Abstraction piled on abstraction; perversion on perversion; and that deluded crowd plainly swallowing it all as gospel truth----! To Roy the whole exhibition was purely disgustful; as if the man had emptied a dust-bin under his aristocratic nose. Once or twice he glanced covertly at Dyan, standing beside him; at the strained intentness of his face, the nervous clenched hand. Was this the same Dyan who had ridden and argued and read 'Greats' with him only four years ago--this hypnotised being who seemed to have forgotten his existence----?

Thank G.o.d! At last it was over! But while applause hummed and fluttered, there sprang on to the platform, unannounced, a wiry keen-faced man, with the parted beard of a Sikh.

"Brothers--I demand a hearing!" he cried aloud; "I who was formerly hater of the British, preaching all manner of violence--I have been three years detained in Germany; and I come back now, with my eyes open, to say all over India--cease your fool's talk about self-government and tossing mountains into the sea! Cease making yourselves drunk with words and waving your Vedic flags and stand by the British--your true friends----"

At that, cries and counter-cries drowned his voice. Books were hurled; no other weapon being handy; and Roy noted, with amused contempt, that Chandranath hastily disappeared from view.

The Sikh laughed in the face of their opposition. Dexterously catching a book, he hurled it back; and once more made his strong voice heard above the clamour. "Fools--and sheep! You may stop your ears now. In the end I will make you hear----"

Shouted down again, he vanished through a side exit; and, in the turmoil that followed, Roy's hand closed securely on Dyan's arm. Throughout the stormy interlude, he had stood rigidly still: a pained, puzzled frown contracting his brows. Yet it was plain he would have slipped away without a word, but for Roy's detaining grasp.

"You don't go running off--now I've found you," said he good-humouredly.

"I've things to say. Come along to my place and hear them."

Dyan jerked his imprisoned arm. "Very sorry. I have--important duties."

"To-morrow night then? I'm lodging with Krishna Lal. And--look here, _don't_ mention me to your friend the philosopher! I know more about him than you might suppose. If you still care a d.a.m.n for me--and the others, do what I ask--and keep your mouth shut----"

Dyan's frown was hostile; but his voice was low and troubled. "For G.o.d's sake leave me alone, Roy. Of course--I care. But that kind of caring is carnal weakness. We, who are dedicated, must rise above such weakness, above pity and slave-morality, giving all to the Mother----"

"Dyan--have you forgotten--_my_ mother?" Roy pressed his advantage in the same low tone.

"No. Impossible. She was _Devi_--G.o.ddess; loveliest and kindest----"

"Well, in her name, I ask you--come to-morrow evening and have a talk."

Dyan was silent; then, for the first time, he looked Roy straight in the eyes. "In her name--I will come. Now let me go."

Roy let him go. He had achieved little enough. But for a start it was not so bad.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 16: An Indian dish.]

CHAPTER XI.

"When we have fallen through storey after storey of our vanity and aspiration, it is then that we begin to measure the stature of our friends."--R.L.S.

Next evening Dyan arrived. He stayed for an hour, and did most of the talking. But his unnatural volubility suggested disturbance deep down.

Only once Roy had a glimpse of the true Dyan, when he presented Aruna's '_prasad_,' consecrated by her touch. In silence Dyan set it on the table; and reverently touched, with his finger-tips, first the small parcel, then his own forehead.

"Aruna--sister," he said on an under breath. But he would not be drawn into talking of her, of his grandfather, or of home affairs: and his abrupt departure left Roy with a maddening sense of frustration.

He lay awake half the night; and reached certain conclusions that atoned for a violent headache next morning. First and best--Dyan was not a genuine convert. All this ferment and froth did not spell reasoned conviction. He was simply ensnared; his finer nature warped by the 'delusion of irresistible suggestion,' deadlier than any weapon of War.

His fanatical loyalty savoured of obsession. So much the better. An obsession could be p.r.i.c.ked like an air-ball with the right weapon at the right moment. That, as Roy saw it, was his task:--in effect, a ghostly duel between himself and Chandranath for the soul of Dyan Singh; and the fate of Aruna virtually hung on the issue.

Should he succeed, Chandranath would doubtless guess at his share in Dyan's defection; and few men care about courting the enmity of the unscrupulous. That is the secret power behind the forces of anarchy, above all in India, where social and spiritual boycott can virtually slay a man without shedding of blood. For himself, Roy decided the game was worth the candle. The question remained--how far that natural shrinking might affect Dyan? And again--how much did he know of Chandranath's designs on Aruna?

Roy decided to spring the truth on him next time--and note the effect.

Dyan had said he would come again one evening; and--sooner than Roy expected--he came. Again he was abnormally voluble, as if holding his cousin at arm's length by italicising his own fanatical fervour, till Roy's impatience subsided into weariness and he palpably stifled a yawn.

Dyan, detecting him, stopped dead, with a pained, puzzled look that went to Roy's heart. For he loved the real Dyan, even while he was bored to extinction with the semi-religious verbiage that poured from him like water from a jug.

"Awfully sorry," he apologised frankly. "But I've been over-dosed with that sort of stuff lately; and I'm d.a.m.ned if I can swallow it like you do. Yet I'm dead keen for India to have the best, all round, that she's capable of digesting--yet. So's Grandfather. You _can't_ deny it."

Dyan frowned irritably. "Grandfather's prejudiced and old-fashioned."

"He's longer-sighted than most of your voluble friends. He doesn't rhapsodise. He _knows_.--But I'm not old-fashioned. Nor is Aruna."

"No, poor child; only England-infatuated. She is unwise not taking this chance of an educated husband----"

"And _such_ a husband!" Roy struck in so sharply that Dyan stared open-mouthed.

"How the devil can _you_ know?"

"And how the devil can you _not_ know," countered Roy, "when it's your precious paragon--Chandranath."

He scored his point clean and true. "Chandranath!" Dyan echoed blankly, staring into the fire.

Roy said nothing; simply let the fact sink in. Then, having dealt the blow, he proffered a crumb of consolation, "Perhaps he prefers to keep quiet till he's pulled it off. But I warn you, if he persists, I shall put every feasible spoke in his wheel."

Dyan faced him squarely. "You seem very intimate with our affairs. Who told you this?"

"Aruna--herself."

"You are also very intimate--with her."

"As she has lost her brother, her natural protector, I do what I can--to make up."

Dyan winced and stole a look at him. "Why not make up for still greater lack--and marry her yourself?"

It was he who hit the mark this time. Roy's blood tingled; but voice and eyes were under control.

"I've only been there a few weeks. The question has not arisen."

"Your true meaning is--it _could not arise_. They were glad enough for her service in England; but whatever her service, or her loving, she must not marry an Englishman, even with the blood of India in his veins.

That is our reward--both----"

It was the fierce bitter Dyan of that long ago afternoon in New College Lane. But Roy was too angry on his own account to heed. He rose abruptly.

"I'll trouble you not to talk like that."

Dyan rose also, confronting him. "I _must_ say what is in mind--or go.