"But Charteris Sahib--the Rani--every one?" murmured Gerrard, trying to remember what had happened.

"The Rani Sahiba saw your honour fall, and herself took command of the soldiers, bidding them die rather than fail to recover your body.

Sirdar Badan Hazari was killed, fighting very valiantly, and the Komadan Sahib Rukn-ud-din now leads the troops."

"But Charteris Sahib--what of him, I say?"

"Alas, sahib! The Rani Sahiba bade return to look for him when the foe were driven back, but none were found alive save a wounded Darwani, who had seen Chatar Sahib's body thrown over a horse and carried away."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ONE WHO WAS LEFT.

"My dear, I wish you would take that unfortunate young Gerrard in hand." Mr James Antony, acting-Resident at Ranjitgarh owing to the absence of his brother on sick-leave, wore a worried look as he entered his wife's room.

"I will do what I can, love, but I am never quite sure how to approach these young men. If only dear Theodora were here----" Mrs James was alluding to her sister-in-law, Mrs Edmund Antony.

"Oh, if Ned and his wife were here, the trouble would be at an end,"

said James Antony, with his big laugh. "I can't begin an interview by blowing a man up sky-high, and end it by falling on his neck, as Ned does. I have done my best for Gerrard--more than Ned would have done, too--in commending his conduct throughout this unfortunate affair, but it don't seem to make him any happier."

"But you cannot think your brother would have taken the part of that dreadful Sher Singh, love?"

"Ned would have seen the matter so wholly from Sher Singh's point of view as to consider him justified in killing not only poor Charteris, but Gerrard as well, for the offence of abducting his stepmother."

"Then when Edmund returns, will he insist on forcing the unfortunate woman to go back?"

"No, my dear, he won't, for the very good reason that I have already pa.s.sed her safely across the Ghara. But he will have a rod in pickle for poor Gerrard, who seems to me to have quite enough to bear already--what with his wounds and the loss of all his belongings, to say nothing of the death of his friend."

"You don't think, James, that he feels himself to blame for poor Mr Charteris's death?"

"He's an unreasonable idiot if he does," testily. "As if he hadn't done all that he could when he heard of it--insisting on mounting a horse and going back to look for him! When he very naturally fainted again, his people were uncommon wise in continuing the journey and bringing him here, and it's no reason for him to pull a long face. A broken arm and a complete suit of bruises ain't pleasant wear, but they are mending, and the beggar has no business to mope as he does. If he's still in love with old Cinnamond's daughter, his path is clear now, but they tell me he has made no attempt to see her."

"Ah!" said Mrs James thoughtfully. "But he shall see her. Leave it to me, love. Don't you think," with extreme innocence, "that it would be cheering for the poor fellow if you invited him to sit in your _dufter_[1] this evening? He would not be in spirits to join the party, of course, but the music might soothe him, and his friends could go in and talk to him from time to time."

"He will be a sad kill-joy, my dear. But consider the room at your disposal for any nefarious projects of the kind."

"Nay, James, you must do your part. Pray convey my compliments to him, and tell him I shall be sadly vexed if he refuses to come. He shall be in complete retirement there, you may say, and can slip away when he chooses."

"I will give him his orders. Pray, is Miss Cinnamond's name to be mentioned?"

"I think not. I wish I could leave it to your discretion, love, but a fine tact is not one of your shining virtues, is it?"

"No, ma'am." James Antony was not at all aggrieved. "To tell the truth without fear or favour is enough for me."

"Then say nothing. Stay--could you contrive to intimate that Sir Arthur and his lady will be among the company? That should serve to prepare the young man's mind."

"I imagine I am capable of that, my dear."

