STARTLING NEWS.
The man who appeared in the ruined temple, in company with Haidee, and to the astonishment of Lieutenant Harper, was no other than James Martin, who had escaped the terrific explosion of the magazine. But for his dress he might have been taken for a native, as his face was black with smoke and powder.
“I am fulfilling my promise,” said Haidee, “and I have rescued this man, your countryman. You may be of service to each other.”
“We meet under strange circumstances,” Harper said, as he held out his hand to Martin, “but I am none the less thankful. We both stand in imminent peril, and our lives may not be worth many hours’ purchase; but two determined Britishers are a match for an army of these cowardly wretches.”
“That is so,” answered Martin. “But I do not think my time has come yet, seeing that I have escaped from twenty deaths already. I was one of the defenders of the magazine until our lion-hearted commander ordered it to be blown up. I managed to escape the fiery storm, and crept into a cavernous hollow formed by a mass of fallen masonry. I must have been there some hours, for, when I awoke from a sound sleep, I was ravenously hungry, and, at all hazards, determined to creep out of my hole and seek for food. It was quite dark, and I groped about amongst the ruins until I reached the road leading to the Palace. I walked for some distance, until a voice asked where I was going to. The voice belonged to this woman, who had just emerged from one of the private gates leading to the Palace grounds. At first I thought she was an enemy, and I drew my revolver, which I had been fortunate enough to retain, although it was unloaded. Still, an unloaded weapon, I thought, was quite enough for a woman. ‘Who are you?’ I asked, ‘and why do you stop my way?’ ‘I am a friend, and I wish to save you,’ she answered. I could not be mistaken in those tones, I thought. They were too gentle, too kind, to belong to an enemy. And so, returning my weapon to my belt, I extended my hand to her, and said, ‘I trust myself entirely to you; lead me where you like.’ ‘I will lead you to safety, and to a countryman of yours, who is dear to me,’ she answered. And here I am.”
Haidee had remained silent during Martin’s speech. Her head was bent and her arms folded. Harper crossed to where she stood, and took her hands. The scarlet flush of morn was in the sky, and as it tinged her beautiful face, he saw that her brows were knit, and her teeth set, as if in anger.
“Haidee,” he said gently, “words cannot thank you for what you have done; I am already heavily indebted to you. How can I discharge that debt?”
“I need no thanks,” she answered. “Haidee is true to her promise; but my heart is heavy, for he who should have come with me now is gone.”
“Do you refer to Moghul Singh?” asked Harper, in some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of pleasure. For, though Singh was a double-dyed traitor, Harper did not like the thought of having to act the part of a private assassin.
“To whom else should I refer?”
“How comes it then that he has gone?”
“He has gone by order of the King.”
“Ah! is that so? Where has he gone to?” Harper queried in alarm, for the thought occurred to him that the man had departed to convey the signal for a rising in some other place.
“He has gone to Cawnpore.”
“To Cawnpore!”
“Yes, and for Haidee’s sake you must follow him.”
“Nay, that cannot be,” Harper answered, with ill-concealed alarm.
“Cannot be—cannot be!” she repeated, in astonishment, and drawing herself up until their eyes met. “Are my wrongs, then, so soon forgotten?”
“Not so, Haidee; but you forget that I am a soldier. My first duty is to my Queen and country, and that duty must not be neglected in my desire to redress private wrongs. I bear for you all the feeling a man of honour should have for an injured woman; but I cannot—dare not—go to Cawnpore.”
“Cannot—dare not!” she echoed, in astonishment, letting his hands fall; “and is ‘dare not’ part of a soldier’s creed? Sits there a craven fear in your heart?”
“No,” he cried, his face burning at the suggestion. “For I have none; but I hold that my honour should be the paramount consideration. I can die, but I cannot sacrifice that which is dearer than life to a true soldier—honour.”
“You wrong me,” she answered passionately. “I have made no such request; but I have saved your life—I have given you liberty. You have my heart; I ask but one service in return.”
“And that service I would have rendered if Moghul Singh had been here, for he is a traitor, and an enemy to my race and country. Moreover, I have a personal wrong to settle, because he betrayed me, subjected me to gross indignity, and would have slain me. But for a time he escapes retribution. I cannot follow him. The moment I stand outside of these city walls a free man again, I must hurry back to my regiment. Failing to do that, I should be branded as a deserter.”
“I comprehend now,” she cried, throwing herself at his feet. “I had forgotten that, and you must forgive me. Never more can happiness be mine. Into the dust I bow my head, for the light of my eyes will go with you. Poor Haidee will set you free. When night closes in again she will lead you and your countryman clear of the city; then we must part—never, never to meet again.”
He raised her up gently, and passed his arm soothingly around her waist, for she was terribly agitated, and shook like a wind-tossed reed.
