The Native Born; or, the Rajah's People Part 19

"Respect!" jeered Mrs. Cary.

"Yes, respect--not much, I confess, but still enough to have made me leave them alone if I had had the chance. Lois has been kind to me. I happen to know that, little as she likes me, she is about the only one in the Station who keeps her tongue from slander and--the truth. As for John Stafford, if he is a narrow-minded bigot, he is at least a man, and that is something to appreciate."

"That is just what I think!" Mrs. Cary said conciliatingly. "And therefore he is the very husband for you, dear child."

"You think so, not because he is a man, but because he has a position in which it would suit you excellently to have a son-in-law. Well, I have promised to do my best, though I am convinced it is too late."

"There is no official engagement between them," Mrs. Cary said hopefully, "and you know your power, Beaty. He already likes you more than enough, and what with Mr. Travers on the other side--All the same," she continued, becoming suddenly petulant, "it's too bad of you to throw away a chance like this."

Beatrice covered her face with her hand with a gesture of complete weariness.

"I have promised to do my best," she reiterated. "Let me do it my own way. I can not go to-night--I feel I can not. If I went, it would only be a failure. Let me for once be judge of what is best."

Her mother sighed resignedly.

"Very well. I suppose I can't force you. You can be as obstinate as a mule when you choose. I only hope you won't live to regret it. Good night."

This time she did not give her daughter the usual perfunctory and barely tolerated kiss. At the bottom of her torpid, selfish soul she was bitterly hurt and disappointed, as those people always are who have hurt and disappointed others their whole lives, and only a glimmer of hope that Beatrice's determination might have softened made her hesitate at the door and glance back. Beatrice sat just as she had sat the whole evening, in an att.i.tude of moody thought, her fingers still playing with the blood-red ruby, and Mrs. Cary went out, slamming the door violently after her.

In consequence of her long and futile appeal, Mrs. Cary had made herself very late, and when she entered the large marquee which Travers had had erected in his garden she found that all the guests had arrived, including Rajah Nehal Singh himself. He stood facing the entrance, and she felt, with a consoling sense of spiteful triumph, how his glance hurried past her, seeking the figure which no doubt above all else had tempted him thither.

The senior lady, Mrs. Carmichael, was at his side, and as Mrs. Cary in duty bound went up to pay her respects, she added satisfaction to satisfaction by relating loudly that her daughter had a slight headache which she had not thought it worth while to increase by a form of entertainment which, between you and me, dear Mrs. Carmichael, bad taste as it no doubt is, has no attractions for Beatrice. Now, anything outdoor, and nothing will keep her from it! She turned to Stafford, who was standing with Lois close at hand. "That reminds me to tell you, Captain, how tremendously my daughter enjoyed her ride with you yesterday. If you promise not to get conceited, I will tell you what she said."

"I promise!" he said, with a mock gravity which concealed a very real amus.e.m.e.nt.

"She said that in her opinion there wasn't a better horseman in Marut, and that it was more pleasure to ride with you than any one else. Now, are you keeping your promise?" She tapped him playfully on the arm.

Stafford bowed, looking what he felt, hot and uncomfortable. There are some people who have the knack of making others ashamed of them and of themselves. Mrs. Cary was just such a person.

"It was very kind of Miss Cary to say so," Stafford said stiffly. "I am afraid her praise is not justified."

All this time Nehal Singh had been standing at Mrs. Cary's elbow, and she had persistently ignored him. Deeper than her reverence for any form of t.i.tle was her wounded conviction that he had once laughed at her and made her ridiculous, and to this injury was added the insult that it came from a man whom, as an Englishwoman, she had the privilege of "tolerating." A true parvenu, she had quickly learned to suspect and despise the credentials of other intruders.

He turned away from her and for the first time there was something hesitating and troubled in his manner. Hitherto there had been songs and music for his entertainment; it was now the turn of the Europeans to follow their usual form of pleasure, yet they looked at one another questioningly. It was the custom of the chief guest of the evening to open the dancing, but this could hardly be expected of a native prince who was as yet ignorant of such things and who must still be bound and fettered by caste and religion.