And in truth, James Antony made the announcement with so much emphasis, and in so meaning a tone, that Gerrard would have been dull indeed had he missed its significance. Before it came he had been fighting against the duty of accepting Mrs Antony's invitation, but now his opposition collapsed suddenly. The rage for charades, which had devastated English society for ten years or more, prevailed also in India, and "Charades and Music" were promised in the corner of this evening's card. The host spoke his mind quite frankly on the nature of the entertainment, which he termed "a set of young fools dressing up and acting silly questions for old fools to answer," and a.s.sured Gerrard that he thought no worse of him for holding back. By way of building a bridge for his retreat, however, he informed him that no sight or sound of the charades could reach the _dufter_, and he wished he himself could spend the evening there with him in peace and quietness. On receiving the tardy acceptance he departed hastily, much pleased with the results of his diplomacy--which would hardly have been the case had he been able to read the young man's mind. One thing had been plain to Gerrard from the first moment in which he realised fully what Charteris's death would mean to him. It set an absolute barrier between Honour and himself. He could no more take advantage of Bob's removal from the field by an accident than if he had slain him with his own hand. Having a.s.sured himself of this night and day, in waking and dreaming and semi-delirious moments, it had become such an immutable fact that he felt it was time to make Honour aware of it. He felt an unaccountable pang on realising that she would immediately perceive its reasonableness.

His first visitor in his retirement that evening was not Honour, but Mrs Jardine, who believed honestly that she had a special gift for cheering the sick. Gerrard had always been her favourite of Honour's two persistent suitors, and though she could not well in so many words congratulate him on being left without a rival, there were a good many heartening things that she could and did say. After deprecating any possible embarra.s.sment on his part by a.s.suring him that she came not because she liked him, but because when one had a gift it was a duty to use it, and it was a privilege to turn a gay and too probably heartless occasion of this kind into a means of doing good, she pa.s.sed to her main object with a suddenness which would have seemed to some a little abrupt.

"And you have not caught one glimpse of a certain young lady yet?"

Nods and becks and a mysterious archness of expression pointed the question. "My dear Mr Gerrard, she is handsomer than ever--in her own style, of course; you may take an old woman's word for it."

"But where shall I find the old woman?" inquired Gerrard, in a desperate attempt to do what was expected of him.

Highly pleased, Mrs Jardine gave him a tap with her fan. "Oh, you quiet young men are just as naughty as the rest--with your compliments, indeed! But if I were to repeat to you what a little bird told me, you would never, never betray me?" Earnest a.s.surances on Gerrard's part.

"Well, then, I hear that Miss Cinnamond is not very happy at home!"

"I am sorry to hear it," said Gerrard mechanically.

Mrs Jardine looked a little nonplussed. "Of course it is very sad,"

she admitted. "But surely it has its brighter side? The fact is, the General and dear Lady Cinnamond are _everything_ to each other. There is really no place for the poor girl. I confess she has made her mother wear caps like other people--makes them for her herself, I believe--instead of that extraordinary Popish veil--so like a nun's, I call it--though even she has not been able to get her to do anything to her hair." Like most of her contemporaries, Mrs Jardine regarded it as almost indecent to display grey or white hair, and herself wore a "front" which could hardly be considered an attempt at deception, so transparently artificial was it.

"You were saying something about caps?" hazarded Gerrard, as Mrs Jardine remained silent, apparently sunk in contemplation of the persistent defects of Lady Cinnamond's appearance.

"Oh yes, of course. Dear me, what was it? Oh, I remember. Well, you see, though it is very good and loving of her to do it"--Gerrard had to cast his mind back to discover what "it" was--"and must be a great saving of expense, with the Calcutta shops so frightfully dear, and boxes from home quite out of the question--though on the General's pay and allowances, of course---- Still, as I was saying, no parents with any proper feeling would wish a girl to remain single just for that reason, would they? And she has had so many offers--which is only natural in a society like this, with Sir Arthur's position and t.i.tle and everything. It must be a great blow to him, I am sure, this honour conferred on Colonel Antony." Gerrard looked, as he felt, bewildered, not seeing the connection, since Colonel Antony had no marriageable daughter. "Oh, you haven't heard that the dear Colonel has got his K.C.B.? They are all talking about it to-night--it was in the mail that came in this afternoon."

