And now Jack Raymond, of all people, had found her out; found her out altogether! She could see that in his eyes, hear it in his voice as he said--

'Whoever made it, it is charming. This is our dance, Miss Drummond, I believe, but Lady Arbuthnot wants us to desecrate the past. I mean,' he went on after a slight pause, 'that we are to take Jerry to see some dreadful people dance the Lancers!'

'There are some pasts which do not admit of desecration,' put in Lady Arbuthnot sharply, 'and that is one of them.'

'Neither to be desecrated, nor forgotten,' he added. 'Come along, Jerry!'

As they pa.s.sed out into the garden Lesley remained silent.

She was conscious once again of not understanding the whole drift of the words which had just been spoken. And this time her temper rose with the certainty that she was mixed up in them; so, after a bit, she frowned and said point blank--

4 Tell me, please, why Lady Arbuthnot chose this dress for me. I am certain you know, don't you?'

For a moment he was staggered; then he laughed. 'Why,' he echoed, 'have you forgotten, so soon, that Greensleeves are your racing colours?

Bonnie Lesley's colours. I'm not so ungrateful as that, Miss Drummond; but then the money I won on her is next my heart at the present moment.

Fact, I a.s.sure you; for I always carry my betting-book in my breast-pocket so as to be handy!'

She told herself he was incorrigible; had, in fact, almost gone on to the faint blame--which in a woman's mind covers all possible breaches of the ten commandments--of thinking he was '_not at all a nice man_,'

when Jerry, as he had already done more than once, prevented quarrel by such a tight grip on both the hands he held, that alienation seemed impossible to them.

'Oh dear?' he sighed, his wide eyes on the couples that were waiting in front of the Residency for the native infantry band, which had been hastily summoned for the _al-fresco_ dance, to strike up. 'I do wish there wasn't any nasty old past to come and make it all make-believe, when it might be real; 'cos it is a deader, you know, and we're alive?'

Jack Raymond looked over to the Greensleeves and laughed. 'Sound philosophy, Jerry,' he said. 'If it was real, what would you do?

Jerry looked round thoughtfully. Beyond the lawns the cemetery gate showed dimly, with Budlu's white figure crouched beside it.

'Kill Budlu, or take him prisoner, I 'spect,' he replied gravely, ''cos the band, you know, _might_ be loyal.'

At that moment it crashed into the opening bars of the Lancers with all the go and rhythm which the natives put into dance music.

'You're top!' came one voice; 'No! you are,' answered a second; 'Oh! do begin, some one!' protested another. So, with a laugh, a scramble, a confusion, a dozen or more of dancing feet trod the gra.s.s which had grown out of blood stains. But the confusion ended in order, so that the pink tarlatane was in its place to be twirled by Hodson's Horse, and join the clapping of hands which ended the figure.

There was something weird in the sight out there, with the flower-beds set with coloured lights, the Chinese lanterns swinging in the trees, and the shadowy pile of the Residency lying--more felt than seen--with its solitary tower and drooping flag.

'Inside! outside! Outside! inside!' came the reckless gay voices after a time.

In the far distance a fire balloon from some wedding in the city, sailed up into the sky above the trails of smoke rising from the torches which outlined the boundary of the Garden Mound. Budlu's figure, watching the graves of heroes, showed closer in, then the band busy with cornets and oboes, and the masquerading figures with that gleam of pink and white among them, watched by Chris as he stood half hidden in the shadow of the ruins.

'Outside! inside! Inside! outside!'

So, with another crash of the band, the endless circle of men and women caught at each other's hands as if in that touch lay all things necessary to salvation.

'Inside and outside,' echoed Jack Raymond grimly. 'Yes! Brian O'Lynn's breeches were comparatively sane. But we are all more or less mad to-night, my Lady Greensleeves. Upon my soul, Jerry, you, as the British Boy, are the only one in the place fit to carry on the British rule! so come along and have some supper, young man, before you go to bed. The champagne is A1--that's my department, Miss Drummond; it's all _I'm_ fit for.'

But Jerry, who had let go their hands to step nearer the Residency as if he saw something, stopped suddenly and pointed.

'Mr. Waymond,' he said, in a loud voice, 'who's that?'

'Who's who?'

'Him!'--

The child stood pointing into the shadows, his eyes wide, his whole face expectant.

