The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People Part 46

"About what? Has your husband told you?"

"The Marut Company has failed."

Beatrice sat silent a moment. Her free hand supported the firmly moulded chin, her eyes were fixed thoughtfully in front of her.

"I did not mean that sort of bankruptcy," she said at last. "That doesn't count, Lois. I used to think it meant the worst sort of misfortune, but it doesn't. The inner bankruptcy is worse. The loss of self-respect, of honor, of the trust of those one--cares for--" Again the low voice trembled dangerously, but she went on: "Don't commiserate with me, kind-hearted little woman. I don't need your pity --now. Bankruptcy isn't so bad. It is better than living on false credit. When the crash is over, one picks oneself up again. Hope is eternal, and on the ruins--"

"One can build cathedrals," Lois interposed dreamily.

"Yes, or palaces. But first the old rubbish must be cleared away. One must pay one's debts. I have very many to pay. First to you, Lois--"

"Don't! I have told you that that is all over."

"--and then to Captain Stafford. Lois, I did want to take him away from you, but I never succeeded. It was something else that did it--something which I have never understood."

"But which my husband knows?"

Beatrice nodded. She was not there to spare Lois or herself. She was there to tell the truth.

"Yes, he knows. But it is a mystery which we shall never penetrate. At any rate, I have set Captain Stafford free."

Lois said nothing. Her thoughts were busy trying to piece together the secret. With every moment distrust and suspicion were taking stronger hold upon her.

"Lois," Beatrice went on, "that is the least of it all. The worst of all is that I can not pay my debts alone. I must go on ruining others.

I must ruin you."

Lois stiffened. She sat upright, as though preparing herself for a shock which she dimly antic.i.p.ated.

"Tell me what you mean," she said.

"You remember it was I who tempted Rajah Nehal Singh into forming the Marut Company--"

"That is not what you want to say. It was my husband's scheme."

"Very well, it was our scheme, if you like. At any rate, the whole responsibility rests--or should rest--upon our shoulders. We have ruined him, and we have ruined hundreds of others. It is only fair that we should bear our share of the calamity."

"And haven't we done so? You have lost all your money. That is punishment enough. And Archie, too--" She paused, a fierce note of defiance ringing out with her last words. Beatrice made no answer, and the two women looked at each other in significant silence. "You don't mean that--that it was--dishonest?"

"I have no doubt Mr. Travers believed the mine was going to be a success. But it has failed, and the whole burden of the failure rests upon others, not upon him."

"My husband is ruined, too. All his money is gone."

"Yours remains."

"Yes, but--" She stammered and broke off helplessly.

Beatrice said nothing more. She saw the process of rapid thought on her companion's working face. She knew there was no need to explain further the careful precautions which Travers had made for his own safety. She knew that for his wife there was only one action possible.

Lois rose to her feet.

"You must forgive me," she said, a new and dangerous light in her dark eyes. "I am very slow and stupid about business matters, but I understand what you have been trying to say to me. You have pointed out a duty to me which otherwise, in my ignorance, I might have overlooked. My husband has incurred responsibilities which must be met--if not by him, at any rate by me. No third person shall take his share of the burden--certainly not the Rajah, who was no more than the tool which my husband used. I would be glad if you would let every one know that of course my money will go toward refunding those whom the failure of the mine has injured."

Beatrice rose also. She put her two hands on Lois' shoulders.

"You needn't do it," she said. "The money is yours. It is a thing that is done every day. The world won't say much if you stick to what is yours."

"It is not mine. My husband's responsibilities are my responsibilities." She paused, and then went on quietly: "Thank you for explaining to me. I should never have understood myself, and Archie--no doubt dreads having to tell me that of course my money must go, too." She looked Beatrice full in the face, and they understood each other. There are some lies which a loyal woman must carry with her to the grave. Beatrice bent and kissed the cold face.

"You do right," she said. "I knew you would. That is why I came to you. I have helped to bring down all this misfortune on Marut. I have helped to lower us all in the eyes of those--those who used and ought to look up to us. Now you are going to lift us out of the mire--Lois, what was that?"

The two women clung to each other. Hitherto there had been no sound in the adjoining room save the regular rise and fall of two voices. Now the startled listeners heard the report of a revolver, followed by a sudden, absolute silence. Lois shook herself free from Beatrice's instinctive clutch.

"It is in my husband's room!" she said hoa.r.s.ely. "Stay here! I will go--"

She hurried across the room and, thrusting open a curtained door, disappeared. The next instant Beatrice heard a cry which overcame every hesitation. Horror and despair called her in that sound, and the next moment she followed Lois' footsteps. She did not know what she expected to see. Afterward she believed that at the back of her mind there had been some thought of suicide. But it was not Travers' head that she saw pillowed against Lois' knee. Travers stood on the verandah, the smoking pistol still in his hand, his face livid and damp with fear. At his feet his wife was bending over the body of a man whom Beatrice recognized with a shock of pain.

"What has happened?" she asked breathlessly. "What has happened?"

Travers turned and stared at her. His eyes were glazed, and for the moment he did not seem to know who she was.

"Captain Stafford has--been murdered!" he stammered. "He was going down the steps when a native attacked him. I--fired, but it was too late. Oh, thank G.o.d! Here is Colonel Carmichael!"

True enough, it was the Colonel himself who sprang up the verandah steps. From beyond the ill-kept garden they heard the tramp of men and a low, continuous sound, like the threatening moan of the wind. On the verandah reigned a complete and awestruck silence. Colonel Carmichael bent over the unconscious man.

"This is the beginning," he said somberly. "How did it happen?"

"A native must have been lying in wait for him," Travers answered. "He struck at him with this." He held out a three-inch blade in a hand which shook like a child's. "I tried to save him, but I couldn't. The man escaped, though I think I hit him."

The Colonel knelt down by Lois' side, and drawing out his brandy-flask tried to force a few drops between the purple lips.

"We were expecting him every minute," he said, "but we couldn't wait.

The danger was too pressing. Here, man--it's all right. Look up."

Captain Stafford's heavy eyelids had wavered. The Colonel shifted him into a higher position, his head still resting against Lois' knee.

When the dying eyes opened they fell straight on the sweet dark face bent over him in loving pity.

"Lois!" he whispered faintly. "Lois--my--kiss me!"

Lois looked up at her husband. He nodded without meeting her eyes. Her lips rested on the chilly forehead.

"Dear John!"

"Lois--you--tell the Rajah----" He struggled fiercely for breath and his raised hand pointed piteously at Travers. "Tell him--not--his own"

--The words died into a choked silence.

"Brandy--here! He's trying to say something. What is it, man?"

Stafford turned with a last effort, his lips parted. A second time he pointed with a desperate insistency at Travers--then with a sudden quick-drawn sigh he sank back, his face against Lois' shoulder.

Colonel Carmichael, who knew death too well, rose heavily to his feet.