The Tidal Wave and Other Stories Part 51

It was Teddy Duncombe in a boat below him. He saw his face of concern in the moonlight.

He pulled himself together.

"I was coming to warn you. This infernal jungle is full of snakes. We've had to run for it, and leave the boat behind."

"Great Scotland! And Mrs. Perceval?"

Again Hone's eyes sought the white face on his arm.

"No, she isn't hurt. It's just a faint. Pull up close, and I'll hand her down to you!"

Between them, they lowered her into the boat. Hone followed, and raised her to lean against his knee.

Duncombe began to row swiftly across the stream, with an uneasy eye upon the two in the stern.

"What in the world made you go wrong, I wonder?" he said. "No one ever goes that side, not even the natives. They say it's haunted. We all landed near the old bathing _ghat_."

Hone was moistening Nina Perceval's face with his handkerchief. He made no reply to Teddy's words. He was anxiously watching for some sign of returning consciousness.

It came very soon. The dark eyes opened and gazed up at him, at first uncomprehendingly, then with a dawning wonder.

"St. Patrick!" she whispered.

"Princess!" he whispered back.

With an effort she raised herself, leaning against him.

"What happened? Were you hurt? Your face is all bleeding!"

"It's nothing!" he said jerkily. "It's nothing!"

She took his handkerchief in her trembling hand and wiped the blood away. She said no more of any sort. Only when she gave it back to him her eyes were full of tears.

And Hone caught the little hand in pa.s.sionate, dumb devotion, and pressed it to his lips.

VII

"I am so sorry, Major Hone, but she is seeing no one. I would ask you to dine if it would be of any use. But you wouldn't see her if I did."

So spoke the colonel's wife three days later in a sympathetic undertone; while Hone paced beside her _rickshaw_ with a gloomy face.

"She isn't ill?" he asked. "You are sure she isn't ill?"

"No, not really ill. Her nerves are upset, of course. That was almost inevitable. But she has determined to start for Bombay on Monday, and nothing I can say will make her change her purpose."

"But she can't mean to go without saying good-bye!" he protested.

Mrs. Chester shook her head.

"She says she doesn't like good-byes. I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to come here at all. I am afraid that is exactly what she does mean to do."

Hone stood still. His face was suddenly stubborn.

"I must see her," he said, "with her consent or without it. Will you, of your goodness, ask me to dine tonight? I will manage the rest for myself."

Mrs. Chester looked somewhat dubious. Long as she had known Hone, she was not familiar with this mood.

He saw her hesitation, and smiled upon her persuasively.

"You are not going to refuse my pet.i.tion? It isn't yourself that would have the heart!"

She laughed, in spite of herself.

"Oh, go away, you wheedling Irishman! Yes, you may dine if you like. The Gerrards are coming for bridge, and you'll be odd man out. There will be no one to entertain you."

"Sure, I can entertain myself," grinned Hone. "And it's truly grateful that I am to your worshipful ladyship."

He bowed, with his hand upon his heart, and, turning, went his way.

Mrs. Chester went hers, still vaguely doubtful as to the wisdom of her action. In common with the rest of mankind, she found Hone well-nigh impossible to resist.

When he made his appearance that evening, he presented an absolutely serene aspect to the world at large. He was the gayest of the party, and Mrs. Chester's uneasiness speedily evaporated. Nina Perceval was not present, but this fact apparently did not depress him. He remained in excellent spirits throughout dinner.

When it was over, and the bridge players were established on the veranda, he drifted off to the smoking-room in an aimless, inconsequent fashion, and his hostess and accomplice saw him no more.

She would have given a good deal to have witnessed his subsequent movements, but she would have been considerably disappointed had she done so, for Hone's methods were disconcertingly direct. All he did when he found himself alone was to sit down and scribble a brief note.

"I am waiting to see you" (so ran his message). "Will you come to me now, or must I follow you to the world's end? One or the other it will surely be.--Yours, PAT."

This note he delivered to the _khitmutgar_, with orders to return to him with a reply. Then, with a certain ma.s.sive patience, he resumed his cigar and settled himself to wait.

The _khitmutgar_ did not return, but he showed no sign of exasperation.

His eyes stared gravely into s.p.a.ce. There was not a shade of anxiety in them.

And it was thus that Nina Perceval found him when at last she came lightly in from the veranda in answer to his message. She entered without the smallest hesitation, but with that regal air of hers before which men did involuntary homage. Her shadowy eyes met his without fear or restraint of any sort, but they held no gladness either. Her remoteness chilled him.

"Why did you send me that extraordinary message?" she said. "Wasn't it a little unnecessary?"

He had risen to meet her. He paused to lay aside his cigar before he answered, and in the pause that dogged expression that had surprised Mrs. Chester descended like a mask and covered the first spontaneous impulse to welcome her that had dominated him.

"It was necessary that I should see you," he said.

"I really don't know why," she returned. "I wrote a note to thank you for the care you took of me the other night. That was days ago. I suppose you received it?"

"Yes, I received it," said Hone. "I have been trying, without success, to see you ever since."

She made a slight impatient movement.