The Lamp in the Desert by Ethel May Dell (miss read books .TXT) 📕

on that first wedding-day of hers so long--so long--ago, and touched it with his forehead. The memory flashed back upon her oddly. She heard again Ralph Dacre's voice speaking in her ear. "You, Stella,--you are as ageless as the stars!" The pride and the passion of his tones stabbed through her with a curious poignancy. Strange that the thought of him should come to her with such vividness to-night! She passed on to her room, as one moving in a painful trance.
For a space she lingered there, hardly knowing what she did; then she remembered that she had not bidden Bernard good-night, and mechanically her steps turned in his direction.
He was generally smoking and working on the verandah at that hour. She made her way to the dining-room as being the nearest approach.
But half-way across the room the sound of Tommy's voice, sharp and agitated, came to her: Involuntarily she paused. He was with Bernard on the verandah.
"The devils shot him in the jungle, but he came on, got as far as Ralston's bungalow, and collapsed there. He was dead in a few minutes--before anything could be done."
The words pierced through her trance, like a naked sword flashing with incredible swiftness, cutting asunder every bond, every fibre, that held her soul confined. She sprang for the open window with a great and terrible cry.
"Who is dead? Who? Who?"
The red glare of the lamp met her, dazzled her, seemed to enter her brain and cruelly to burn her; but she did not heed it. She stood with arms flung wide in frantic supplication.
"Everard!" she cried. "Oh God! My God! Not--Everard!"
Her wild words pierced the night, and all the voices of India seemed to answer her in a mad discordant jangle of unintelligible sound. An owl hooted, a jackal yelped, and a chorus of savage, yelling laughter broke hideously across the clamour, swallowing it as a greater wave swallows a lesser, overwhelming all that has gone before.
The red glare of the lamp vanished from Stella's brain, leaving an awful blankness, a sense as of something burnt out, a taste of ashes in the mouth. But yet the darkness was full of horrors; unseen monsters leaped past her as in a surging torrent, devils' hands clawed at her, devils' mouths cried unspeakable things.
She stood as it were on the edge of the vortex, untouched, unafraid, beyond it all since that awful devouring flame had flared and gone out. She even wondered if it had killed her, so terribly aloof was she, so totally distinct from the pandemonium that raged around her. It had the vividness and the curious lack of all physical feeling of a nightmare. And yet through all her numbness she knew that she was waiting for someone--someone who was dead like herself.
She had not seen either Bernard or Tommy in that blinding moment on the verandah. Doubtless they were fighting in that raging blackness in front of her. She fancied once that she heard her brother's voice laughing as she had sometimes heard him laugh on the polo-ground when he had executed a difficult stroke. Immediately before her, a Titanic struggle was going on. She could not see it, for the light in the room behind had been extinguished also, but the dreadful sound of it made her think for a fleeting second of a great bull-stag being pulled down by a score of leaping, wide-jawed hounds.
And then very suddenly she herself was caught--caught from behind, dragged backwards off her feet. She cried out in a wild horror, but in a second she was silenced. Some thick material that had a heavy native scent about it--such a scent as she remembered vaguely to hang about Hanani the _ayah_--was thrust over her face and head muffling all outcry. Muscular arms gripped her with a fierce and ruthless mastery, and as they lifted and bore her away the nightmare was blotted from her brain as if it had never been. She sank into oblivion....


