_ PHASE V. A STAR IN DARKNESS
CHAPTER II
"I seek what I cannot get;
I get what I do not seek."
--RABINDRANATH TAGORE.
Then the storm broke in earnest....
Crash on flash, crash on flash--at ever-lessening intervals--the tearless heavens raged and clattered round his unprotected head. Thunder toppled about him like falling timber stacks. Fiery serpents darted all ways at once among black boughs that swayed and moaned funereally. The gloom of the forest enhanced the weird magnificence of it all: and Roy--who had just been within an ace of flinging away his life--felt irrationally anxious on account of thronging trees and the absence of rain.
He had recovered sufficiently to chuckle at the ignominious anti-climax. But, as usual, it was the creepsomeness rather than the danger that got on his nerves and forced his legs to hurry of their own accord....
In the deep of a gloomy indent, the thought assailed him--"Why do I know it all so well? Where...? When...?"
An inner flash lit the dim recesses of memory. Of course--it was that other day of summer, in the far beginning of things; the day of the Golden Tusks and the gloom and the growling thunder; his legs, as now, in a fearful hurry of their own accord; and Tara waiting for him--his High-Tower Princess. With a pang he recalled how she had seemed the point of safety--because she was never afraid.
No Tara waiting now. No point of safety, except a very prosaic dak bungalow and good old Azim, who would fuss like the devil if rain came on and he got a wetting.
Ah--here it was, at last! Buckets of it. Lashing his face, running down his neck, saturating him below his flapping burberry. Buffeted mercilessly, he broke into a trot. Thunder and lightning were less virulent now; and he found himself actually enjoying it all.
Tired----? Not a bit. The miasma of depression seemed blown clean away by the horseplay of the elements. He had been within an ace of taking unwarranted liberties with Nature. Now she retaliated by taking liberties with him; and her buffeting proved a finer restorative than all the drugs in creation. Electricity, her 'fierce angel of the air,' set every nerve tingling. A queer sensation: but it was
life. And he had been feeling more than half dead....
Azim Khan, however--being innocent of 'nerves'--took quite another view of the matter.
Arrived at the point of safety, Roy found a log fire burning; and a brazier alight under a contrivance like a huge cane hen-coop, for drying his clothes. Vainly protesting, he was made to change every garment; was installed by the fire, with steaming brandy-and-water at his elbow, and lemons and sugar--and letters ... quite a little pile of them.
"
Belaiti dak, Hazur,"[40] Azim Khan superfluously informed him, with an air of personal pride in the whole
bundobast--including the timely arrival of the English mail.
There were parcels also--a biggish one, from his father; another from Jeffers, obviously a book. And suddenly it dawned on him--this must be the tenth of June. Yesterday was his twenty-sixth birthday; and he had never thought of it; never realised the date! But
they had thought of it weeks ahead: while he--graceless and ungrateful--had deemed himself half forgotten.
He ran the envelopes through his fingers--Tiny, Tara. (His heart jerked. Was it congratulations? He had never felt he could write of it to her.) Aruna; a black-edged one from Thea; and--his heart jerked in quite another fashion--Rose!
Amazing! What did it mean? She wasn't--going back on things...?
Curiosity--sharpened by a prick of fear--impelled him to open her letter first. And the moment he had read the opening line, compunction smote him.
"Roy--my Dear, I couldn't help remembering the ninth. So I feel I must write and wish you 'many happy returns' of it--happier than this one--with all my heart. I have worried over you a good deal. For I'm sure you must have been ill. Do go home soon and be properly taken care of, by your own people. I'm going in the autumn with my friend, Mrs Hilton. Some day you will surely find a wife worthier of you than I would have been. When your good day comes, let me know and I'll do the same by you. Good luck to you always.--ROSE."
Roy slipped the note into his pocket and sat staring at the fire, deeply moved. A vision of her--too alluring for comfort--was flashed upon his brain. She was confoundedly attractive. She had no end of good points: but ... with a very big B....
His gaze rested absently on the parcel from his father. What the deuce could it be? To the imaginative, an unopened parcel never quite loses its intriguing air of mystery. The shape suggested a picture. His mother...?
With a luxury of deliberation he cut the strings; removed wrapper after wrapper to the last layer of tissue....
Then he drew a great breath--and sat spellbound; gazing--endlessly gazing--at Tara's face:--the wild roses in her cheeks faded a little; the glory of her hair undimmed; the familiar way it rippled back from her low, wide brow; a hint of hidden pain about the sensitive lips and in the hyacinth blue of her eyes. Only his father could have wrought a vision so appealingly alive. And the effect on Roy was instantaneous ... overwhelming....
Tara--dearest and loveliest! Of course it was her--always had been, down in the uttermost depths. The treasure he had been far to seek had blossomed beside him since the beginning of things: and he, with his eyes always on the horizon, had missed the one incomparable flower at his feet....
