CHAPTER XII

FRONTIER NEWS

GAVINE stayed to dinner, and afterwards Sidney retired with her over the drawing-room fire, where they had the talk that remained with Gavine for the rest of her life.

Major Urquhart was, of course, only too delighted to take her home, and Mrs. Norman welcomed him in so warmly that Gavine escaped to bed unnoticed. Sleep did not come very soon to her. She had always been a deeply religious girl, but there was now a quickening thrill and fire in her soul that had never been there before, for she had been shown the foundation stone, and simply as a little child she had planted herself upon it.

She opened her window and gazed up into the still blue heavens above her.

"What does anything matter?" she exclaimed in the rapture of her heart's adoration for the One who had become the centre of her life. "If I never get any slum work at all, I can find work to do at home. Wherever I am, I can be working, for it is just doing His will and following Him. That is what makes Miss Urquhart so contented and happy in her life. I wondered at it before. Now I understand."

To Sidney, that evening talk had been a tremendous lift and cheer. She had kept a bright face, but her heart had been saddened and fearful over her future. She was not a perfect woman by any means, and in pointing the way to another wayfarer, she had taken a firmer foothold herself. So the next day dawned for these two with a brighter outlook, and the little frets and chafings of life hardly touched them.

That afternoon the Admiral called Sidney to him.

"I've been reading about Neville's doings. Have you seen the paper? He is making things hum out there. I knew he would."

Sidney sat down at once by her father's side.

"Do read it to me," she cried. "I have neither heard nor seen anything."

"You had better read it yourself. He has been turning out a native collector or commissioner, and the place is up in arms. He found him out in 'bribery and corruption,' the usual thing with a native official. But this particular man was the son of a big gun out there, and I'm afraid he has raised a hornet's nest about his ears. What with the depredations of native robbers, and the corruption of many of the officials, those small outposts are not a treat, I can tell you. I know a little about them. And these Radicals in Parliament are, of course, thrusting their noses into the pie, and calling out that colour and the rights of the native are not being respected."

Sidney took the paper in her hand with beating heart. Why she was so agitated she could hardly explain to herself. She had written to her "fellow builder" only a week previously, one of her gay, sweet letters, ending with some earnest bracing words of cheer and stimulation. As she saw his name in print, and his actions criticised and questioned in the House, the warm colour crept into her cheeks. She read an extract from a letter of his which was quoted: "I will sooner resign my post than wink at a system of job and corruption." And she looked up at her father with glowing eyes.

"What a pity we have not a few more men like him, dad."

"I'll write him a line of congratulation," the Admiral said, turning to his writing table. "He is standing alone at present; but the Viceroy will back him up. People at home are so terribly afraid of the natives rising that they think nothing of recalling a man who is doing his simple duty. I know all about it. Those who have travelled round the world as I have, see a little farther than these country bumpkins who push themselves into Parliament, and think that any trouble with natives means unjust oppression on our part."

"I hope they will give him a free hand," Sidney said. "He told me he had been born under an unlucky star. It would be rather hard to recall him. They couldn't do it, could they?"

The Admiral shook his head.

"He'll win his way sooner or later. I always said so, and why not now?"

In a few days' time they saw from the papers that troops had been called out, and a horde of fanatics had swept down from the hills to join in the mêlée. Sidney watched for the news breathlessly. She was astonished when Gavine appeared one morning and begged to know if the daily paper had come.

"We don't get ours so soon as the Admiral, and I want to see something in it."

"It has not come yet. Sit down and wait. It won't be long now. What is it you want to see, Gavine?"

"Oh, only the account of this row on one of the Indian frontiers."

"Are you interested in it?"

"Very. I know someone out there."

Gavine was blushing. Sidney looked at her in amazement.

"Do confide in me. Father and I are interested too, in someone out there. Do you know Mr. Neville?"

"No, but I've heard of him."