Jack Raymond caught him up by the arms with a laugh, and swung him up to his shoulder. 'Don't be creepy, old man!--there's no one there,' he said, as he turned back to the club.

But Jerry was insistent. He had seen some one, he protested; and brought in a long tale of what Budlu knew, and every one knew, including his _syce_ and his _chupra.s.si_, to prove that he had. Why!

Budlu himself had seen the ghost several days, and it meant something just 'orful bad, for there didn't use to be no ghosts in the Mound except Jan-Ali-shan.'

'I wouldn't let him talk so much to Budlu and that lot, if I were you,'

said Jack Raymond, aside to Lesley; 'he takes it too hard, dear little chap.'

'I can't prevent it,' retorted Lesley rather resentfully. 'You see he has to go out and come in through the Mound, and then he is such a favourite. The natives simply worship him. I can't think why.'

Jack Raymond glanced at the st.u.r.dy little figure which was now tackling roast turkey and ham in blissful forgetfulness of ghosts.

'I expect they know,' he replied briefly, 'and they are not often wrong.'

The Thakoor of Dhurmkote, at any rate, had no doubts; for an hour after, Jerry--under responsible escort--had been sent home across the Garden to bed, Jack Raymond, having strolled beyond the line of lights and light feet to enjoy a quiet cigar, found the two of them, with an admiring tail--composed of the responsible escort and the old n.o.bleman's retinue--going the round of the batteries, while Jerry explained them solemnly to the old warrior in English.

'And we beat 'em here too, sir; boys like me beat all their biggest men, right here.'

'_Wah! wah!_' chorussed the tail approvingly, while the stern old face melted into smiles, with a '_Suchch mera beta suchch!_' (Truth, my son, truth!)

'Hullo! you young scamp!' said Jack Raymond, coming up; 'not gone to bed yet?--be off with you at once.'

But the Thakoor laid a hand on the arm of authority, not in pet.i.tion, rather in blame.

'Lo! friend of mine,' he said chidingly, 'why is there no son of thine to match this son of heroes?' What hast thou been doing all these years?'

The Eastern reproof of the old for those who leave their duty to the race undone, fell on Jack Raymond's Western ears and held them unexpectedly.

Why had he no son, in whom to live again? The answer could not be avoided--because the woman he loved had jilted him, and he had not chosen----

Not chosen what? To do his duty?

He smiled. 'Lo! friend of mine,' he answered lightly, 'such things are chance. My son might have been a coward.'

But as, after having seen Jerry marched off in the direction of bed, and bidden good-bye to the Thakoor--who was far more sleepy than the child--he strolled on with his cigar, he knew quite well that the excuse was a false one. The thought of inheritance, either of heroism or cowardice, did not enter into the question with Englishmen and Englishwomen as a rule. Marriage was a purely personal matter. There, in fact, lay the fundamental difference between the East and West. That was what made it impossible for the two races----

The sound of voices in anger made him pause. He had come back to the verge of lights, to the limit of the dancing feet, and before him rose the ruins of what in the old days had been the hospital. The roof had fallen in, but the marble flooring, raised above the levels outside by a half-sunk foundation of cellars, was still in almost perfect repair.

And here, after supper--the _al-fresco_ Lancers having proved so great a success--the mutiny group had chosen to improvise a ball-room. Such things are easily compa.s.sed in India, where an army of sweepers and servants appear in a moment. Once swept, it needed little garnishing; for the great wreaths of coral bignonia garlanded it from end to end, and even flung themselves across it here and there like rafters. As for lights, a few Chinese lanterns, torn from the trees and swung among the flowers, were sufficient for dancing; and who wanted more? Not these masqueraders, with whom, as the hours grew towards dawn, the fun had become fast and furious. The club-house, indeed, was now almost deserted, except by the line of carriages, and even this was lessening every minute. Supper itself appeared to have migrated to the open during Jack Raymond's stroll, for, to his intense disgust, he saw a table--with champagne bottles showing prominent--behind the flitting forms of the dancers; flitting unsteadily, unevenly, for they were trying the old valse, and a woman's voice rose above the laughter.

'Oh! do try and remember it is a _valse a deux temps_--you can't help treading on people's toes if you don't!'

Jack Raymond had flung away his cigar at the sight of the table, and was going forward to object, forgetful of those angry voices, when they rose again close beside him.