“Do not say that we shall never meet again, Haidee. Chance may bring me back here, and if I escape the many deaths which encompass a soldier at a time like this, we shall meet. But even though I may not come to you, you can at least come to me.”
“Haidee would gladly live in the light of your eyes; but if I can hold no place in your heart, we must part for ever.”
Harper struggled with his feelings. He was on the horns of a dilemma, and the way out of the difficulty did not seem straight. His arm was still around Haidee. He felt her warm breath on his cheek, and heard the throbbing of her heart. Her upturned eyes were full of an ineffable expression of love, of trust, of hope—hope in him. How could he wither that hope—misplace that trust? How could he leave her in the city at the mercy of the treacherous King? As he thought of these things, he wished that she had never opened his prison door, but had left him to meet death alone. For cold, indeed, would have been his nature, and stony his heart, if he had not felt the influence of her great beauty. To look into her face was to feel sorely tempted to cast his fortunes on the hazard of the die, and sacrifice all for this woman’s sake. But the inward voice of conscience kept him back. Wife, country, honour, were in the scale, and they must have weight against all other considerations. “No,” he thought, “rather than I would be branded with the name of traitor, I will walk boldly forth into the heart of the city, and bare my breast to the insurgents’ bullets.”
A deep sigh from Haidee called him back to a sense of his position.
He led her to the stone seat, and said kindly—
“Why do you sigh? I know it is the language of the heart, when the heart is sad; but, have hope; brighter days may be dawning, and in your own lovely valleys you may yet know happiness and peace.”
She turned upon him almost fiercely, and her eyes flashed with passion.
“Do you mock me? Why do you speak to me of peace and happiness? Would you tear the panther from its young, and tell it to pine not? Would you torture the sightless by stories of the beautiful flowers, of the glittering stars, of the bright sun? Would you bid the dove be gay when its mate was killed? If you would not do these things, why bid my heart rejoice when it is sad? why talk to me of peace, when peace is for ever flown? But why should I speak of my wrongs? Even now, Moghul Singh is on his way to Cawnpore, to bring back one of your own countrywomen.”
“To bring back one of my countrywomen!” cried Harper in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, there came from Meerut, a man by the name of Jewan Bukht. He brought with him, as captive, an Englishwoman—young and beautiful.”
Harper’s nerves thrilled as the thought flashed through his brain that this Englishwoman could be no other than Miss Meredith; for Walter Gordon had told him what he had learnt from Flora with reference to Jewan Bukht. He almost feared to ask the question that rose to his lips, and not without a struggle did he do so.
“Her name—did you learn her name—Haidee?”
“No.”
“What was Bukht’s object in bringing her here?”
“He is in the pay of Nana Sahib, but is also an agent for the King. He thought to remain here, in the Palace, where he has relations; but, on arrival, an imperative order was waiting him, that he was instantly to depart for Cawnpore: and he lost no time in hurrying away. When he had gone, the King heard of Jewan’s captive, and of her beauty, and he commanded Singh to follow, with a band of retainers, and bring the woman back. Long before Singh can overtake him, Bukht will have arrived in Cawnpore; and when Singh gets there, it is doubtful if he can return, owing to the vigilance of the English.”
When Haidee had finished her revelations, Harper entertained no doubt that Jewan Bukht’s unfortunate captive was Flora Meredith, and that being so, the first question that suggested itself to him was, whether he was not justified in attempting her rescue.
“Haidee!” he said, “from what you state, I have every reason to believe that the lady carried off by Jewan is a relation of mine, and that it is my duty to follow her.”
“Your duty to follow her?” Haidee repeated mournfully. “When I spoke of your following the craven-hearted Moghul Singh, you replied that it could not be, and yet this man is an enemy to your race, and has slaughtered with exultant ferocity many of your countrymen! But now you proclaim your readiness to throw to the wind all those scruples which applied to him in favour of the woman! You speak in parables, and poor Haidee in her ignorance understands you not. Only her heart tells her this: she holds but little place in your thoughts.”
“Ah, Haidee, how you wrong me! Your reproaches are undeserved. However great the number of my faults, ingratitude is certainly not one of them. How can I forget the services you have rendered to me? how forget the great wrongs that you yourself have suffered? But the laws of our two nations are different. Society in my country is governed by a code of rules, that no man must depart from who would not have his reputation blasted. I hold a commission in the service of my Queen. Would you have me sully my name by an act that I could never justify to my superiors?”
“To what do you refer?” she asked with startling energy. “Sooner than I would counsel you to dishonour, sooner than I would bring shame upon you, this little weapon should be stained with my own heart’s blood!”
As she spoke she drew quickly, from the folds of her dress, a small, glittering stiletto, and held it aloft, so that the glow of the now rising sun made red its gleaming blade. Fearing that she meant mischief, Martin, who had been a silent witness of the scene, darted forward and caught her hand. She turned upon him with a look of sorrow, and said—
“Do not fear. The women of my country hold honour as dear as those of your own. I said the weapon should find my heart sooner than I would bring shame on the head of your countryman, and that I will never do.”