"I have not had time to open any newspapers," said Gerrard wearily. "I am glad to hear it, if the Antonys are pleased."

"Of course a mere worldly distinction of that sort could never make any real difference to dear Colonel Antony--Sir Edmund, I should say." Mrs Jardine's tone was severe. "But as a token of his Sovereign's approbation, it must raise his position among the people here."

"Nothing could ever raise Colonel Antony higher in the minds of the people who really know him," said Gerrard.

"All the more reason that he should have this honour to recommend him to those who do not," retorted Mrs Jardine triumphantly. "That is exactly what I was saying---- Dear me! what was I saying? Oh, I remember; we were discussing Lady Cinnamond's a.s.sumption of superiority--just a little out of place in the case of a foreigner--you agree with me? Well, what I was going to say was, why should Miss Cinnamond, who is not happy at home, refuse so many eligible suitors, if it was not that her heart is already engaged? There! I mustn't bore you any longer. Why, you are looking quite excited! Have I given you just one little tiny crumb of comfort? Don't thank me; doing kindnesses is my only pleasure."

The lavender _moire antique_ squeezed through the doorway with much crackling of unseen starched flounces, but Gerrard had no time to a.n.a.lyse the effect upon himself of the news he had received. Sir Arthur Cinnamond was his next visitor, confirming the news of Colonel Antony's knighthood, and then came Captain Cowper to tell his chief that the acting-Resident was asking for him, and lingering to thank Gerrard, in the name of the whole Ranjitgarh force, for setting on foot such a capital little war as that with Agpur was bound to prove. The officer sent to bring Sher Singh to book could get no satisfaction from him, and was being kept fuming on the Agpur frontier in a most improper way, so that a punitive expedition was a practical certainty, and if Sir Arthur did not take the field in person, his son-in-law meant to get himself attached to some one who did, even if he had to go back to regimental employment.

"Marian is looking for you to take your part in this next syllable, Charles," said a voice in the doorway, and Gerrard looked up with a start to meet Honour's clear eyes. Mrs Jardine's confidences had inspired him with a wild hope that he might find in them something he had not seen there before, but they met his with their usual bright frankness. He ought to have rejoiced, having regard to the compact he had made with himself and with Charteris's memory, but such is the inconsistency of human nature, that he did not.

"Horrid bore!" drawled Captain Cowper. "Who would ever have thought of their hunting me out here? But I shall leave my sister-in-law to amuse you, Gerrard, so you'll be the gainer."

There was no embarra.s.sment in Honour's manner as she took the vacated seat. "I have been so very sorry to hear of your trouble," she said gently, only waiting for Captain Cowper to depart.

She understood, then! Was there any other girl in the world who would have understood--that not the removal of a rival, but the loss of a friend, was the dominant thought in Gerrard's mind? He murmured his thanks with difficulty.

"Would it hurt you to tell me about it?" she asked, and the flood-gates were opened. All the rankling memories which Gerrard could no more have confided to James Antony than that worthy man could have comprehended them if he had, all the unavailing self-reproach--"If I had only done this!" "If I had not said that!"--all the self-depreciation which the persistent dwelling on Charteris's qualities produced naturally in the man who differed so much from him, were poured into Honour's ear.

"And the very last evening I was fool enough to take offence because he saw quicker than I did what was the right thing to be done! Do you think he turned rusty? Not a bit of it. He took it like a brick--actually apologised for offering me advice! There was never any one like him."

"No, I suppose not," said Honour softly. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not ask herself whether Charteris's virtues or Gerrard's account of them had brought them there. She took it for granted that it was the former, and spoke accordingly.

"And the worst of it is, we don't realise what our friends are until we lose them," she murmured.

"No, indeed we don't. One sees one's own unworthiness now, when it is too late--when the remembrance of what he was makes a barrier for ever----"