The Mercy of the Lord Part 6

Mahadeo's usually gentle face had taken on a stony stare that held in it something of limitless power; while Nat Gwynne's anger was almost obscured by sheer disgust at having to keep his hands off another man's servant.

"By G.o.d!" he cried. "It's lucky for you, you pig, that I'm not your master--but--but I'll try to be--I'll buy this big brute when they sell the bankrupt State up next month, and I'll buy you, curse you, and I'll ..."

"Do hold your tongue, Gwynne," I said to him in a low voice, for his temper was notorious, and once he lost control over himself he would often behave like a madman. As, indeed, he had every right to be, since the record of the Gwynnes of Garthgwynne was a black one.

Mahadeo, however, supplied the return to calm.

"The Huzoor is _mast_," he said to me, rapidly in low contemptuous Hindustani, turning the while to sit, immovable as ever, a mere head and trunk of a man, all else being hidden by the elephant's great shields of ears. "He is as the beasts that perish. And Ganesh, too, nears his time of power--" he pointed to the great head he bestrode where, oozing apparently from a slight hollow in the skin a few drops of ichor showed, half hardened into amber, "so let those who would harm him--or _his friends_ beware!"

But there was nothing of which to be beware thereinafter, for all became peace. How hot the sun was! And the guns, too! Almost too hot to hold. But how cool it was in the camp down in a mango-grove beside a tank with great cane brakes stretching away into the stars under the moonlight! And how peaceful! How one slept, and slept, and slept, drowsed to dreamlessness by the great peace of the immovable shadows, the greater peace of the light behind them....

Ye powers above! What was that? Even now, remembering it, all was as it had seemed then. Shadow on light, light on shadow ... a curse, a cry ... something young and slim fleeing, half in light, half in shadow!

Then a sudden trumpet, a rattle as of chained front feet, one little sob....

How steadily the moonlight shone through the branches on that small upturned face which was all Ganesh's feet had spared.

"Who? What?" I gasped, uncomprehending, staring stupidly at Mahadeo on his knees beside the dead girl, at Gwynne, still dressed, the b.u.t.tons on his mess jacket glittering like diamonds, his face all working with horror and dismay. But there was no room for anything but the old man's voice, quiet, restrained:

"She was my granddaughter, Huzoor. But a light thing. She must have gone too near the King of Elephants, being as this slave said, near to his time of power. What then? _It is the wisdom, of our Lord Ganesh!

The wisdom of Sri Ganesh!_"

The sound of his voice died away softly, and the wind carried it further, and further, and further....

Such an odd wind! Soft, warm, with a faint perfume in it, blowing on my hands, my face. And behind it a familiar sighing sound with the echo of a chuckle in it....

Was it possible? I started up, my brain in a whirl. Did I, or did I not see in the moonbeam which stole through a c.h.i.n.k in the tent flap, something sinuous, that curved and bent caressingly? And beyond it, where the flap divided, was or was that not a rough image of the Elephant Headed G.o.d of Wisdom painted in hot ochres on an elephant's fore front? I was out of the blankets in a second, flinging back the tent flaps with a delirious laugh. Aye! It was true! Earth and air alike seemed blocked by a huge ma.s.s of flesh that quivered all over with delight. Come! this was something like a fever dream! To have an Indian Rajah's pad elephant to ride on--to go whither you would for a fresh breeze--to cool your brain.

"_Baito_, Ganesh! _Baito!_" I cried, giving the familiar order; but the next instant my vaingloriousness ended in a shiver, almost of fear, as the brute obeyed, sinking noiselessly and laying its trunk, curled round to protect itself against injury, ready for me to mount.

Scarcely knowing what I did I caught familiarly at the big drooping ears, I felt the trunk beneath my feet tilted gingerly to aid me, and there I was, my head reeling madly, in the old familiar place!

But around me? Around me half Wales, bathed in broad moonlight, lay peaceful; with, in the distance, a faint shimmer telling of the sea--the far sea that still seemed to sound in my ears as if, indeed, I lay upon its very sh.o.r.e listening to the break and burden of the waves which came from far away--so very far away.

