'I insist on your coming home, Viva!--Mr. Lucanaster, sir, let my wife go!'

'd.a.m.n!' said Jack Raymond under his breath. Ha grasped the situation in a second and saw its hopelessness.

'Go 'way, sir--go 'way,' came in Mr. Lucanaster's voice; 'don't be foolish.' There was a faint elation as well as elision in the words; no more, but it seemed to make them sound more contemptuous.

'Yes; don't be foolish, Chris. I'm going to dance this valse with Mr.

Lucanaster. You can go home if you like.'

The woman's voice had the note of defiance in it which means danger; but Chris did not recognise the fact. He had been working himself up to this revolt all the evening, and now, having begun it, he went on in strict accordance to what he had settled with himself was the proper and dignified course to pursue.

'Sir,' he said, drawing himself up and speaking with great deliberation, 'you are a scoundrel, and I shall take the earliest opportunity of allowing you to prove the contrary if you choose. In the meantime, pray do not let us quarrel before ladies. I request you to unhand my wife.'

It was not only a man who laughed, it was a woman; and at the sound Jack Raymond swore under his breath again, and slipped towards the voices.

The gleam of pink and white and the 'Ring-tailed Roarer' must evidently have been sitting out in a small summer-house, where Chris had found them; and Mr. Lucanaster must have risen and tried to pa.s.s out with the pink tarlatane, for Chris stood barring the way boldly enough. But that laugh was fatal to him. It brought back in a rush the sense of his own helplessness, his inexperience, and with it came the self-pity which is ever so close to tears.

'Viva!' he began, 'surely you----'

Mr. Lucanaster waved his hand lightly, as he might have waved a beggar away.

'Don't be an idiot, my good man. What the deuce have you got to do with an English lady?--Come, Jennie, this two-time valse is ripping.'

'Excuse me,' said Jack Raymond, stepping forward; 'but Mrs. Davenant is engaged to me. If you don't think so, Lucanaster, we can settle the point by and by, but for the present I advise you not to have a row. It won't pay.'

The a.s.sertion varied not at all from that made by poor Chris; but the method was different, and Mr. Lucanaster fell back on bl.u.s.ter.

'You're d--d impertinent, sir; but, of course, if Mrs. Davenant----'

'It will not pay Mrs. Davenant to waste time either,' interrupted Jack coolly, holding out his arm, 'especially as she is so fond of dancing.

It has been a capital ball, hasn't it?' he added, as if nothing unusual had occurred, when, with a half-apologetic look at her partner, she accepted the proffered arm, and they pa.s.sed on. 'A pity it is over, but--_perhaps_--you _may_ have others like it. Davenant! if you will find the dogcart, I will take your wife to get her cloak, and I daresay she would like a cup of soup before driving. I know it is ready.'

When they were alone, she tried a little bl.u.s.ter too, but he met it with a smile. 'My dear lady,' he said, 'it only wants a very little to kick Lucanaster out of the club, so please look at the business unselfishly. It is always a pity to risk one's position for a trifle.'

As he handed Mrs. Chris into the dogcart, duly fortified by hot soup, Chris tried to wring his hand and say something grateful, with the result that Jack Raymond felt he had been a fool to interfere, since the catastrophe must come sooner or later.

The sooner the better. It was always a mistake to prolong the agony in anything.

He felt unusually low in his mind, and so, after having waited to the very last as in duty bound, to turn any would-be revellers decently out of the club, he lit another cigar--his first one having been interrupted--and wandered out into the Garden Mound again. Most of the lights were out, only a belated lantern or two swung fitfully among the trees, but a crescent moon was showing, and there was just that faint hint of light in the sky which tells of dawn to come. He sat down on the step of the granite obelisk, which held on all four sides the close-ranged names of those who had given their lives to keep the English flag flying, and, full of cynical disgust at much he had seen that evening, asked himself if Nushapore was likely to bring such heroism again to the storehouse of the world's good deeds?

Perhaps; but even so, it would have to be something very different from that past story,--something that Englishmen and women could not monopolise. For if, after forty years of government, our rule had failed to win over the allegiance of men--like Chris Davenant, for instance--would not that, in itself, be a condemnation?

