degree at Cambridge.

"Where are all the boys?" asked Wenaston, in some bewilderment. "Is it a public festival?"

The Vice-principal paused before replying.

"I am afraid, sir, that they are purposely absenting themselves," he said, reluctantly. He had a great regard for his chief, and it went against the grain to say anything that might give him pain.

"Can you tell me the reason?"

"Because you have appointed the son of Pantulu Iyer as a master in the school."

"Does the feeling run so strongly against him that they can carry it to this pitch?" replied Wenaston in some indignation. "It is no concern of theirs what religion he professes. His opinions are a personal matter as long as he keeps them to himself. Did he mention the subject to his class yesterday?"

"No, sir," the Vice-principal answered promptly.

"Then it is outrageous that he should be ostracised in this manner."

Wenaston had been haunted by the dread of something of the kind ever since he had acceded to Alderbury's request; but he had not anticipated that it would come so soon, nor in such a practical form as a strike. The utmost he had expected was an inquiry on the part of the Government authorities, followed by a recommendation that the appointment should be cancelled.

"The sympathy in the town is all on the side of Ananda's parents. You hardly realise, sir, what an appalling disaster it is for a high caste Hindu to lose a son in this way," remarked Wenaston's colleague.

"You talk of him as if he were dead!"

"It would have been less of a disaster if he had died in the Hindu faith before he became a Christian."

There was a pause. The Principal was troubled and perplexed. If the animosity towards Ananda was roused to such an extent as to produce these results something must be done and done promptly.

"If the feeling runs so high, I am afraid I shall be compelled to dispense with his services. I shall be sorry to part with him for his own sake; I could see that he would have suited admirably as a master; his teaching is clear and lucid. But I can't have the school emptied in this way. You must help me to get out notices at once which will make it plain to the parents of the boys that the matter will be set right and another man will take the class."

Dr. Wenaston had the unpleasant task before him of breaking the news to Ananda and of warning him that he must not be seen on the school premises again. There was no objection to an occasional visit to the house. Miss Wenaston would be pleased to see him at any time; but he must be careful to keep away from the class rooms and playing-fields.

Ananda received the news in silence. The sight of the empty rooms was enlightening and needed no comment. He was not surprised when Dr. Wenaston intimated in polite and gentle speech that he could no longer permit him to appear in the college.

"I had better leave at once, sir; as soon as the boys know that I am not here they will return," was Ananda's reply.

"You understand the situation?"

"Quite; the absence of the boys is convincing."

His dejection touched the Englishman. "I am sorry, very sorry for you. We must see what can be done in some other way. I will write to Mr. Alderbury at once."

Ananda turned his back on the silent rooms and walked towards the road. The residence of the Principal stood on his left fronting the other way. Mrs. Hulver was in the back verandah, her eye scanning the landscape. She called sharply to the butler.

"Ramachetty, go and tell that native gentleman over there that I want to speak to him."

Ananda, surprised at the summons, responded to her call.

"Come in, Mr. Ananda; I want a few words with you," was her greeting.

Mrs. Hulver bustled into her sitting-room, followed by her visitor.

"Sit down," she said, in her expansive maternal manner. "I have something to tell you. Do you know that those imps of boys who ought to be in class are waiting outside about a hundred yards up the road?"

"Are they, Mrs. Hulver? What do they want?"

Although he asked the question he was able to give a shrewd guess as to the reason of their presence.

"They want you; and they mean mischief. You must just sit here for a while, and when the coast is clear you can get away safely. I was in the town this morning. I tell you it is in a ferment over your coming to the college, and it isn't safe for you to be seen about in broad daylight. Those young limbs of mischief mean to do you some hurt."

This was the work of his uncle, he was convinced; but he did not express his thoughts aloud. He thanked Mrs. Hulver for her kindly offices and sat down to wait. She gave him a book to read, and did her best to make him feel at ease.

"You stay and dine with me. A good hot square meal will do you no harm. It will be cooked by myself in the verandah and it will be ready soon after twelve—hot soup, fried fish, vegetable curry and stewed guavas; and we will eat it here in this room. As William—that was my first husband—used to say: 'Better be in at the end of a feast than the beginning of a fight'—and a losing fight it will be for you, Mr. Ananda, if you get among those boys in their present temper."

CHAPTER XIV

A surprise was in store for Mrs. Hulver the next morning in the shape of a telegram from her son. He had arrived at Bangalore, and he proposed taking three days' leave to pay his mother a visit at once. Her head was fairly turned with delight, and she hurried off to tell the good news to her young mistress. She thrust the telegram into Eola's hand.

"Read it, miss. You will have to go through it two or three times before you can take it all in; at least, I had to do so; but then I'm flurried; and as William—that was my second—used to say: 'Flurry never fires straight!'"

"Can we manage to put him up?" asked Eola, wondering whether she ought to offer her pretty spare room to the young corporal.

"Quite easily, miss. A camp bed in my sitting-room will do nicely."

"Are you sure that you would not like the spare room for him——"

Mrs. Hulver interrupted her with a gesture of horror.

