Rosa Mundi and Other Stories

They lived in the rotten white bungalow at the end of the valley-Hope and the Magician. It stood in a neglected compound that had once been a paradise, when a certain young officer belonging to the regiment of Sikhs then stationed in Ghantala had taken it and made of it a dainty home for his English bride. Those were the days before the flood, and no one had lived there since.

The native men in the valley still remembered with horror that awful night when the monsoon had burst in floods and water-spouts upon the mountains, and the bride, too terrified to remain in the bungalow, had set out in the worst fury of the storm to find her husband, who was on duty up at the cantonments. She had been drowned close to the bungalow in a ranging brown torrent which swept over what a few hours earlier had been a mere bed of glittering sand. And from that time the bungalow had been deserted, avoided of all men, a haunted place, the abode of evil spirits.

Yet it still stood in its desolation, rotting year by year. No native would approach the place. No Englishman desired it. For it was well away from the cantonments, nearer than any other European dwelling to the native village, and undeniably in the hottest corner of all the Ghantala Valley.

Perhaps its general air of desolation had also influenced the minds of possible tenants, for Ghantala was a cheerful station, and its inhabitants preferred cheerful dwelling-places. Whatever the cause, it had stood empty and forsaken for more than a dozen years.

And then had come Hope and the Magician.

Hope was a dark-haired, bright-eyed English girl, who loved riding as she loved nothing else on earth. Her twin-brother, Ronald Carteret, was the youngest subaltern in his battalion, and for his sake, she had persuaded the Magician that the Ghantala Valley was an ideal spot to live in.

The Magician was their uncle and sole relative, an old man, wizened and dried up like a monkey, to whom India was a land of perpetual delight and novelty of which he could never tire. He was engaged upon a book of Indian mythology, and he was often away from home for the purpose of research. But his absence made very little difference to Hope. Her brother lived in the bungalow with her, and the people in the station were very kind to her.

The natives, though still wary, had lost their abhorrence of the place. They believed that the Magician, as they called him, had woven a spell to keep the evil spirits at a distance. It was known that he was in constant communication with native priests. Moreover, the miss-sahib who dwelt at the bungalow remained unharmed, so it seemed there was nought to fear.

Hope, after a very few months, cut off her hair and wore it short and curly. This also seemed to discourage the evil ones. So at length it appeared that the curse had been removed, or at least placed in abeyance.

As for Hope, she liked the place. Her nerves were generally good, and the joy of being near the brother she idolized outweighed every other consideration. The colonel's wife, Mrs. Latimer, was very kind to her from the outset, and she enjoyed all the Ghantala gaieties under her protection and patronage.

Not till Mrs. Latimer was taken ill and had to leave hurriedly for the Hills did it dawn upon Hope, after nearly eight happy months, that her position was one of considerable isolation, and that this might, under certain circumstances, become a matter for regret.

* * *

It was on a Sunday evening of breathless heat that this conviction first took firm hold of Hope. Her uncle was away upon one of his frequent journeys of research. Her brother was up at the cantonments, and she was quite alone save for her ayah, and the punkah-coolie dozing on the veranda.

She had not expected any visitors. Visitors seldom came to the bungalow, for the simple reason that she was seldom at home to receive them, and the Magician never considered himself at liberty for social obligations. So it was with some surprise that she heard footsteps that were not her brother's upon the baked earth of the compound; and when her ayah came to her with the news that Hyde Sahib was without, she was even conscious of a sensation of dismay.

For Hyde Sahib was a man she detested, without knowing why. He was a civil servant, an engineer, and he had been in Ghantala longer than any one else of the European population. Very reluctantly she gave the order to admit him, hoping that Ronnie would soon return and take him off her hands. For Ronnie professed to like the man.

He greeted her with a cool self-assurance that admitted not the smallest doubt of his welcome.

"I was passing, and thought I would drop in," he told her, retaining her hand till she abruptly removed it. "I guessed you would be all forlorn. The Magician is away, I hear?"

Hope steadily returned the gaze of his pale eyes, as she replied, with dignity:

"Yes; my uncle is from home. But I am not at all lonely. I am expecting my brother every minute."

He smiled at her in a way that made her stiffen instinctively. She had never been so completely alone with him before.