I think the effort must have made me relapse into unconsciousness, for the next thing I remember is finding myself propped up by pillows in the howdah, and hearing a familiar voice break in upon the ceaseless fall of the waves which filled my ears.

And from the voice I gathered vaguely that it was not a dream at all.

This was indeed Ganesh, who had been sold because of his great height to an English showman, and this was no other than old Mahadeo, who would not leave his charge, and had come over the black water, also, where there was nothing good to be had save rum; rum that kept the cold out on these chill September nights when Ganesh had to do his marches from town to town, since the sight of an elephant might frighten the traffic by day. There was evidently some of that rum still in the old man's voice as he chid Ganesh glibly for having been restive and thrown his unsteady _mahout_ on the road. But then had not the animal always loved the Huzoor, even as his master? And must he not have nosed him out as he pa.s.sed, the Lord of Elephants having, as ever, a scent as of rose gardens? Which was as well, since now the Huzoor would be able to get a doctor-_sahib_ and medicine....

I tried to understand, but it was hard to get at anything with fever raging in one's brain, while the rhythmic roll of the elephant's pace as we lilted away over half Wales seemed to blend with the fall of those waves from very far away. Once I remember asking how many couple of snipe we had killed. After that Mahadeo furtively brought out a bottle and gave me something fiery which seemed to do me good, though he muttered to himself that he could but do his best--his was not the wisdom of Sri Ganesh.

"You--you shouldn't say that to me, you--you old fool," I murmured, weakly. "You should say it as you said to--to--to Gwynne-_sahib_--Gwynne-_sahib_, who is going to be married to-morrow--don't you know? Such a pretty girl--such a very pretty girl--such a poor, pretty girl...."

I don't know quite what I said; I am glad, indeed, not to be able to remember, but I have a vague recollection of becoming a trifle maudlin, and finally of pointing out, amid a cloud-like shadow of trees that lay on the far horizon, the position--or thereabouts--of Garthgwynne, whither the young bride was to be led the next evening.

Now, in all this, as I recount it from a blurred, fever-stricken memory, allowance must be made for illusion. I don't know if it really happened, I can only vouch for my belief that I actually saw and did these things. I think now, therefore, that I fell asleep, always with that recurring fall of distant waves in my ear, until I woke suddenly to a loud hilarious burst of half-drunken laughter.

"Stop him! Hie! Gone away! h.e.l.lo! Gwynne! Pity the bride! If you don't go to bed there'll be no wedding day! Yoicks! Poor devil! wants to escape the halter. Hie! You there! Best man! You're bound to bring him up sober."

We were in the deep shadow of the famous cedar trees, and one look at the old house beyond the lawn was enough for recognition. Yes! it was Plas Garthgwynne, favoured of picture postcards, favoured of wild, wicked romance and legend. It was all blazing with lights, so, despite the waning of the moon, I could see--cl.u.s.tering at the door and dispersed over the gravel sweep--the mad rush of Gwynne of Garthgwynne's last bachelor party as it tumbled tipsily in chase of a reeling figure that came straight towards us across the lawn to lose itself in the opposite shadows.

And then a hard feminine voice dominated the uproar:

"Leave him alone, you fools! The night air will sober him; and if it doesn't, there's no hurry to carry on the breed."

Something of brutal truth behind the brutal coa.r.s.eness of the remark fell like a wet blanket over the half-fuddled guests; some of them picked themselves up moodily from the gravel, others found stability from friends, and so they drifted in unsteadily, dominated once more by that hard, feminine, unwomanly voice a.s.serting that if he didn't crawl back to burrow in a quarter-of-an-hour, she'd send the butler to look for him.

And thereinafter came quiet; while one by one the glittering windows of the house sank to darkness.

And yet it was not dark, after all, surely? Or was there a curious halo of light emanating from old Mahadeo's head; a halo which distorted him somehow, which piled his low turban into a high tiara, and made his nose show long, so long--almost as long as the Elephant-Faced G.o.d-of-Wisdom ... in the Indian shrines....