The pause of uncertainty lasted only a moment, but for those at least whose eyes were open, it was a moment symbolical of a great loneliness. In the midst of a gay and crowded world of people, linked together by a common tie of blood, Nehal Singh stood isolated. He did not know it, but it was that loneliness which cast a transitory chill upon his enthusiasm and made him draw himself stiffly upright and face the hundred questioning eyes with a new hauteur. An instant and it was gone--that illuminating flash vanished, like a line drawn across a quicksand, beneath the surface, never to be seen again, perhaps never even to be remembered.

Stafford led Lois out into the center, and one pair after another followed his example. With Travers still at his side, the Rajah drew back from the now crowded floor of dancers, and watched the scene with glistening, eager eyes, happy at last to be in the midst of them--the Great People of the world. It was a brilliant scene, for Travers had spared nothing. The sides of the marquee banked with flowers, the music, the brilliant dresses and uniforms, were all calculated to impress a mind as yet curiously unspoiled by the pomp and magnificence of the East. They impressed Nehal Singh deeply; his mind was filled with a wonder and pleasure which did something toward soothing the first bitter disappointment that the evening had brought him.

But above all else, he wondered at himself and the rapidity of the fate which in two short weeks had swept him out of his solitude into the very vortex of a world unknown to him save through his books. He asked himself what power it was that had flung aside caste, religion, education, like a child's sandcastle before the onrush of a mighty tide. Caste, religion, hatred of the foreigner, these things had been sown deep into him, had been fostered and trained like precious plants, and now they were dead at the first contact with European ideas. They were gone as though they had never been. He had made no resistance. He had drifted with the stream, regardless of the entreating, threatening hands held out to him; yielding to a divine power stronger than himself, stronger far than the implanted principles of his life.

His wonder, though he did not know it, was shared by the Englishman at his side. Travers, accustomed as he was to look upon human theories and principles as buyable and saleable appendages, could not suppress a mild surprise at the rapidity with which this Hindu prince had a.s.similated the ideas and mental att.i.tude of another hemisphere.

Possibly it could be traced back to the parrot-like propensities of all inferior races, but Travers, much as the solution appealed to him, could not accept it. A parrot that a.s.sumes with apparent ease the ways of his master within a fortnight, and thereby retains a striking originality of his own, is not an ordinary parrot, and the conviction was dawning on Travers that Nehal Singh was not an ordinary Hindu. The unusual simplicity of his dress, which nevertheless concealed a costly and refined taste, his firm though unpretentious bearing, the energy with which he had overthrown what Travers guessed must have been a fairly violent opposition on the part of his priestly advisers, pointed to a decided, interesting and perhaps, under certain circ.u.mstances, dangerous personality. The latter part of this deduction had not as yet struck Travers in its full force, but so much he at least felt that he proceeded to go warily, relying on his diplomacy and still more on a weapon which was not the less effective for being kept, as on this occasion, in the background.

"Rajah Sahib, this is our second meeting," he said, after a few minutes' study of the handsome absorbed face. "I have my answer ready."

Nehal Singh turned at once, as though he had been waiting for Travers to broach the subject.

"You have not forgotten, then?"

"Forgotten? No; it lent itself too easily to my fancy and secret ambition for me to forget. Doubtless, though, my answer will not appeal to you, for it is the answer of a business man with a business hobby of immense proportions and of the earth earthy."

"Nevertheless, tell it to me," Nehal Singh said, looking about him as though seeking a way out of the noise and confusion. "Whatever it is, it will interest me so long as it has one object."

"I venture to think I know that object," was Travers' mental comment as he led the way into the second division of the marquee.

The place had been laid out as a refreshment room, with small, prettily decorated tables, and was for the moment empty, save for a few busy native servants. An electric globe hung from the ceiling, and immediately beneath its brilliant light Travers came to a standstill.

