"What a pretty girl she is."

"Very--of her type."

Vivien was conscious of two emotions--swift, simultaneous as a lightning flash; first a pang over the readiness with which he endorsed her remark, then a heartbeat of relief, for those three words const.i.tuted a whole saving clause.

"You must have seen a great deal of her?"

No sooner uttered than Vivien would have given anything to recall the remark. What construction would he put upon it other than jealousy of this blue-eyed, golden-haired girl, who had several years of youth the advantage over herself?

"That depended upon circ.u.mstances. Nesta Cheriton has a great _penchant_ for the British Army, and the British Army thoroughly reciprocates the predilection. While the British Army was represented at Chirria Bach I saw not much of her, over and above the occasions when one had to meet in ordinary life. While it was unrepresented she seemed to make herself equally happy in going chikor shooting with me. On the whole, I rather like the little girl. She is bright and amusing, and acts, I suppose, as a pa.s.sing tonic to one's jaded and middle-aged spirits."

His tone had been that of absolute and unaffected ease, and now it occurred to him suddenly, and for the first time, that Vivien was putting him through something of a catechism. The moral dissection which he had promised himself in risking a sojourn beneath the same roof with her had already begun, and this was only a phase of it. At such times the old feeling of rankling bitterness would come upon him, and with it a wave of desolation and heart-emptiness. Why had she failed him--she his destined counterpart? Why had she proved so weak under a not very strong ordeal? He had indeed become hard, when he could go through day after day in closest companionship with her, and yet keep on the mask, never once be betrayed into letting down his guard.

One consideration had acted as a salutary cold douche in the event of the smouldering fires of his nature rising too near their restraining rock crust. One day Vivien was telling him all about her uncle and how she came to be keeping house for him. She had done so since her aunt's death, and supposed she would go on doing so. He was such a dear old man, she said--so thoughtful and kind and unselfish, and he had no one to look after him but her. All of which her listener, even from his short opportunity of observation, was inclined to endorse; but the sting lay in the concluding consideration, for it recalled that other time.

In it had lain the pretext for sacrificing him to an imaginary duty. He was not going to risk a repet.i.tion of what he had then undergone. The iron entered deeper and deeper.

Once an incident occurred which nearly availed to shatter and melt it.

Vivien had gone into his room during his absence, as she frequently did, to see if there was not some little touch she could add to its comfort or attractiveness. An object on his table caught her attention. She picked it up and examined it, and her eyes filled. Yet it was only an old tobacco pouch, and a very worn and weather-beaten one at that--so worn and frayed that hardly more than a few threads of the original embroidery still hung to the cover. Then she did an extraordinary thing. Instead of replacing it she took it away with her. That night she sat up late, and lo, in the course of the day, going into his room Campian found that the old battered pouch for which he had hunted high and low was replaced by a beautiful new one, the embroidery of which was a perfect work of art.

"Why did you take so much trouble?" he said when next they met. "You could not have known I had lost the other."

"Is that why we were so glum last night?" she returned, a glad light, struggling with a mischievous one, in her eyes. "Never mind. This is a much better one."

"I loved that one. I would give a great deal to recover it, as you ought to know."

"Wait a moment." She left him and returned almost immediately.

"Here it is--or what is left of it. Now--? What will you give?"

She held it out to him--then drew it back. Her eyes were raised to his.

Her voice was soft and caressing as ever he had heard it in the old days. Just one of those trivial accidents bringing about the most crucial moment in two lives--when, as usual, the most trivial of causes availed utterly to mar its effect. That most trivial of causes was the voice of Colonel Jermyn, followed by the entrance of its jolly possessor.

"Here's the _dak_ just come from Upward. They're all going back to Shalalai the day after to-morrow Campian, and want to know if you've had enough of us yet. If you have they say they are leaving early and you'd better be down at the camp to-morrow night. If you haven't--why--all the better for us."

"The point is whether you haven't had enough of me, Colonel." But while he made the laughing remark his glance travelled round to Vivien's face.

It was one of those moments when her guard was down. The interruption had come so inopportunely. Decidedly the study he had promised himself was bearing rich results.

"Pooh! Of course we haven't. Why, you've only just come. Besides, you can get to Shalalai at any time. That's settled then. But I have an idea. We might go down to Mehriab station and see them off. There are some things I am getting up, and that idiot of a Babu in charge can't send an intelligent answer to any question I write him. It's not a bad sort of ride down there, and we'll kill two birds with one stone. What do you say, Viv?"

"I beg to second it, Uncle Edward. The idea is an extremely good one."

To him who watched it, while not seeming to, there was an entire revelation in Vivien's face during that momentary lifting of the veil.

