HER BROTHER'S KEEPER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7541, 25 October 1902, Page 2

HER BROTHER'S KEEPER.

(By ALICE FLEMING.) He oould not raise his band to kill, God sent herihaiid, to hold it; He could, not work ihis maddened will, Because iher will controlled it. She tamed •(Ihe tiger, charmed the snake, And soothed the savage human; Then— cried as if her heart would break, A tired Kiltie -woman. A small woman in a badly cut khaiki habit rode slowly along a path which, although it was the main thoroughfare between two fairly large villages, was almost overgrown by tufts of tall jungle-grass. She was no longer young, and the bright colouring of hair and! skint that was once hers had been dulled by nearly twenty years spent in India. The pitiless- climate—kinder to her, however, than to many Englishwomen—had taken toll of her beaiuty without wrecking her health.; for, though, the face under the faded hair was very thin, and yellow, the alight figure swaying easily in the saddle was erect and strong. Her Arab chose his own pace, and she made no attempt to hasten his slow steps. The j dark bungalow ■where she intended to spend the night was but a mile away, and, since her husband had been detained on his inspection tour 4 no one was waiting for her there. A note, telling her of the unexpected delay, had reached her that morning, advising her to postpone her jungle trip until the following day ; but Mrs Addison, had made her arrangergtents for departure, and » great weariness of her own whitewashed house had seized her. Her home letters bad been disquieting lately. The boy at j Woolwich had developed an unexpected j delicacy of the lungs, and her youngest son, with a boy's indifference to the value of time was playing at athletic* instead of workmg for Sandirorst. There was nothing in. the small dull station, nothing in. the monotonous evenings passed so slowly in the drewy precincts of the "Amusement Club," to amuse or distract an anxious mind, and, ten days in casap, even with, a husband who was habitually overworked, and frequently worried, appeared to her as a change that might bring rest and •nealA familiar figure, running as swiftly as clumsy shoes would allow, emerged at a turn of the road; Guj Raj Singh, one of Mr Addison's chaprassies and messengers, whose name being translated -meant "Elephant King Lion." "Stop mem sahib," he panted, "there is a mad sahib in the bungalow who is shooting frith a gun, and ? your honour must wait till he. is caught." " A mad sahib? Where has he come from?" " The temgaiow khansamalt has no news, Huzoor. The sahib arrived yesterday, very angry, without servants, and with but three coolies bringing boxes. They told the khansamah. that they had found the sahib in the jungle alone, and he had beaten them with sticks and obliged them to carry his asbab. They saw no tents. Last night the sahib was full of anger for no reason, and to-day he is mad, and Shas * gun." - "It must be some poor fellow with sun-, stroke," said Mary Addison to herself. "He will soon be caught, however," said Guj Raj cheerfully, " many men from the Tillage are there with- heavy sticky If the honoured one will wait a little--—" "I am going on ; follow me, said Mrs Addison. , Three minutes' quick canter brought ncr in sight of the \ bungalowy a one-storied building of threte rooms, dpening upon, a narrow verandah. A swelling seething crowd of men armed with metal-bound staves swayed and shifted near, and a little rabble of women and children watched from a safe distance. As she drew rem, • reed blind that hung before" the centre door moved aligntly, there was a puff of smoke, the sharp ping of a rifle, and a bullet found a harmless billet in a. green turban, two inches above the wearer's head. " Strike," yelled the crowd. " Seize and Btrike !" and it seemed to the white woman that race hatred mingled with the fear and anger in their voices. No one had dared to approach- the man behind the blind yet ; but when they did, the six-foot brass-bound latties were terrible weapons, that could d«*l the death of a dog. One of Mrs Addison's own servants ran to her. "The sahib is mad," he shouted; "go back!" "Chtiop," she answered, and the emphatio word seemed to enforce the silence it commanded. " Send these people away at once. Tell them to go quietly to their houses. The sahib' is my brother." She dismounted, and walked to the reed blind as resolutely as though no possibility of death in a hideous form lurked behind it. The man was absolutely unknown to her, but the race feeling was> strong in her heart. An Englishman in an alien land needed help, and she, as an English- • woman, must save him from himself if neceslary. She noticed how the smell of gunpowdef hung in the air. The man behind the blind was quite young, and very tall and strongly built; his face was strangely red, almost congested, and his fair hair was very dull and untidy. As she entered he instinctively raised his hand to his bare head as though to take off a hat, and the little gesture relieved her of the worst of her fears. "How dd you do?" she said pleasantly, «ad he shifted his rifle to take her profferfed hand. " I'm, Mrs Addison. Perhaps you 'have met my husband out in this district ; he has been prevented from meeting me here, but he will come to-morrow, I nope." "I'll t*ke care of you," he cried, in a peculiarly high, hard voice. I'll shoot •enne of those devils outside. You watch.." She stepped between him and the