Had he missed it? Had there ever been a chance? What, precisely, had she meant by her young, vehement refusal of him? And--if it were not the dreaded reason--was there still hope? Would she ever understand ... ever forgive ... the inglorious episode of Rose? If, at heart, he could plead the excuse of Adam, he could not plead it to her.
Reverently he took that miracle of a picture between his hands and set it on the broad mantelpiece, that distance might quicken the illusion of life.
Then the spell was on him again. Her sweetness and light seemed to illumine the unbeautiful room. Of a truth he knew, now, what it meant to love and be in love with every faculty of soul and body; knew it for a miracle of renewal, the elixir of life. And--the light of that knowledge revealed how secondary a part of it was the craving with which he had craved possession of Rose. Steeped in poetry as he was, there stole into his mind a fragment of Tagore--'She who had ever remained in the depths of my being, in the twilight of gleams and glimpses ... I have roamed from country to country, keeping her in the core of my heart.'
All the jangle of jarred nerves and shaken faith; all the confusion of shattered hopes and ideals would resolve itself into coherence at last--if only ... if only----!
And dropping suddenly from the clouds, he remembered his letters ...
her letter.
A sealed envelope had fallen unheeded from his father's parcel: but it was hers he seized--and half hesitated to open. What if she were announcing her own engagement to some infernal fellow at home? There must be scores and scores of them....
His hand was not quite steady as he unfolded the two sheets that bore his father's crest and the home stamp, 'Bramleigh Beeches.'
"My Dear Roy (he read),
"Many happy returns of June the Ninth. It was one of our great days--wasn't it?--once upon a time. All your best and dearest wishes we are wishing for you--over here. And of course I've heard your tremendous news; though you never wrote and told me--why? You say she is beautiful. I hope she is a lot more besides. You would need a lot more, Roy, unless you've changed very much from the boy I used to know.
"It is cruel having to write--in the same breath--about Lance. From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became. To me it seems almost like half of you gone. And I'm sure it must seem so to you--my poor Roy. I don't wonder you felt bad about the way of it; but it was the essence of him--that kind of thing. A verse of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head ever since I heard it:--
'Surely we knew it long before;
Knew all along that he was made
For a swift radiant morning; for
A sacrificing swift night shade.'
"I can't write all I feel about it. Besides, I'm hoping your pain may be eased a little now; and I don't want to wake it up again.
"But not even these two big things--not even your Birthday--are my reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my Bracelet-Bound Brother. Do you remember? Have you kept it, Roy? Does it still mean anything to you? It does to me--though I've never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. But--I'm going to, now. Not for myself. Don't be afraid! It's for Uncle Nevil--and I ask it in Aunt Lilamani's name.
"Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable. He's never really got over losing her. And you've been sort of lost too--for the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And you--out there, probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite. I know you--and your ways. Also I know him--which is my ragged shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think better of it!
"He has been an angel to me ever since I got back; and it seems to cheer him up when I run round here. So I do--pretty often. But I'm not Roy! And perhaps you'll forgive my bold demand, when I tell you Aunt Jane's looming--positively looming! She's becoming a perfect ogre of sisterly solicitude. As he won't go to London, she's threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her headquarters after the season! And he--poor darling--with not enough spirit in him to kick against the pricks. If you were coming, he would have an excuse. Alone--he's helpless in her conscientious talons!
"If that won't bring you, nothing will--not even my bracelet command.
"I know the journey in June will be a nightmare. And you won't like leaving Indian friends or Miss Arden. But think--here he is alone, wanting what only you can give him. And the bangle I sent you That Day--if you've kept it--gives me the right to say 'Come--quickly.' It may be a wrench. But I promise you won't regret it. Wire, if you can.
"Always your loving
TARA."
By the time he had finished reading that so characteristic and endearing letter his plans were cut and dried. Her irresistible appeal--and the no less irresistible urge within him--left no room for the deliberations of his sensitive complex nature. It flung open all the floodgates of memory; set every nerve aching for Home--and Tara, late discovered; but not too late, he passionately prayed....
The nightmare journey had no terrors for him now. In every sense he was 'hers to command.'
He drew out his old, old letter-case--her gift--and opened it. There lay the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish note; the 'ribbin' from her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands of her hair. The sight of it brought tears of which he felt not the least ashamed.
It also brought a vision of himself standing before his mother, demurring at possible obligations involved in their 'game of play.' And across the years came back to him her very words, her very look and tone: 'Remember, Roy, it is for always. If she shall ask from you any service, you must not refuse--ever.... By keeping the bracelet you are bound ...'
Wire? Of course he would.
Before the day was out his message was speeding to her: "Engagement off. Coming first possible boat. Yours to command--ROY."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 40: English mail.] _