CHAPTER IX
THE DESERT OF ASHES

Was it night? Was it morning? She could not tell. She opened her eyes to a weird and incomprehensible twilight, to the gurgling sound of water, the booming croak of a frog.
At first she thought that she was dreaming, that presently these vague impressions would fade from her consciousness, and she would awake to normal things, to the sunlight beating across the verandah, to the cheery call of Everard's _saice_ in the compound, and the tramp of impatient hoofs. And Everard himself would rise up from her side, and stoop and kiss her before he went.
She began to wait for his kiss, first in genuine expectation, later with a semi-conscious tricking of the imagination. Never once had he left her without that kiss.
But she waited in vain, and as she waited the current of her thoughts grew gradually clearer. She began to remember the happenings of the night. It dawned upon her slowly and terribly that Everard was dead.
When that memory came to her, her brain seemed to stand still. There was no passing on from that. Everard had been shot in the jungle--just as she had always known he would be. He had ridden on in spite of it. She pictured his grim endurance with shrinking vividness. He had ridden on to Major Ralston's bungalow and had collapsed there,--collapsed and died before they could help him. Clearly before her inner vision rose the scene,--Everard sinking down, broken and inert, all the indomitable strength of him shattered at last, the steady courage quenched.
Yet what was it he had once said to her? It rushed across her now--words he had uttered long ago on the night he had taken her to the ruined temple at Khanmulla. "My love is not the kind that burns and goes out." She remembered the exact words, the quiver in the voice that had uttered them. Then, that being so, he was loving her still. Across the desert--her bitter desert of ashes--the lamp was shining even now. Love like his was immortal. Love such as that could never die.
That comforted her for a space, but soon the sense of desolation returned. She remembered their cruel estrangement. She remembered their child. And that last thought, entering like an electric force, gave her strength. Surely it was morning, and he would be needing her! Had not Peter said he would want her in the morning?
With a sharp effort she raised herself; she must go to him.
The next moment a sharp breath of amazement escaped her. Where was she? The strange twilight stretched up above her into infinite shadow. Before her was a broken archway through which vaguely she saw the heavy foliage of trees. Behind her she yet heard the splash and gurgle of water, the croaking of frogs. And near at hand some tiny creature scratched and scuffled among loose stones.
She sat staring about her, doubting the evidence of her senses, marvelling if it could all be a dream. For she recognized the place. It was the ruined temple of Khanmulla in which she sat. There were the crumbling steps on which she had stood with Everard on the night that he had mercilessly claimed her love, had taken her in his arms and said that it was Kismet.
It was then that like a dagger-thrust the realization of his loss went through her. It was then that she first tasted the hopeless anguish of loneliness that awaited her, saw the long, long desert track stretching out before her, leading she knew not whither. She bowed her head upon her arms and sat crushed, unconscious of all beside....
It must have been some time later that there fell a soft step beside her; a veiled figure, bent and slow of movement, stooped over her.
"_Mem-sahib_!" a low voice said.
She looked up, startled and wondering. "Hanani!" she said.
"Yes, it is Hanani." The woman's husky whisper came reassuringly in answer. "Have no fear, _mem-sahib!_ You are safe here."
"What--happened?" questioned Stella, still half-doubting the evidence of her senses. "Where--where is my baby?"
Hanani knelt down by her side. "_Mem-sahib_," she said very gently, "the _baba_ sleeps--in the keeping of God."
It was tenderly spoken, so tenderly that--it came to her afterwards--she received the news with no sense of shock. She even felt as if she must have somehow known it before. In the utter greyness of her desert--she had walked alone.
"He is dead?" she said.
"Not dead, _mem-sahib_," corrected the _ayah_ gently. She paused a moment, then in the same hushed voice that was scarcely more than a whisper: "He--passed, _mem-sahib_, in these arms, so easily, so gently, I knew not when the last breath came. You had been gone but a little space. I sent Peter to call you, but your room was empty. He returned, and I went to seek you myself. I reached you only as the storm broke."
"Ah!" A sharp shudder caught Stella. "What--happened?" she asked again.
"It was but a band of _budmashes, mem-sahib_." A note of contempt sounded in the quiet rejoinder. "I think they were looking for Monck _sahib_--for the captain _sahib_. But they found him not."
"No," Stella said. "No. They had killed him already--in the jungle. At least, they had shot him. He died--afterwards." She spoke dully; she felt as if her heart had grown old within her, too old to feel poignantly any more. "Go on!" she said, after a moment. "What happened then? Did they kill Bernard _sahib_ and Denvers _sahib_, too?"
"Neither, my _mem-sahib._" Hanani's reply was prompt and confident. "Bernard _sahib_ was struck on the head and senseless when we dragged him in. Denvers _sahib_ was not touched. It was he who put out the lamp and saved their lives. Afterwards, I know not how, he raised a great outcry so that they thought they were surrounded and fled. Truly, Denvers _sahib_ is great. After that, he went for help. And I, _mem-sahib_, fearing they might return to visit their vengeance upon you--being the wife of the captain _sahib_ whom they could not find--I wrapped a _saree_ about your head and carried you away." Humble pride in the achievement sounded in Hanani's voice. "I knew that here you would be safe," she ended. "All evil-doers fear this place. It is said to be the abode of unquiet spirits."
Again Stella gazed around the place. Her eyes had become accustomed to the green-hued twilight. The crumbling, damp-stained walls stretched away into darkness behind her, but the place held no terrors for her. She was too tired to be afraid. She only wondered, though without much interest, how Hanani had managed to accomplish the journey.
"Where is Peter?" she asked at last.
"Peter remained with Bernard _sahib_," Hanani answered. "He will tell them where to seek for you."
Again Stella gazed about the place. It struck her as strange that Peter should have relinquished his guardianship of her, even in favour of Hanani. But the thought did not hold her for long. Evidently he had known that he could trust the woman as he trusted himself and her strength must be almost superhuman. She was glad that he had stayed behind with Bernard.
She leaned her chin upon her hands and sat silent for a space. But gradually, as she reviewed the situation, curiosity began to struggle through her lethargy. She looked at Hanani crouched humbly beside her, looked at her again and again, and at last her wonder found vent in speech.
"Hanani," she said, "I don't quite understand everything. How did you get me here?"
Hanani's veiled head was bent. She turned it towards her slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed to Stella.
"I carried you, _mem-sahib_," she said.
"You--carried--me!" Stella repeated the word incredulously. "But it is a long way--a very long way--from Kurrumpore."
Hanani was silent for a