door, laughing lightly. " Oh, you mustn't do that," she said. " Why, some of my servants are there, end if you frighten them away we shall get no dinner. May I look at your rifle? It seems a great beauty. I wonder if it as heavy as my husband's. I can shoot rather well with his." She took it from his unresisting hand, and stepping outside fired into the air. "There, I've missed that crow, and I've hurt my shoulder dreadfully," sh c cried, laughing, as she leant the empty rifle against the verandah wall with a quick gesture to Guj Raj, and went back into the room. It needed a good deal of courage to go in the second time, though nothing in her manner betrayed the effort. "Fm quite tired," she said, " and longing for tea, though' I haven't had a long ride— only from Pultonpore. When did you come here?" ] He bent over her,, after elaborate pre- ] eoutions against being overheard, and whispered "I have been in hell for ages and ages. This is hell— didn't you know?" She took hia hot dirty hand and laid her fingers on the wrist. "I am afraid you hive fever," she said; "sit down 'herewith your back to the light and tell me how you feel— you look as if you had been sleeping badly." . A , His rifle was still leaning against the ■wall. Woy was Guj Raj so slow? "I can't remember -when I slept last," he said simply. Tie rifl« was gone now, and she spoke more cheerfully. "You must let my husband prescribe for you to-morrow. He is not a doctor, but 'he is nearly as good as one." "Is ihe of good family? I am of very ancient birth and high lineage. We can trace descent in a direct unbroken line from Guy, Earl' of Warwick. You have heard, of course, of the Dun Cow and the Dunmow Flitch?" Mrs Addison assented enthusiastically, and he went on: "I could draw you up a genealogical tree in a moment^ if I had pen and paper, that would make the .whole matter clear to you." " Please do. I shall be deeply interested." „ The contents of a portmanteau seemed to hava been emptied out on the table.

He dug like a terrier among tie confusion until he found a writing case. " This will be a truly beautiful family tree," he said. "I am so glad," said Mrs Addison, locking ihis gun case and pocketing the kej-. She hummed a waltz tune to cover the sound of her movements as she rummaged for his razors in an open bag. There wcTe seven of them in a neat case. What other ■weapons was he likely to possess, she wondered, glancing at the absorbed figure. There was •bound to be a revolver somewhere. She cautiously moved' <a rug and pillow that were flung slantwise on. the bare bedstead and found what she sought. "What are you doing?" he asked, suddenly and roughly. " Only tidying the room a little," she answered, tossing an end of the blanket over the revolver. " You don't like it as untidy as this, I'm sure." " No ; I hate it. But these devils are not to come and pry about, mind that!" "Of course they shan't. I'll do it myself." "Let me help you," he said, an ipstinct of politeness coming pathetically to the surface of his seething mind. " Oh, no ; you must go on with the- tree. I shan't understand about your family else." He bent obediently over the table, and hiding the revolver with the razors under the folds of her skirt she went out quickly to lock up the. dangers in her own box. Coming back, she stole away a heavy stick, and now there only remained 1 the large hunting knife that lay on the table neaor his hand. " How is the tree getting on?" she asked, looking over ihis shoulder at a piece of paper that displayed pitiful scrawlings in red and "blue pencil, like the scribblings of a little child. "It won't come right; my head hurts. so all over the top." She parsed a cool, hand over his burning brow and eyes, and at the same moment caught up the hunting knife and' hid ifc behind her. "Yes, your forehead is dreadfully hot. Aren't you thirsty?" "No; only in the top of my head." "I'll tell them to get us some tea," she said. This was her excuse for hiding the knife,, and wh«n she returned her feeling, of relief was so great that she was almost light-' hearted. She had learnt from the gun-case, that his name was Sydney Warwick, and that he belonged to an, English regiment,: but the problem of Ms presence there, and! the mystery of his madness, were still unsolved by her. Had the insanity been caused by sunstroke, or excesses, or anxiety, or was it a sheer hereditary curse? Shei had no means of judging. ' After tea he talked a great deal, always in a high, hard voice, and it was difficult for her to tell, in his fluent, rambling sentences, where sanity ceased and madness began. He was very boastful and argumentative, and a little disposed to be quarrelsome if she did not insfently agree with 'his wildest statements. It seemed to her that he talked as a fever patient thinks, | with no power to fix the mind upon one subject, and witih no possible connection 'of ideas between the topics. Two or three times he told her stories of the kind thati no gentleman should tell to a lady ; scum that floated on the whirling torrent of his poor mind, and she, understanding, smiled? patiently. ! It was useless to question, him. She made one very ordinary inquiry as to his recent movements, and he glared angrily at her, growling, "I warn you not to go too far!" A moment later he unearthed at packet of letters from tihe confused nioundi on the table and insisted that she should read them. Most of them were from his mother — loving letters, full of the details of a narrow