The girl hesitated a little, then, meeting Sidney's affectionate and sympathetic gaze, she faltered.

"It's a young fellow who used to live close to my aunts in the north. We grew up together. We aren't engaged. I did not want to be, but I promised if he still wanted me in three years' time from the day he went out, I would think about it. I wanted him to make his way first. He has been out there two years now, and he writes to me constantly. I feel I could go down on my knees before Mr. Neville, if I were ever to see him, and thank him for all he has done. Because George could not keep straight, and I have suffered tortures as I gathered it in his letters. He is not a weak character, I should not care for him if he were; but he is one of those happy generous natures who love their fellow-creatures, and are too simple to suspect guile in anyone.

"He was essentially a home boy. His mother was a widow, and died just before he went abroad, so he has no home or home ties to keep him straight—only me. And he did struggle and try so hard when he went out there, but, as far as I can make out, there wasn't a single soul who gave him a helping hand. Everyone dragged him down. And I felt a month or two ago as if I had completely lost him. He had left off writing for five months. Then he wrote again. Such a letter, and such a confession of the past!

"But he had been taken hold of by Mr. Neville, and he said he felt he could die for him. I little thought how those words would nearly come true. I heard from him two days ago, and he was full of all this that is coming out in the papers, only, of course, he tells me much more. Do you really know Mr. Neville well? How awfully strange. I think he must be a splendid man—a regular hero."

"He was staying down here before he went out," Sidney said, trying to speak calmly. "He is a cousin of Miss Pembroke's. Do tell what you have heard. We are so—so interested in him, and all that is going on out there."

"Oh, George has been full of it. He has told me of all the improvements Mr. Neville has made, and how he has absolutely alone and unaided attacked all the abuses in the place, and pulled things together, and made a clean sweep of the scoundrels and rogues. But, of course, there has been a section dead against him, and furious with him for stopping so much of the drinking and gambling, so they have made mischief and stirred up the natives; and then he was the cause of the native collector at the neighbouring station being removed, and that was the last straw, and one night—the night before George wrote; he was dining with him fortunately—a crowd of natives surrounded his bungalow. His servants ran away, and the ringleader called out for Mr. Neville to show himself. He didn't want any calling, for he was out on the steps in a moment, and one man with a revolver dashed forward and fired full in his face. George was quicker still, and sprang forward and struck up his hand as he fired, so the shot went clear over the bungalow. He stood there before them bareheaded, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at them, George said.

"'Next man!' he cried. 'I have no firearms about me, and am a good target.' And not a man moved. Then he spoke to them, and George said his speech was simply wonderful. He talked to them like a father might to his children. He told them they had only one life to live down here, and it ought to be a clean life. He was going to help them up, and not down. And then he reasoned with them and pleaded with them, and he reduced some to tears, and some pressed forward and prostrated themselves before him, and the scoundrels slunk away. George said it was like listening to a second Gordon, and Mr. Neville wound up by talking of the Indian and British Empires, which would rise or fall together, and he impressed them with the righteous power of a just nation. Oh, I am not telling it well, but I cried over the letter. It was all so splendid, so inspiring."

Sidney's eyes were moist too, and her heart beating strangely. Why should she be so moved? she asked herself. But, womanlike, she evaded—even to herself—the answer.

"Did he say anything about the troops coming down?"

"Yes; he said that was a very big blunder. Some well-meaning but mistaken fool had written off for them. Mr. Neville told George there would have been no more trouble if the troops had not arrived. As George was writing, he heard that the natives had risen in the hills. And that is why I'm so anxious to get news. I know George will be in the thick of it, for he refuses to leave Mr. Neville's side, and he is not the man to stay inactive."

"Here is the boy with the paper," said Sidney, and she darted out into the hall to get it. Together they bent their heads over it, but there were only two lines, saying that there had been sharp fighting, but the natives had been repulsed, with a few British losses. "Particulars would follow."

