A Galahad Of The Creeks; The Widow Lamport Part 11

CHAPTER XV.

THE Pa.s.sING OF THE WOON.

Pick up the threads, the web is spun; For weal or woe, the task is done.

_Maraffa_.

"Good-bye, Phipson. We can never forget what we owe you--you and the poor boy who lies there. Come to us when you can. We will give you a warm welcome. It's a big country, and there's room for a young man with hands and feet. Good-bye again!"

Habakkuk shook hands cordially with Phipson, and pa.s.sed up the gangway of the Woon to join his wife, who had already said farewell. The siren whistle screamed shrilly, and with much laughter and good-humoured hustling the crowd on board left the decks, the paddles drummed, and the Woon sidled back from the quay, and then, turning gracefully round, steamed down the river, followed by a mult.i.tude of boats whose gaily dressed occupants formed bright groups of gorgeous colour on the gleaming water. Phipson stood and watched, and answered the wave of the white handkerchief from the stern; stood and watched until the convoy of boats became but little black specks, and the Woon entered a curve of golden water that reflected back the glories of the sunset and was lost to view. In the fore part of the s.h.i.+p, beside his belongings, sat Serferez Ali, who had cut his name, and was going back to enjoy his well-earned pension in his home in the Salt Range of the Punjab. He was rich with this and the rewards he had gained, and if at times he had done things which our civilization does not approve of, that did not the less make him a gallant old specimen of his cla.s.s.

Occasionally he would rise, and, walking to the inclosed s.p.a.ce reserved for horses, caress the soft muzzle of his roan, a round, black muzzle that thrust itself confidingly forward toward him.

"We are going back, Motee, my heart--going back out of this accursed land of swamps. Didst thou think, thou of the Waziri, that I would leave thee to die here? Nay, nay! We are going back to the land where women bring forth men. But we saw the a.s.sa.s.sin hang before we went--hang-like the dog he was; and Bullen, son of Bishen, thy old comrade, brave, but a fool, is now inspector in _my_ place. But comfort thee, my pearl, we are going _home!_"

The mare whinnied back to her master, and the old man sought his seat again, keeping one eye on a heavy bra.s.s-bound box and the other on his favourite.

At intervals he watched the broad fan of the electric light throw its white radiance across the river, and murmured to himself as he inhaled the grateful fumes of the hubble-bubble:

"Prophet of G.o.d! But these English are a wonderful race! Nevertheless, except for their cursed engines, the _khalsa_ would still have been.

_Ahi!_ those were the battles of giants!"

On the quarter deck Ruys, very pale and white, leaned back in a lounge chair, and Habakkuk stood beside her with a new light in his eyes.

They watched the thin scimitar of the new moon gleam out of the sky, and the gray mists creep up the river and enfold the dim and now distant outlines of the forest. They were leaving the country, leaving the East for good. One felt that to other and stronger hands must be left the work so well begun by him; and as for the other, she had gone through the furnace and had come out pure gold. From his post by the man at the wheel Skipper Jack watched the pair. He was a man whom the ordinary cares of the world troubled not, but on the present occasion serious misfortune had a.s.sailed him, and he was out of temper. His tobacco had run out, and he had sunk to the degradation of filling his pipe with the half-burned stump of a cheroot. Skipper Jack stood, therefore, hard by the man at the wheel, and, while his keen eyes evermore watched the s.h.i.+p's course, his tongue murmured strange oaths under his beard. But what was that, seen through the gloom, that crinkled up the gnarled features of the skipper into a sour smile of amus.e.m.e.nt? He saw it again, and in his astonishment almost dropped his favourite clay.

"Bust me foolis.h.!.+" he muttered to himself. "Blowed if the parson ain't a-spooning the missis! Gr-r-r! the old pipe is out!"

THE WIDOW LAMPORT

But I laye a-wakynge, and loe! ye dawne was breakynge, And rarelye pyped a larke for ye promyse of ye daye: "Uppe and sette yr lance in reste!

Uppe and followe on ye queste!

Leave ye issue to bee guessed At ye endynge of ye waye "--

As I laye a-wakynge, 'twas soe she seemed to say-- "Whatte and if it alle bee feynynge?

There be better thynges than gaynynge, Better pryzes than attaynynge."

And 'twas truthe she seemed to saye.

Whyles the dawne was breakynge, I rode upon my waye.

Q. (_Oxford Magazine_.)

THE WIDOW LAMPORT.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE DOOR OF THE TABERNACLE.