fife in a far-away cathedraiH city, and telling her little, save that the i red-faced, wild-looking man with the suffused eyes, who sat rocking bis body restlessly to' and fro. was a dearly-lov<)d and only son, the child of many prayers. "Sydney," said Mrs Addison, quietly, purposely using his Christian name, " I think your mother would wish you to see a doctor, if she were here." The restless rocking ceased for a moment and the fierce red face grew gentler. "The poor old mum worries awfully if there's the least thing wrong with me," he said. "I know she does; so for her sake you ought to write to Dr Bailey — he's the doctor at Pultonpore, only twelve miles from here — and ask him to ride out and see you! to-morrow morning. I'm sure he would if you told him that going out in the sun would be too much for you." "Very well; I daresay the mum would like it," And, taking a red pencil, he began his note on a sheet of foolscap. " Had I better draw our coat of arms at the top?" he asked. "No ; I shouldn't wait for that. It's getting late, and we ought to send the letter without delay," said Mary Addison, who was writing a note to accompany th© foolscap sheet. "Is this all right?" he asked presently. It was sadly right, in that it faithfully showed the turmoil in bis poor brain ; anjl Mrs Addison knew that the doctor who was to^receive it would *set all possible difficulties aside to come to his 'help — his help and hers. Meanwhile, *he was sure the madman's great need was sleep. " I know what will be the best thing lor you to do,"' she said. <l After dinner let me give you some suiphottal. I often take it, and it will make you sleep well all night." \Tm, not going to swallow any of your poison 1 ." he shouted. "Sydney, you forget yourself; that is not tne way to speak to me." " I didn't mean to," he stammered ; "but you can see for yourself the danger I am in. I dare not go to. sle|p; these black brutes will come and kill me if I do." " When' did you first begin to think that of them?" " I don't know. Of course they are bound to kill me in the end — there are so many oi them; but I won't let my life go cheap. Where's my rifle?" "I took it away to clean it — you shall have it after dinner, if you like. Please sit down, Sydney ; it makes me nervous to see you pacing up and down v the room." "I'm a restless sort of chap, 1 know," he said meekly ; " the mum is always telling me so." "Try and keep still fo» ten minutes, then," said Mrs Addison, laughing, as she went into the \erandab. to give orders for the despatch of a note. The servants were busy preparing dinner, and the crowd had dispersed long ago, in a calm belief that the mem sahib would prevent the mad sahib from doing any harm. Guj Raj shuffled up to her, a light of unwonted intelligence on 'his "honest, -stupid fiic&, and a piece of rope in his hand. . "Since the sahib has neither guns nor knives now," he said eageiJy, " four men, by entering quickly, could tie up his hands ] and feet without huit." '' Go away, and try not to be a fool," said Mrs Addison. " The sahib will eat dinner with me," she went on, turning to her table servant, " and the medicine in this paper, which looks like s«lt, must be put j into bhe soup that you give to me — to me, i you understand. If you forget to do this j the sahib will, certainly kill me, and then I will probably kill some of you ; so be careful not to forget. Bring dinner quickly." The table was laid in the third room of the bungalow, and made pretty with roses brought from Mrs Addison's "own garden in Pultonpore— a detail arranged by the khitmatghar as a matter of course. "Now remember, Sydney," said Mrs Addison, as. she led him in, " you mustn't frighten Biy servants ; they are very good men." He looked suspiciously at his soup without tasting it. " This isn't the same as yours," he said. " Oh, yes, it is," said Mary Addison, making sure with the bowl of a spoon that the sulphonal was completely melted ; " but j we'll change plates if you "like; I do not! mind at all." i The transfer was made, to his evident relief, and he drank the soup. During the ! whole dinner, the six courses insisted on j

by the khansamah as essential to the dignity of the ruling race, this exchange of plates was solemnly gone through. " The poison they have prepared for me is not likdy to injure you," he said each! time, iti a kind of pitiful apology. After dinner he grew at first noisy and' then deeply depressed — the effect of the sulphonal, she supposed, for the dose she had given him -had been, a strong one. " I wish I dared go to. sleep," he said. "Why not? I'll watch and see that no one comes near you. I'm a very good nurse, and think nothing of sitting up all night." she answered, in a very matter-of-facfc voice. She persuaded him at last, after much argument, to lie down ; and, wrapping herself in a fur cloak, she sat near him till his babbling voice ceased and ; his regular breathing told of sleep. The night was cold, with the coldness of northern Indian winter ; but she had be&n afraid to have a fire lighted, lest the sight of it should suggest to his madness a new and horrible form of destruction. A lantern burning in a corner dimly lighted his flushed face,. which had a touching acr of youth and helplessness. At first ho slept uneasily, and' she unlaced and took off his heavy boots, and loosened has coat at the throat, with gentle, motherly fingers. He looked up, indistinctly murmuring a sentence that ended in a coarse word ; but