And had it won such allegiance? With that scene fresh in his memory, Jack Raymond doubted if it were possible.

Truly the conditions had changed, indeed! As he had said, Brian O'Lynn's breeches were not in it for topsyturveydom!

But with the thought came also the memory of what he had said about Jerry and the carrying on of British rule; and with that came the memory of what the Thakoor had said about the boy.

Dear little chap!

A great tenderness swept through him for the child. And for the child's mother, the woman who had refused----?

The question was not answered.

He started up--incredulous--then set off running, calling as he ran, "Jerry! Jerry! What on earth are you up to? Jerry! Jerry!"

For in the dimness that was not quite darkness, he had seen a little figure running like a hare between the bushes, a little figure in an Eton suit with a gleam of white collar.

"Jerry! Jerry! you little fool! pull up, will you!" There was no answer, and he had lost sight of the boy; but, as he ran on, the sound of other footsteps behind him made him look round and pause. For it was my Lady Greensleeves running too. He could see the "crimson stockings all o' silk, and pumps white as is the milk," as they sped over the gra.s.s.

"Jerry!" she gasped. "Where is he? What is it?"

"On ahead somewhere! G.o.d knows! I told you we were all mad," he answered as he ran on. The flowering bushes, growing thick upon the lawns near the cemetery, hid his quarry; but suddenly, on the double back towards the Residency, the child's figure showed, still running like a hare. In the light of a Chinese lantern that flared up as candle met paper, his face looked dogged.

'Whoo hoop! gone away! Stick to 'im, sir! stick to 'im--

"For we'll all go a-'unting to-day! we'll all go a-'unting to-day!"

trolled a new voice, and two more pairs of running feet joined the chase as Jan-Ali-shan and Budlu appeared from the cemetery.

'What, in the devil's name, is it all about, Ellison,' called Jack Raymond. 'Are we all mad? What is it?'

'The ghost, sir,' called back Jan-Ali-shan, 'thet's w'ot it is. Me and Budlu was watchin' for 'im, for 'e 's bin takin' away my charakter, sir, an' stealin' from the poor an' needy. But Master Jeremiah must a'

seen 'im fust, thet's 'ow 'tis.'

'He was wide awake in his bed when I came in,' panted my Lady Greensleeves, 'talking about wicked men pretending, and I told him to go to sleep--he must have got up and dressed. Jerry! Jerry! Stop! Come back, do you hear!'

She might as well have called to the dead. The child's figure showed on another double, and before him--yes, before him, just rounding another bush was a ghostly figure in a white uniform.

'By Jove!' exclaimed Jack Raymond, ignoring his faint feeling of creepiness. 'There is some one. This is getting exciting. Come on!

don't let him slip through.'

'Whoo hoop! gone away! Tantivy, tantivy, tantivy!' sang Jan-Ali-shan.

So round the Residency, and back towards the hospital where the _valse a deux temps_ had been danced, Lesley, her green sleeves flying like flags, ran blindly, to pull up in a heap among the little group of balked faces, stopped by the wall of the half-sunk cellars below the marble dancing floor. A wall all garlanded down to the ground with bougainvillea and bignonia.

'He's here! the ghost's here!' wailed Jerry. 'I sor' him from the window when I was watchin', lest he should pull down the flag. Oh, Mr.

Waymond, please catch him!'

Jack Raymond, who was feeling below the trailing-flowers, gave a short exclamation. 'There's a door here. Have you a match about you, Ellison?'

'Lord love you!' replied the loafer reproachfully, 'I ain't such a fool, sir, as to go ghost-'unting without a lucifer. Here you are, sir!'

The next instant, beneath the creepers that parted like a curtain, an open door showed in the match light; and in the darkness within was something.--What?--

'What a horrid smell!' said Lesley, as Jack Raymond took a step inside and held up the match.

'Begging your parding, miss,' put in Jan-Ali-shan, 'it's a dead rat, that's w'ot it is--"_once known, loved for ever, oh! my darling_."'