A Galahad Of The Creeks; The Widow Lamport Part 12

"G'home at once," he shouted, "or I'll Jimmy you--Jimmy, indeed.

G'home, you----"

He checked himself, and followed his trembling daughters to his brownberry, for he was a "carriage man."

This unexpected scene withdrew all attention from the widow and her companion, and when, the princ.i.p.al actors in it had gone, all thought of Halsa Lamport, for the present, vanished from the minds of the church-goers, whose ways home were full of prophecies on the consequences of Mr. Sarkies's folly.

CHAPTER II.

A CUP OF TEA.

The Rigaum Methodist Tabernacle was in a suburb of Bombay called by that name. It was a small oblong building, washed a pale blue, and embedded in a nest of cocoa palms. To the right a Jain temple raised its gold-tipped cupola, and the chimes of the bell which called together the Christian worshippers of the chapel were often drowned in the discordant shriek of the conch horn, the shrill blast of trumpets, and the incessant beating of drums.

This had resulted in a lawsuit, which ended in leaving the parties much as they were before, except that it was a virtual triumph for the heathen, and his uncanny rejoicings on the Sabbath became more intolerable than ever.

So strong indeed was the feeling on the point that Elder Bullin concluded an extempore prayer one day with the words, "_And we pray Thee, O Merciful Father! to teach us to forgive our enemies; but to send down the lightning of thy wrath on the heathen, that they, the revilers and mockers of thy worship, may burn in torment without end--Amen_."

With the exception of the pastor, John Galbraith, and Halsa Lamport, the congregation consisted of Anglo-Indians and Eurasians of the middle and lower cla.s.ses, the hereditary office hands of the Indian government. The church and the congregation were the remains of a wave of religious enthusiasm that had pa.s.sed over Bombay some years ago.

This originated with an American evangelist, who sought the East to carry, as he said, "the glad tidings to the heathen white."

The revivalist met for a time with a success beyond his hopes, and established at least a dozen churches which were filled with devout worshippers. When the "Bishop," as they loved to call him, left to return home, matters were apparently on a firm basis; but in a few years the zeal he inspired died away, and the light burned but in a few places, one of which was in the chapel at Rigaum. Here, at any rate, it seemed to burn almost as brightly as in the palmy days of the Bishop, and there was no doubt that this was due to the pastor.

By no means a learned man, yet with a sympathetic manner and a fund of quiet humour that attracted all who came under its influence, Galbraith was enabled to hold his flock together when their naturally flighty nature and mutual jealousies would have driven them to dissolve with curses.

The pastor lived in a small house adjoining the church, from which it was separated by a brick wall. A narrow gate allowed a pa.s.sage from the chapel enclosure to the "Manse," as it was called. In the little plot of ground before the house Galbraith had tried to cultivate a garden, but his efforts were not particularly successful. Nothing would grow here except cocoa palms. There was an everlasting haze of soft dust in the air. The people were accustomed to it, but on a stranger the effect was suffocating. One felt choked in this spot where no pure air ever penetrated the wall of palms. It was never really cool, but a damp pall of dust hung over everything. On the morning we speak of Galbraith rose at an early hour, and, sitting in the small portico of his house, called for a cup of tea. After a little time his Goanese servant appeared, bearing a tray in his hands, on which was a tea-pot, a cup and saucer, with an electro-plated spoon lying beside it; there was a toast also, set in a drunken fashion in a rack.

Manuel's appearance was not attractive, as he shuffled along with his burden, the ends of his toes stuck into a pair of slippers which clicked under his feet. He placed the tea things down on the small table beside Galbraith with a sulky slam that set the spoon twittering in the saucer, and said--

"Master's tea ready."

The pastor poured himself out a cup, and looked for the milk and sugar. There was none. "Boy," said he, "where is the milk and the sugar?"

"Yessar," and Manuel disappeared into the house. "It's very odd,"

mused Galbraith; "Manuel has been with me nearly two years now, and he persists in not bringing milk and sugar with my morning tea. I must really speak to him--perhaps it is a judgment on me for employing a follower of the Scarlet Woman." He stirred the tea he had poured out, and tasted it, but set it down with a wry face. "The old Adam is still strong within me," he said with a half-smile. "I can not bear tea alone."

In the meantime Manuel reached the back of the house and looked round for the goat he had forgotten to milk. The goat was there, in the veranda, and at sight of him she fled toward the temple, the Goanese in hot pursuit.

"Jesu Maria!" he exclaimed as he seized her at last. "But thou art accursed among beasts--stand still, pig, and be milked."

He squeezed a certain amount of milk into a jug, and, giving the goat a parting kick, ran back into the house, the jug held at arm's-length in front of him.

On a sideboard was a small gla.s.s bowl, in which there were a few lumps of sugar. Manuel transferred one to his mouth, and then taking up the basin in his disengaged hand hastened into the portico. He placed the milk and sugar on the table, and silently took up a position behind his master's back.

"Manuel," began Galbraith.

"Yessar."

"Why is it that I have always to ask you about the milk and sugar.

Negligent in these little matters, I fear that you neglect also your higher duties."

Manuel ran his fingers uneasily through his oily locks, and burst out, "Nosar--confess, sar--reglar."

"Confess!" exclaimed Galbraith, roused at having his servant's religious belief thrust before him; "confess to an idol."

"Nosar--confess to Father St. Francis."

"Pish!" and Galbraith helped himself to a fresh cup of tea, but said no more.