She was as anxious to prolong the time as--he was. Yes, that is what it amounted to. The experiment, from its coldblooded side, seemed to have failed.

"We shall be up here some weeks longer, Campian"--went on the Colonel--"but of course if you have to go, it is easy enough to get to Shalalai. Meanwhile my boy, as long as you can make yourself happy here we are only too glad."

"Oh, I can do that all right, Colonel. And I'm not tied to time in any way either."

Again that relieved look on Vivien's face. Some weeks! What might not be the result of those weeks was the thought that was in the minds of both of them? What might not transpire within those weeks? Ah, if they had only known.

"By the way there's another item of _kubbar_ in Upward's letter," went on the Colonel, fumbling for that missive. "A _budmash_ named Umar Khan has started out on a Ghazi expedition down Sukkaf way. He and several others rode out along the road and cut down a couple of poor devils of gharri-wallahs. Killed 'em dead as a door nail. There was a _mullah_ in one of the gharris, and they plundered him. He got out a Koran and put it on his head--singing out that he was a _mullah. 'Mullah_ or not,' says Umar Khan--'hand out those seven hundred rupees you've got on board.' And he had to hand them out. Sacrilegious scamps--ha, ha! But if he hadn't been a _mullah_ they'd have cut him up too. Well these _budmashes_ will have to swing for it. They'll soon be run to earth.

Nice country this, eh, Campian?"

"Rather. It seems to me only half conquered, and not that."

"Yes. It's run at a loss entirely. A mere buffer State. We hold it on the principle of grabbing as much as we can and sticking to it, all the world over--and in this particular instance putting as much as we can between the Russians and India."

"And what if Umar Khan is not speedily run to earth?"

"Oh, then he'll knock around a bit and make things generally unpleasant.

Do a little dacoity from time to time. But we are bound to bone him in the long run."

"There's an uncommonly queer closeness in the air this evening," said the Colonel as they were sitting out under the verandah a little later.

"As if there was a storm of sorts working up. Yet there's no sign of thundercloud anywhere. Don't you notice it, Vivien?"

"I think so. It has a dispiriting effect on one, as if something was going to happen."

The sun had gone down in a lurid haze, which was not cloud, and the jagged peaks of the opposite range were suffused in a hot, vaporous afterglow, while the dark depth of juniper forest in the deep, narrow valley seemed very far down indeed. What little air there was came in warm puffs.

"We all seem rather _chup_ this evening," said the Colonel. "Viv, how would it be to play us something lively to wake us up?"

She rose and went inside. Campian could still see her as she sat at the piano, rattling off Gilbert and Sullivan at their liveliest. He could continue the very favourite occupation in which he had been indulging-- that of simply watching her--noting every movement, the turn of the head, the droop of the eyelids, the sweet and perfect grace which characterised her most trivial act. This woman was simply perfect in his sight--his ideal. Yet to all outward intent they were on the easy, friendly terms of two people who merely liked each other and no more.

"Come and have a 'peg,' Campian," said the Colonel presently.

"No thanks--not just now."

"Well, I'm going to," and away he went to the dining room.

Then Campian, sitting there, was conscious of a very strange and startling phenomenon. There was a feeling as though the world were falling away from beneath his feet, together with a dull rumble. There was a clatter of gla.s.s and table ornaments in the drawing room, and he could see Vivien sway and nearly fall from the music-stool. He sprang to his feet to rush to her aid, and seemed hardly able to preserve his own balance. Both staggering they met in the doorway.

"Oh, Howard, what is it?" she cried, seizing in both of hers the hand which he had stretched out to help her.

"Quick. Come outside," was all he said. They were able to walk now, and he drew her outside the verandah, right into the open. Then again came that cavernous rumble, and the earth fairly reeled beneath their feet.

"That's what all this heaviness in the air has been about," he said, as the ground felt firm again. "A shock of earthquake."

"Is it over? Will there be any more?" she gasped, her white face and dilated eyes turned up to his. She still held his hands, in her sudden terror, casting all considerations of conventionality to the winds.

"I don't think so," he answered, a very tremble of tenderness in his voice as he strove to rea.s.sure her. "These shocks generally go in twos or threes, like waves. And even if there are any more we are all right outside."

Here the humorous element a.s.serted itself, in the shape of Colonel Jermyn choking and coughing in the verandah. In his hand he held a tall tumbler, nearly empty.

"Look at this, Campian," he cried. "A man can't even have a 'peg' in his own house without the whole world rising up against it. Flinging it in his face, and half choking him, by George."

"Some awful big teetotaler must have gone below, Colonel, to raise racket enough to knock your 'peg' out of your hand. I hope you'll take warning and forswear 'pegs.'"

"Ha, ha! Well, Viv? Badly scared, child?"