"Ah, well," he said, "perhaps you will allow me to amuse you till he returns. I rather want to see him."

He took her permission for granted, and sat down in a bamboo chair on the veranda, leaning back, and staring up at her with easy insolence.

"I can scarcely believe that you are not lonely here," he remarked. "A figure of speech, I suppose?"

Hope felt the colour rising in her cheeks under his direct and unpleasant scrutiny.

"I have never felt lonely till to-day," she returned, with spirit.

He laughed incredulously. "No?" he said.

"No," said Hope with emphasis. "I often think that there are worse things in the world than solitude."

Something in her tone-its instinctive enmity, its absolute honesty-attracted his attention. He sat up and regarded her very closely.

She was still on her feet-a slender, upright figure in white. She was grasping the back of a chair rather tightly, but she did not shrink from his look, though there was that within her which revolted fiercely as she met it. But he prolonged the silent combat with brutal intention, till at last, in spite of herself, her eyes sank, and she made a slight, unconscious gesture of protest. Then, deliberately and insultingly, he laughed.

"Come now, Miss Carteret," he said, "I'm sure you can't mean to be unfriendly with me. I believe this place gets on your nerves. You're not looking well, you know."

"No?" she responded, with frozen dignity.

"Not so well as I should like to see you," said Hyde, still smiling his objectionable smile. "I believe you're moped. Isn't that it? I know the symptoms, and I know an excellent remedy, too. Wouldn't you like to try it?"

Hope looked at him uncertainly. She was quivering all over with nervous apprehension. His manner frightened her. She was not sure that the man was absolutely sober. But it would be absurd, ridiculous, she told her thumping heart, to take offence, when it might very well be that the insult existed in her imagination alone. So, with a desperate courage, she stood her ground.

"I really don't know what you mean," she said coldly. "But it doesn't matter; tell me about your racer instead!"

"Not a bit of it," returned Hyde. "It's one thing at a time with me always. Besides, why should I bore you to that extent? Why, I'm boring you already. Isn't that so?"

He set his hands on the arms of his chair preparatory to rising, as he spoke; and Hope took a quick step away from him. There was a look in his eyes that was horrible to her.

"No," she said, rather breathlessly. "No; I'm not at all bored. Please don't get up; I'll go and order some refreshment."

"Nonsense!" he said sharply. "I don't want it. I won't have any! I mean"-his manner softening abruptly--"not unless you will join me; which, I fear, is too much to expect. Now don't go away! Come and sit here!" drawing close to his own the chair on which she had been leaning. "I want to tell you something. Don't look so scared! It's something you'll like; it is, really. And you're bound to hear it sooner or later, so it may as well be now. Why not?"

But Hope's nerves were stretched to snapping point, and she shrank visibly. After all, she was very young, and there was that about this man that terrified her.

"No," she said hurriedly. "No; I would rather not. There is nothing you could tell me that I should like to hear. I-I am going to the gate to look for Ronnie."

It was childish, it was pitiable; and had the man been other than a coward it must have moved him to compassion. As it was he sprang up suddenly, as though to detain her, and Hope's last shred of self-control deserted her.

She uttered a smothered cry and fled.

* * *

The road that led to the cantonments was ill-made and stony, but she dashed along it like a mad creature, unconscious of everything save the one absorbing desire to escape. Ronnie was not in sight, but she scarcely thought of him. The light was failing fast, and she knew that it would soon be quite dark, save for a white streak of moon overhead. It was still frightfully hot. The atmosphere oppressed her like a leaden weight. It seemed to keep her back, and she battled with it as with something tangible.

Her feet were clad in thin slippers, and at any other time she would have known that the rough stones cut and hurt her. But in the terror of the moment she felt no pain. She only had the sense to run straight on, with gasping breath and failing limbs, till at last, quite suddenly, her strength gave out and she sank, an exhausted, sobbing heap, upon the roadway.

There came the tread of a horse's hoofs, and she started and made a convulsive effort to crawl to one side. She was nearer fainting than she had ever been in her life.

Then the hoof-beats stopped, and she uttered a gasping cry, all her nameless terror for the moment renewed.

A man jumped to the ground and, with a word to his animal, stooped over her. She shrank from him in unreasoning panic.

"Who is it? Who is it?" she sobbed. He answered her instantly, rather curtly.