Ah! There he was!...

Gwynne of Garthgwynne, standing on a bit of open beyond the shadow--behind him a grey shimmer of mere set thick with water lilies--his legs very wide apart, his watch in his hand--it had some electric appliance about it, and the feeble light streaming upwards showed his face full of hard, soul-revealing lines. What a face!--the face of a devil let loose--set free from the fetters of conventional life.

"Two o'clock," he muttered. "Well! whats'h a--matter. Sh'upposin' am drunk she'll have to put up--Gwynne Garthgwynne, d--mn her--my wife--mother of Gwynne's-Garth ..."

"Forward, Sri Ganesh!" The order came soft but swift, and we were out of the shadows. What was it out of the shadows, also--out of the Dim Shadows which shroud Life in the Beginning and the End, which caught me irresistibly, making me say sharply as one who has waited long, "Come along, Gwynne! do--there's a good fellow."

For an instant surprise seemed to struggle with satisfaction in his drink-sodden brain. The tall, heavy figure swayed, lurched. I could see its every detail, the very b.u.t.tons on the mess jacket--worn doubtless out of bravado this last evening of bachelorhood--shone, as they had done that night years ago amid the shadow and shine of the mango-tope; for a radiance seemed to have sprung from earth and sky in which nothing could be hidden.

Then suddenly came his old reckless, half-insane burst of laughter.

"Come," he echoed, drunkenly, "Why--why--shno't? Whatsh' larks--chursh, fl'rs joll'--lit'--bride--no bridegroom!--joll'--good'--larks'h, eh!

Off to Phildelp'ia in the mornin'--see th'other one--joll'--lit' one.

_Bait_, you pig, Ganesh! _Bait!_"

It all pa.s.sed like a flash of lightning. The elephant was down and up again, and the last thing I remember was hearing Gwynne of Garthgwynne's drunken voice say, "h.e.l.lo! old Mahadeo, eh! Well! go it, ol' man. Givs'h some of--wish-dom--Shri Ganesh--eh--what?"

When I roused again it was dawn; pale primrose dawn over a cloudless sea.

It was the strange wind that roused me, the soft, warm wind that pa.s.sed over my face and sought something else--and found it. Soft as a snake the elephant's trunk found the drunken man's neck as he lay asleep, half hanging out of the cushioned howdah, and closed on it. The sight drove the blur from my mind, and in an instant I saw all things clearly.

We were on the very edge of a high cliff. Below us lay the scarce dawn-lit waters of the calm sea. But between me and that tender distant sky, what form was this with triple crown and wise stern human eyes looking out of an animal's face?

Wisdom itself! Wisdom come to judgment.

There was a moment's pause. I clung to the howdah's side as if turned to stone. I seemed to know what was coming--to realise the verdict which that ultimate wisdom must give. Then in a clarion voice the words came:

"By the order of the Lord Ganesh, kill."

The softness, the tenderness of the snaky coil, so sensitive that the finest thread in G.o.d's world can scarce escape it, changed suddenly to iron. There was no cry, no struggle. Gwynne of Garthgwynne's body swung high in air, then, flung from it with all leviathan's strength, fell, and fell, and fell ...

When the roaring of the distant sea ceased in mine ears about a fortnight afterwards, I found that the nine days' wonder of Gwynne of Garthgwynne's disappearance on his wedding night had died down. He had rushed out rollicking drunk--that all knew. He had not returned. The butler sent out to seek for him had sought other seekers, but all in vain. They were still dragging the mere for him, but the flood gates of the river (of which it was a backwater) had been open that night, and the body might have drifted out to sea. So there had been no wedding, and a distant heir, barely related to the old stock, was ready to take possession so soon as doubt was over. As for me, the early postman, attracted by my moaning, had found me half-in and half-out of my blankets in the _tente d'abri_ behind the bramble screen of the quarry.

Was it then all a dream? Even if it were not ...