"A common soldier in the spare room, miss! and the room just done up, too! No, indeed! A missionary may use it if he is a friend of the house; but Dr. Wenaston should not stoop any lower. With the new curtains and carpet the room is fit for the Governor himself. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'The finest trappings in the world don't alter the breed of a horse.' My son may look very smart in his corporal's uniform, but for all that he's only the son of a man in the ranks."

Eola's delicate sense of hospitality was not satisfied. With the spare room empty she felt that the door should not be shut against an Englishman, whose character was perfectly respectable, but whose rank differed from her own.

"If it is inconvenient to you to have him in the sitting-room, I should be very pleased to let him use the spare room," she said.

Mrs. Hulver drew herself up with pride. "I know my place, miss," she replied, severely, as much as to say: "and you ought to know yours." She continued: "Even if I could bring myself to let him use the spare room, I should know all the time that it would not be good for him. As William—that was my first—used to say: 'Pride is a plant that needs neither water nor manure; it will grow fast enough by itself.' My son William will make himself comfortable you may be sure; and his pride will not be fostered by the camp bed, for it's a little ricketty, to say nothing of being a bit hard. My sitting-room will be like a palace to the boy after the barracks. I'm not sure that I ought to let him sleep there."

"Where else could you put him?" asked Eola in wonder, for she knew the limitations of the house.

"In a corner of the back verandah," replied Mrs. Hulver promptly. "It would be very convenient to have him there."

"The night wind might give him fever."

"That's true, miss. As William—that was my third—used to say, when I rated him for leaning a little too far towards his failing: 'Conveniences have their inconveniences and comforts their crosses.' Well, you mustn't keep me here gossiping or I shan't be ready for young William when he arrives. He's due at three o'clock this very afternoon."

She bustled away, too full of William the second, junior, to note the smile with which Eola received the intimation that it was she who was detaining Mrs. Hulver.

At twelve o'clock Wenaston came in. He was earlier than usual. As a rule he did not appear till the lunch bell rang at one. Eola seated in the verandah looked up as she heard his step.

"Well? What's the news? How are things going?" she asked.

"Badly! very badly! Only a quarter of the boys returned this morning. It will take a week or ten days to regain their confidence, and the loss of time will have an effect on my results. I would not have believed that so much feeling could have existed over the matter had I not seen its consequences."

"Did you hear how he got home yesterday?"

"Not without accident. You know, perhaps, that he came here after leaving college at Mrs. Hulver's invitation."

"She told me that he had lunched with her," Eola replied. "I was glad to think that the poor fellow had had a good midday dinner. She said that it was the first hot meal he had eaten since he left the boat at Bombay."

"It wasn't to give him food that she asked him in. She heard through the servants that a party of the boys were lying in wait to rough-handle him on his way home; and this was her way of preventing mischief."

"I wonder they dared to think of such a thing!" said Eola, with some indignation.

"They not only thought of it but they nearly succeeded in carrying out their design. Ananda left Mrs. Hulver's room in the afternoon, she having made sure that the boys were tired of waiting and had dispersed. At her advice he did not take the direct road home, but went round by a path not often used. Near his house he was obliged to walk along the road and as bad luck would have it, he met two of my boys—men they might more properly be called. They rushed at him with their sticks. He sprinted for home and escaped with a cut or two over the head."

"Of course he will prosecute the boys for assault," said Eola.

"He would do so if this were British territory; but being a native state, he, as a Christian, has no civil rights, no standing in a court of law. He can gain no redress; he hasn't even the power to bind them over to keep the peace."

"Have you written to Mr. Alderbury?"

"I wrote yesterday morning, and I have just had his reply by wire. He wants me to send Ananda to him at once. He has an opening for him and can find him employment before long. Meanwhile he will be glad to have him as his guest at the mission bungalow."

"You must see Ananda and tell him so; it will be a little consolation for the poor fellow, perhaps."

"There's just my difficulty," replied Wenaston in perplexity. "It isn't safe for him to show his face outside his father's premises."

"They are not ill-treating him inside the house, I hope," said Eola, with sudden anxiety.

"Nothing beyond humiliating him as much as possible by giving him the services of a sweeper, and cutting off the supplies of food. If it goes no further I don't think any bodily harm can happen to him as long as he stays at home."

"Mr. Alderbury must come and advise him."

"He says in his wire that he can't pay us another visit just yet. We must do our best without him. I ought to go to Ananda's house, I suppose, since he can't come to me."

"It won't take you long; not more than five minutes to get to the house if you go in the car."

"It isn't the time I am thinking of but the welfare of the college and my covenant with the Maharajah. I undertook not to meddle in any religious matters."

Eola laid her hand on her brother's arm. "Leave it to me," she said, "I will undertake to let Ananda know. Keep clear of the affair and get your pupils back as quickly as you can."

"You ought not to go to Pantulu's house," he rejoined quickly, as his eyes rested on her in doubt. "I don't know what sort of a reception you will get. You must not run any risk of rousing unpleasantness that I could not overlook."