Martin released his hold and drew back respectfully, for there was something so touchingly sorrowful in her tone, and yet so majestic, that both her listeners were deeply impressed.
“Yours is a noble nature,” said Harper. “It is that of a true woman’s, and it is the differences in our nationalities only that cause us to misunderstand each other.”
“Why should there be any misunderstanding? A Cashmere woman never forgets a kindness, she never forgives an injury; and there is one wrong, which, when once inflicted upon her, only the death of the wronger can atone for. Were I back amongst my own people, those of them in whose veins runs my family’s blood would band themselves together to avenge me, and they would never rest until they had tracked down and smitten the foul reptile who found me as a lily, fair and bright, who plucked me with a ruthless hand, who befouled me, and robbed me of treasures that have no price, and then flung me away, a broken, friendless woman.”
“You can never say with truth,” answered Harper, “that you are friendless while the life-blood warms my veins. By everything that I hold dear, I pledge myself to use every endeavour to protect you, and set you right again.”
His words were like magic to her. They touched her and sank to those hidden springs whence flowed gentleness, love, and truth. As she stood there before him, the very embodiment of womanly grace and beauty, it would have been hard indeed for a stranger to have imagined that in her breast rankled one feeling of hatred. How could he stay the invisible electric fire which passed from him to her, and from her to him, and drew both together, even as the needle is drawn to the magnet? Human nature is the same now as it was when time began, as it will be until time ends. Each of these two beings felt the influence of the other. She was taken captive, bound with chains that galled not, and filled with the ineffable sense of adoration for one who had suddenly risen before her as a worldly god, from whom she would draw hope, peace, happiness, and life, and that being so, she was willing to bow down and yield herself as his slave. And he, deeply sensible to her great beauty, and pitying her for her sorrows, felt like a knight of old would have done, whose watchword was “Chivalry,”—that he must champion her for the all-sufficient reason that she was a woman, defenceless and alone.
Whatever scruples he might have entertained at first, he felt now that he was justified in using every endeavour to rescue Flora Meredith, and that he would be serving his country loyally in following Moghul Singh with a view of bringing him to justice.
“Haidee,” he said, after a pause, “I will go to Cawnpore.”
“That is bravely spoken,” she answered, her face beaming with a look of joy; “and you may be able to render good service there by putting your countrymen on their guard? for I know that the Nana Sahib but waits a fitting opportunity to give the signal for a rising.”
“But are you not wrong in supposing that the Nana Sahib is false? He has ever proved himself a courteous and kindly gentleman to the English, and I am impressed with the idea that at the present moment Cawnpore is a safe refuge.”
“Dismiss all such ideas,” she answered, with energy. “Do you judge the nature of a leopard by the beauty of his spots? I tell you, that in all the Indian jungles there stalks not a tiger whose instincts are more savage, or whose thirst for blood is more intense, than this smooth-faced, smiling Nana Sahib. Ever since the return of his agent, Azimoolah, from England, whose mission to your Queen failed, the Nana has cherished in his heart an undying hatred for your race. Often has he visited this city in disguise to confer with the King, and for years they have been organising this revolt. I tell you that Nana Sahib is a demon, capable of performing deeds that the world would shudder at.”
“This is strange and startling news, Haidee,” cried Harper, in astonishment, “and doubly justifies my journey to Cawnpore. The division is commanded by one of the Company’s Generals, Sir Hugh Wheeler, and I shall consider it my duty to apprise him of the treacherous nature of the Nana. I appeal to you, comrade,” he said, turning to Martin, “and shall be glad of your advice.”
Martin was a man of few words. He had proved his reticence by refraining from taking any part in the conversation between Haidee and Harper.
“Go,” was the monosyllabic answer.
“Good. And you?”
“I will, when once outside of these walls, make my way to Meerut.”
“Excellent idea,” cried Harper, as a new thought struck him. “You can not only report me, but render me a personal service. My wife is stationed there; visit her, and inform her of my safety.”
“I will make that a duty. But what is your name?”
“Charles Harper, lieutenant in the Queen’s —— regiment. And yours?”
“James Martin, late engineer in the Delhi Arsenal, now a homeless, penniless waif, saved from an appalling storm of fire, but everything I possessed in the world lost through the destruction of the magazine.”
“But you yourself saved for some good end, Mr. Martin,” Harper replied, as he took his hand and shook it warmly.
“Saved so far,” joined in Haidee; “but there are terrible risks yet to run before you are safe. When darkness has fallen I will endeavour to guide you clear of the city—till then, farewell. I must hurry away now, or I may be missed.”
She caught the hand of Harper and pressed it to her lips, and, bidding Martin adieu, was soon speeding through the avenue of banyan trees towards the Palace, and the two men were left to discuss the situation alone.