"I-Baring. What's the matter? Something gone wrong?"

She felt strong hands lifting her, and she yielded herself to them, her panic quenched.

"Oh, Major Baring!" she said faintly. "I didn't know you!"

Major Baring made no response. He held her on her feet facing him, for she seemed unable to stand, and waited for her to recover herself. She trembled violently between his hands, but she made a resolute effort after self-control.

"I-I didn't know you," she faltered again.

"What's the matter?" asked Major Baring.

But she could not tell him. Already the suspicion that she had behaved unreasonably was beginning to take possession of her. Yet-yet-Hyde must have seen she was alarmed. He might have reassured her. She recalled the look in his eyes, and shuddered. She was sure he had been drinking. She had heard someone say that he did drink.

"I-I have had a fright," she said at last. "It was very foolish of me, of course. Very likely it was a false alarm. Anyhow, I am better now. Thank you."

He let her go, but she was still so shaken that she tottered and clutched his arm.

"Really I am all right," she assured him tremulously. "It is only-only-"

He put his arm around her without comment; and again she yielded as a child might have yielded to the comfort of his support.

After some seconds he spoke, and she fancied his voice sounded rather grim.

"I am going your way," he said. "I will walk back with you."

Hope was crying to herself in the darkness, but she hoped he did not notice.

"I think I shall go and meet Ronnie," she said. "I don't want to go back. It-it's so lonely."

"I will come in with you," he returned.

"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "No! I mean-I mean-I don't want you to trouble any more about me. Indeed, I shall be all right."

He received the assurance in silence; and she began to wonder dolefully if she had offended him. Then, with abrupt kindliness, he set her mind at rest.

"Dry your eyes," he said, "and leave off crying, like a good child! Ronnie's at the club, and won't be home at present. I didn't know you were all alone, or I would have brought him along with me. That's better. Now, shall we make a move?"

He slung his horse's bridle on his arm and, still supporting her with the other, began to walk down the stony road. Hope made no further protest. She had always considered Ronnie's major a rather formidable person. She knew that Ronnie stood in awe of him, though she had always found him kind.

They had not gone five yards when he stopped.

"You are limping. What is it?"

She murmured something about the stones.

"You had better ride," he decided briefly. "Rupert will carry you like a lamb. Ready? How's that?"

He lifted her up into the saddle as if she had been a child, and stooped to arrange her foot in the strap of the stirrup.

"Good heavens!" she heard him murmur, as he touched her shoe. "No wonder the stones seemed hard! Quite comfortable?" he asked her, as he straightened himself.

"Quite," she answered meekly.

And he marched on, leading the horse with care.

At the gate of the shadowy little compound that surrounded the bungalow she had quitted so precipitately he paused.

"I will leave the animal here," he said, holding up his hands to her.

She slipped into them submissively.

The cry of a jackal somewhere beyond the native village made her start and tremble. Her nerves were still on edge.

Major Baring slipped the bridle over the gate-post and took her hand in his. The grip of his fingers was very strong and reassuring.

"Come," he said kindly, "let us go and look for this bogey of yours!"

But at this point Hope realized fully that she had made herself ridiculous, and that for the sake of her future self-respect she must by some means restrain him from putting his purpose into execution. She stood still and faced him.

"Major Baring," she said, her voice quivering in spite of her utmost effort, "I want you-please-not to come any farther. I know I have been very foolish. I am sure of it now. And-please-do you mind going away, and not thinking any more about it?"

"Yes, I do," said Major Baring.

He spoke with unmistakable decision, and the girl's heart sank.

"Listen!" he said quietly. "Like you, I think you have probably been unnecessarily alarmed. But, even so, I am coming with you to satisfy myself. Or-if you prefer-I will go alone, and you can wait for me here."

"Oh, no!" said Hope quickly. "If-if you must go, I'll come, too. But first, will you promise-whatever happens-not to-to laugh at me?"

Baring made an abrupt movement that she was at a loss to interpret. It was too dark for her to see his face with any distinctness.

"Very well," he said. "Yes; I promise that."

Hope was still almost crying. She felt horribly ashamed. With her hand in his, she went beside him up the short drive to the bungalow. And, as she went, she vehemently wished that the earth would open and swallow her up.

* * *