"They would have said if any officers or Commissioners had been wounded," said Sidney. "Now come and tell my father your news, Gavine. He will be so interested. It is such an extraordinary coincidence that you should know someone out there too. How quiet you have kept it."

"Well, he is only a friend," said Gavine shyly. "Nothing more at present. You can't wonder I like Mr. Neville, after all he has done for George."

She accompanied Sidney to the Admiral's study, and there told her story again. The Admiral was delighted.

"He'll do. I always said he'd do. And this fighting is nothing at all. It will clear the air and show that we are in earnest over our out-stations."

When Gavine had gone Sidney went straight to her writing-desk and wrote:

"MY DEAR MR. NEVILLE,

"You don't know what a state of excitement we have been in over your small corner. Father and I have watched for the daily papers eagerly; but how much they omit and how much they misrepresent! Do sit down when you have time and give us a detailed account of all your doings. I have been hearing a lot about you through a girl who has come here lately and is a great friend of young George Lockhart's. You can understand what we have heard and how it has stirred us. How I wish I could peep through a telescope at you. I should like you to know Gavine Norman. She is such a fine splendid girl. And what you have done for George Lockhart, you have done for her. She was so miserable about him before you went out. Oh, how often I wish I were a man to go out into the world to do and dare! But it is good to be friends with the one who does it. And you must never forget that any detail from your seat of war is welcome. Father is stroking himself down with great complacency, saying he knew, and he foretold, and his intuitions were correct that you would do as you have done.

"Things have not gone on exactly the same since you have left us. Fresh personalities have come upon the scene, and have brought with them much interest, some conjecture and alarm, and a good deal of unrest. I feel as if I am on the brink of an earthquake, an upheaval that will lift father and myself right out of our old home and plant us down in some strange soil and surroundings. It may be a false alarm. If it is not, I will tell you where we are taken. Monnie tells me that my creed is, 'I shall never be moved.' Have you got your foundation so firm underfoot that you can give your assent to that? My earthquake is a very earthly one. I think—in fact, I know—that my foundation is immovable, so if one's inner man is anchored 'sure and steadfast' to it, it does not matter about the outer man, does it?

"I think you are going ahead with your building faster than I am. But Empire building is a big thing. I do congratulate you with all my heart upon your success. You see, we have heard more of your doings through George Lockhart than through yourself.

"This is not a very interesting letter, but it will at least let you know that we think of you and talk of you, and look forward to your letters. I am always going to sign myself—

"Your fellow builder,

"SIDNEY URQUHART."

Sidney put her pen down when she had signed her name with a little sigh.

"Oh, how tied a woman is!" she exclaimed. "How she has to keep back all natural expressions of pleasure in what a friend does and says. My heart is too full of his heroism to trust my pen. It would run away with me. I feel I would like to see him. Letters are so stiff, so unsatisfying."

Then she relapsed into dreams—dreams which she had long thought dead, but which kept her wrapped in sweet oblivion of time and surroundings and brought a light to her eyes and a flush upon her cheeks. When she roused herself at last, she laughed at herself.

"I ought to know better than to waste my time in such silliness."

And she went downstairs and occupied herself with so many household duties that further dreams were impossible.

The papers for the next few days brought no fresh news except that the British had a complete victory over the rebels, with fifteen dead and thirty wounded. Then one day the names of the wounded were given, and amongst them was Randolph Neville, "slightly wounded in the shoulder." A letter arrived from him later. It was as follows:

"DEAR MISS URQUHART,

"I am enjoying a lull after a storm. I don't know how much you may have seen in the papers from the telegrams sent, but we've been having rather a busy time here. I know I am an unknown quantity, but I suppose I have a better opinion of my powers in dealing with these natives than have my superiors, and I honestly think you would have heard nothing about us, if I had been left alone. However, there was a slight disturbance over the ejection of a scamp, and troops came rushing down; and then we had a bit of a shindy, as one of the hill tribes joined in. Now we are quiet again, and I have to nurse my right shoulder, which received a bullet at rather too close quarters to be pleasant. Young Lockhart quite distinguished himself. He will get promotion soon, if I have any influence at headquarters.