When he had finished, the Goanese removed the tea things, and the pastor remained sitting in his easy-chair. He would have liked to smoke; in fact, an almost intolerable longing seized him, but he thrust it down.

"I will not desecrate the Sabbath," he said. He would not even look at his flowers; but after staring for a few minutes at the cheerless walls of the meeting-house, rose and went in.

CHAPTER III.

A BILLET-DOUX.

As Galbraith went into the house he noticed the dreary aspect of the rooms. He laid his hand for a moment on a small side-table, and when he lifted his fingers off their impression was distinctly visible on the dusty surface. A picture on the wall before him had slipped from its moorings, and hung in a helpless sort of way from a bra.s.s-headed nail. The pastor mounted a chair, and set the picture straight, wiping the gla.s.s carefully with his pocket-handkerchief. As he stepped down he called to mind a remark made by good-natured Mrs. Bunny.

"You want a wife," she said to him one day, when he complained of some domestic trouble, in which Manuel had played a princ.i.p.al part. Her eyes rested, as she said this, on Halsa Lamport, who was standing in the veranda attending to a canary. Galbraith followed the glance, and although he smiled a little, and parried the speech, Mrs. Bunny's words set him thinking seriously. And now the little episode of the milk and sugar and the untidy room brought Mrs. Bunny's words back again. It struck him that Mrs. Lamport was very kind and gracious to him. The recollection of their last meeting, and the slight yet warm pressure of her hand which had sent the blood dancing through his veins, came vividly before him.

He reached his dressing-room, and looked at the gla.s.s. The few gray hairs were not unbecoming, and he was a well set up man--not bad looking too, he thought, and then--he blushed like a girl at his own folly, and proceeded to dress. Service was at eleven. It was now only eight, so that Galbraith had three hours at his disposal. There was, of course, a Sunday-school cla.s.s, but this was under the special care of Elder Bullin. It was on such mornings that the elder was in his element. He insisted on a verbatim repet.i.tion by heart of a chapter of the Bible by every member of his small cla.s.s, and in case of failure--three mistakes only were allowed--he painted in glowing colours the horrors of eternal torment that awaited the culprit, when his earthly life closed. He would go so far as to definitely state that the shadowy wings of Death were at that moment hovering over the cla.s.s, and it often happened that a small member was so overcome with terror that he had to retire bellowing l.u.s.tily. Fortnightly the elder gave the cla.s.s an extempore lecture of vast length, and on the following day his two daughters were required to write this out from memory, a labour watered with their tears.

Galbraith completed his toilet, and went into his study to touch up his sermon. The text he had chosen was, "And G.o.d hath both raised up the Lord, and will also raise up us by his own power." They were strong, healthful words, but the pastor was not quite certain that he realized their meaning. He was of those who judge of great things by comparing them with little things. He had found that small vices were extremely hard, sometimes impossible, to get rid of, notwithstanding the most a.s.siduous application to the Deity. He almost despaired at times of one of the primal doctrines of his sect--the direct intervention of Providence in the affairs of this world. He was by turns full of certainty and full of doubt. He was willing to concede that the all-seeing eye marked the sparrow falling, but for the life of him he could not help asking himself why the sparrow was allowed to come to disaster.

His profession and education taught him that such a question was almost a deadly sin, and then would come a long fight between the man's religion and his reasoning powers.

He ran his eyes over the text at the head of his sermon with a look of doubt in them, and while doing so his hand unconsciously stole to the corner of his table, where a brown cherry-wood pipe lay snugly on a fur tobacco-bag. The touch of his fingers against the satin surface of the wood aroused him in a moment to a sense of what he was about to do. He looked at his outstretched hand, the pipe held between his fingers, and then burst out laughing. A moment after his face became grave. "The sparrow was not allowed to fall this time, at any rate,"

he said, as he put down the pipe and lifted up a small Bible. He turned to the chapter whence he had taken his text, and read it attentively to the end. He went on to the next chapter. It was that in which St. Paul lectures the Corinthians on their conjugal duties. John Galbraith read this slowly, his eyebrows now and then contracting into a slight frown. While he read the face of Halsa Lamport seemed to come between him and the pages, and unseen lips to murmur her name in his ears. There was no use in resisting any longer. In fact, he had never made any resistance, but from the time of Mrs. Bunny's speech mentally a.s.sociated the widow in all his actions; perhaps, too, the defects in his domestic arrangements had their effect, although he may not have been conscious of the full extent of the power.

"I'll risk it," he said, with sudden resolution, as he pulled a piece of writing paper toward himself and seized a pen. But it was easier said than done, and John ran through a good dozen sheets before he decided on what to say. What he did say was this. He wrote to Halsa Lamport asking for an interview that day as he had that to tell her which was of the greatest importance to himself. The note was very brief, and contained nothing more. He folded and addressed the letter as Manuel came in to announce breakfast. Manuel had smartened himself up. He had on a clean white linen jacket. His hair was more resplendent than ever.

Galbraith felt that breakfast was out of the question. He was feverishly eager now for the time to come when he should see Halsa, and hear from her "ay" or "nay."

"I don't think I'll have any breakfast to-day; and look here, Manuel, take this note to Mr. Bunny's house, and give it to Mrs. Lamport.

Bring the answer back before I go to church."

Now the Bunnys lived some little distance away from the Manse, and Manuel was not fond of walking. He tried to put off the evil hour by an affectation of concern. He took the note from Galbraith, and said--

"Yessar--master not ill?"

"No--no," replied Galbraith; "take the note at once, please."