He put his hand in his pocket and drew out what seemed to be a jewel-case, which he opened and handed to the Rajah.

"Before I say anything further, I want you to look at that and give me your opinion, Rajah Sahib," he said. "I will then proceed."

Nehal Singh took the small white stone from the case and studied it intently. He held it to the light, and it flashed back at him a hundred brilliant colors. He smiled with the pleasure of a connoisseur.

"It is a diamond," he said, "a beautiful diamond. Though smaller, it must surely equal the one I wear in my turban."

"You confirm my opinion and the opinion of all experts," Travers answered enthusiastically, "and I will confess to you that it is that stone which has prolonged my stay indefinitely at Marut. About a year ago a friend of mine, an engineer, who was engaged on some government work at the river, had occasion to make excavations about a quarter of a mile from the Bazaar. He happened to come across this stone, and being something of an expert, he recognized it--and held his tongue.

When he came south again to Madras, he confided hit discovery to me, and, impressed by his story, and the stone, I sent a mining engineer to Marut to make secret investigations. I received his report six months ago."

Nehal Singh replaced the stone slowly in its case.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"He reported that there were sure and certain signs that the whole of the Bazaar is built upon a diamond field of unusual proportions, which, unlike other Indian mining enterprises, was likely to repay, doubly repay, exploitation. I immediately came to Marut, and found that the Bazaar was entirely your property, Rajah Sahib, and that you were not likely to be influenced by any representations. Nevertheless I remained, experimenting and investigating, above all hoping that some chance would lead me in your way. Destiny, as you see, Rajah Sahib, has spoken the approving word."

Nehal Singh sighed as he handed the case back, and the sigh expressed a. rather weary disappointment.

"I have stones enough and wealth enough," he said. "I have no need of more."

"It was not of you I was thinking, Rajah Sahib," Travers returned.

"Of whom, then?"

"Of myself, to some extent, as becomes a business man, but also, and I venture to a.s.sert princ.i.p.ally, of the general welfare of your country and people."

"I fear I do not understand you."

"And yet, Rajah Sahib, you have read, and have no doubt been able to trace through history the source of prosperity and misfortune among the nations. The curse of India is her overpopulation and the inability of her people to extract from the earth sufficient means for existence. If I may say so, the ordinary native is a dreamer who prefers to starve on a treasure h.o.a.rd rather than bestir himself to unbury it. Lack of energy, lack of initiative, lack of opportunity, lack also of guides have made your subjects suffering idlers whose very existence is a curse to themselves and an unsolved problem for others. Charity can not help them--that enervating poison has already done enough mischief. You could fling away your whole fortune on your state, and leave it with no improvement. The cure, if cure there be, lies in the awakening of a sense of independence and ambition and self-respect. Only work can do this, only work can transform them from beggars into honorable, self-supporting members of the Empire; and the crying misery of the present time calls upon you, Rajah Sahib, to rouse them to their new task!"

He had spoken with an enthusiasm which grew in measure as he saw its effect upon his hearer. For though he did not immediately respond, Nehal Singh's face had betrayed emotions which a natural dignity was learning to hold back from impulsive expression. He answered at last quietly, but with an irrepressible undercurrent of eagerness.

"You speak convincingly," he said; "and though I fear you overrate the hidden powers of activity in my people, you have made me still more anxious for a direct answer to my question--what would you do in my place?"

"If I had the money and the power, I would sweep the Bazaar, with all its dirt and disease, out of existence," Travers answered energetically. "I would build up a new native quarter outside Marut, and enforce order and cleanliness. Where the present Bazaar stands, I would open out a mine, and with the help of European experts encourage the natives into the subsequent employment which would stand open to them. In a short time a mere military Station would become the center of native industry and commercial prosperity."

A faint skeptical smile played around Nehal Singh's mouth, but his eyes were still profoundly grave.

"If I know my people, I fear they will revolt against such changes,"

he said. "You have described them as dreamers who prefer starvation to effort--such they are."