"Well, how are things going down your way? Your letters do more to keep me going, and keep me going cheerily, than any other mortal thing. How do you manage to instil such a breath of sweetness and vigour between such thin sheets of paper? Last night I dreamed that you were sitting in the shadows here singing to me. It was a hot, breathless night, but I could smell the syringa bushes in your garden shrubbery, and I seemed as if I were enveloped in your atmosphere. Some time ago I was cursing the gift of memory; now I am blessing it, for it brings me you. Am I receding farther and farther in the cells of your memory? But no; you are more than good in corresponding with me, and I will not think so meanly of your friendship, which you gave so frankly and warm-heartedly. Excuse this scrawl; my right arm is in a sling.

"Remember me to the Admiral. I would like a chat with him out here. I enjoyed the society of the soldiers whilst we had them. I put up the colonel and major in my quarters, and discovered that the major had been in my old regiment years ago. We had quite a gossip over old times. I always feel a pang when I think of my exit from the Service. Fighting in politics is such a different thing from real warfare.

"Now they have gone, and I am left undisputed king of my domain, with piles of correspondence to wade through, and reports to write to about twenty different departments. I am neither fish nor fowl, civilian nor soldier, and, ergo, I have a variety of masters to serve and can manage to please none. The chances are that I may come back like a bad halfpenny to old England. What would your welcome be like, I wonder? It opens a vista of conjecture and possibility to me. Well, I shall for the present go on with my building, and if I can get this spot wholesomely sweet before I leave it, I shall have done as much as I expected to do.

"Your rather weary fellow builder—

"RANDOLPH NEVILLE."

Sidney read the greater part of this aloud to her father.

"Men always take things so lightly," she complained. "Now, if that had been a woman who had written, we should have had the fighting in awful reality. She would have drawn a vivid picture of the whole; but Mr. Neville dismisses it in a few words."

As she was speaking, Gavine was ushered into the room. She brought up a letter from George Lockhart which she had received by the same mail, so Sidney had her desire given her, for George gave many details about his chief, and told exactly how he was shot in carrying a wounded soldier to safety.

"All has quieted down," he wrote, "and the colonel saw that no more troops would be needed. Mr. Neville holds the whole place in the hollow of his hand. The natives were rather shy and uncertain of him before; now they look upon him as a god. He has gradually and quietly got them in hand, and this upset has brought matters to a crisis and shown them that he will be master. But I believe he has had some bad moments himself, when he was expecting a recall. In fact, all one day wires were hard at work undoing slanderous reports. He never says much, but he let out to me when we were having a pipe together that if he was not allowed a free hand, and if they were suspicious of his motives at home, he would clear out at twenty-four hours' notice. And he would, too. And the Government would lose one of the best men out."

"I thought you would like to hear this," said Gavine simply. "George is very enthusiastic over Mr. Neville, but he knows him better than anyone else."

Sidney thanked her warmly for her news, and for some time the Admiral and the two girls discussed the situation. Then Sidney asked Gavine about herself. There had been delay about her going up to town, and she had not yet left her mother, but she was hoping to leave the very next day.

"I never thought I should be so sorry to go," she confided to Sidney as she stood on the terrace outside the house wishing her friend good-bye. "I felt I should miss Jockie, but I shall miss you a thousand times more."

Sidney did not laugh at her girlish infatuation, she kissed her tenderly.

"We will write to each other, and you must come and stop with us next time you visit this part."

For an instant Gavine looked as if she were about to say something; then she checked herself, and it remained unsaid.

Yet, as she went down the drive a few minutes later, she murmured to herself:

"I wonder if she guesses. I could not tell her my fears, for, after all, I may be mistaken, and I am not the one to talk of my own mother."