When Mrs. Lamport, the pretty widow, was observed standing outside the door of the Methodist meeting-house in Rigaum one Sabbath morning after service, the congregation began to wonder and cast little inquiring looks at each other.

They were serious folk, and it was clear to them that the proper course to pursue, after attending divine wors.h.i.+p, was to make one's way soberly home, looking neither to the right nor to the left, lest the enemy of mankind should seize his opportunity to the ruin of a soul. Her presence excited curiosity the more as none of the wors.h.i.+ppers had seen her in church that day. This absence disappointed the womankind, who were wont to take surrept.i.tious notes of Halsa Lamport's dress, between their fingers, as they knelt apparently absorbed in prayer. Mrs. Lamport stood on the steps of the chapel entrance, leaning lightly on the end of her parasol, a neat figure dressed in white, with a coquettish knot of red ribbons in her high straw hat. The flash of these ribbons in the sunlight caught the eye of Elder Bullin as he stepped forth, smug and clean shaven, his two daughters following demurely in his footsteps. A scowl pa.s.sed over the old man's features, and he muttered something under his breath about Rahab and the city wall. As the people filed out of church they stared at Mrs. Lamport. Most of the young men lifted their hats, but the greater portion of the women pursed up their lips and sniffed at the figure before them. There were two crimson spots on the widow's cheeks now; she had a temper, and it was evident that it was being put to trial. She rattled the plated end of her parasol on the stone steps, and made an impatient movement.

Let it be at once understood that, as far as the good people of the Rigaum tabernacle knew, there was no record against Mrs. Lamport, except the fact that she was a pure European, and they, for the most part, were of mixed descent. She had come suddenly into their midst about a year ago, and all that they knew of her was that she boarded with the Bunnys, and was supposed to be a distant connection of theirs. Her living with the Bunnys ensured her toleration, for Mr.

Bunny was the registrar of a government office, and not a man to be offended with impunity.

Nevertheless the word was pa.s.sed that friendly relations with the pretty widow were not to be cultivated. It was not to be denied that she was diligent in her attendance at chapel, that no word of hers had given offence--yet the women took alarm, the husbands yielded to their wives, and Mr. Bunny's influence alone preserved an armed neutrality.

As Mr. Bunny and his wife came out of church they stopped and looked inquiringly at the widow, for she had pleaded a headache as an excuse for not attending service with them.

"Come to meet us?" asked Mrs. Bunny with a smile.

"No," was the reply; "I have come to meet Mr. Galbraith."

Almost as the words were spoken the pastor appeared, and after a few moments' conversation he and Mrs. Lamport moved off slowly together, under the shadow of the palm trees, in the direction of Mr. Bunny's house. Mrs. Bunny discreetly induced her husband to take a longer road, and as for those of the congregation who overheard the words spoken, they remained almost struck dumb with astonishment. Mr.

Sarkies, however, a semi-Armenian, and a member of the congregation, who was himself looked upon with suspicion as not having yet found Christ, made a little mistake at this moment.

"Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!" said he to himself as he struck his gray pantaloons with a thin cane smartly and looked after the retreating pair. Sarkies prided himself somewhat on being a lady-killer, and it had been his intention, as soon as he had straightened his collar sufficiently, to give the widow the pleasure of his company home.

It was unfortunate for him, however, that the bad word caught Elder Bullin's ear. The old man had stopped for a moment, much against his will, to reply to a remark made by a friend. He was about to rebuke the speaker for having his thoughts on earthly matters on the Lord's Day when the oath, softly spoken though it was, reached him. He turned sharply. "Young man," said he, "swear not at all. Behold!" he added, pointing with his stick at the shrinking figure before him, "here is one whose paths are in the Valley of Sin, and whose ways lead him to h.e.l.l fire."

"Oh, paw!" exclaimed his eldest daughter deprecatingly.

"I--I beg pardon, Mr. Bullin," stammered Sarkies; "it slipped out."

"Never you come to my house again," continued the elder. "I will bring your scandalous conduct before the next meeting."

Sarkies tried vainly to smile and carry it off with a high hand, but the elder's words attracted a crowd, and their united attention was too much for him. He made an effort, however, to retreat with dignity.

"I don't want--come to y'r'ouse," he said with a sickly smile as he pushed his hat slightly on one side of his head and moved off with an air of apparent unconcern.

At this junction Miss Bullin burst into tears.

"Shame! shame! Lizzie!" exclaimed her sister Laura; but Lizzie was not to be appeased. She wore her heart upon her sleeve, after the manner of some women.

"Oh, my Jimmy!" she cried, and the elder was moved to uncontrollable wrath.