she whispered "Hush! Sydney, don't talk;" and ha nestled down on his pillow like ;i tired child n saying, "I'm so sleepy." Mrs Addison did not care to read, and 1 the young face on the pillow, seeming im that dim light far younger than it really was, carried; her back to the days when her sons had been children within tihe reach of her love : before the inevitable separation of Indian life had done its cruel work. Her babies — he>r little boys — were now her big sons, and divided from her by more than mere thousands of miles of land and sea. Her face,\ her ways, her verylove for them had grown unfamiliar to them, and they had received laer with mom criticism than tenderness when she had ati last " gone home." And yet -her hearb yearned over all three — Roger, the Woolwich cadet ; Ted, at Haileybury ; and little Dick, her baby of a few years ago, who now loved his aunt so dearly ajid cared for his mother so little. Would they ever sewn like her own again, or had her love and pain been wasted, thwarted and set ab naught by the dividing power of distance and time? The sleeping boy — she no longer thought of him as a man — moaned and started, and she smoothed his hair, murmuring, " Hush, dear ; hush. It's all right, I'm here. Go to sleep again," in a voice that had power to sooth him, because it was his mother's. Presently his breathing was echoed by a slow snore from the verandah, and she looked out. It was Guj Raj, the unappreciated, who had 'brought his blanket, unasked, and lay stretched across the doorway. Mary Addison had not thought of taking the precaution of keeping a servant within call, and the unexpected thoughtfulnesis touched her. A sudden exaltation of spirit came to her through the night stillness, bracing her tired body for fresh exertions. There was no wrecked nor wasted feeling ; the might of her love, which could make no ! manifestation to her own sons, was being utilised to help another woman's son, the unfortunate boy she 'had found distracted i and alone. She had been able to prevent him from committing sheer mad murder, and it might yet be within her power to save the overthrow of a tottering reason. Her plain, weary face seemed transfigured by an illuminating purpose as she performed the homely action of lighting a spirit lamp and heating some milk, for she ', knew that he might wake Boon. He woke presently, with a cry, his eyes full of wild terror, and he struck at her when she tried to rea6sure him. For weeks after her breast showed the blacK j mark of his blow, and at the moment acuto I physical pain turned her faint and sick ; then the weakness passed, and he was a | child again, a big, unhappy child, to be coaxed and comforted. Slowly, very slowly, his dark mood changed, he forgot the horror of his dream, was interested in the hot milk given to him to- drink, a.nd made drowsy by her steady flow of talk in a gentle, monotonous voice. "I like to hear your voice, it keeps dreadful things at buy," he said, and as she sat near him dipping handkerchiefs in water to cool his hot forehead, she found herself singing the hymn that had been her children's lullaby, and repeating again and again what little Dick called " the j comfy verse " : i Wihen in the night I sleepless lie, My soul vfiih heavenly "thoughts supply; Let no ill droajns disturb my rest — No powers of darkness me molest. How long the dawn Mas in coming ; ! each time that she looked toward the door she saw the same hopeless darkness. She could have prayed at last for a gleam of the sunrise that should usher in a. better day. Surely he was sleeping more peacefully, and his forehead seemed cooler. Was the victory not to be with the powers of darkness after all? Very slowly a gray light glimmered behind the reed blind, and the crows began to wake. Warwick was still sleeping, and as the light grew stronger she arranged a shawl on a chair to shield his eyes. Presently there was a sound of arrival outside, and an English voice asking for the mem sahib, and she hurried out to meet ihe doctor. ! "Are you all right, Mrs Addison? How have you managed?" he asked quickly. | "You must have had an awful night. I only got your letter afc dawn, and came at once. What have you done with him, where is he? That was the letter of an absolute madman." " He is asleep, still," said Mary Addison quietly; "lie has slept a great part of the night," and she briefly described what had happened. Her face looked very gray and small in the dawn light. " Have some chotit hazeri and then lie down and sleep," said the kind little man, whose full title was Surgeon-Lieutenant-Colonel, but who refused to answer to anything longer or more stately than "Doctor." " You've done -wonders, and I'll look after him now. I've got a couple of Tommies coming in case he needs a guard, as he hates natives, but I hope they won't be wanted." " Let me come and tell him who you are —you might startle him." •' Drink your tea and lie down, while I ' look after my patient," he said, and then she realised for the first time how tired she was. ' ' Three hours later she was arranging the roses on the breakfast table, a little wearyeyed, but fresh and alert again, and listening eagerly for voices from_the next roam. "Ah, rested? That's right," sadd Dr Bailey, entering briskly. /'Warwick will; be here in a minute, and after breakfast he j is coming back with me." i Mary Addison's eyes asked a question that her tongue hesitated to phrase. I 11 Yes, I think ono may hope he will be himself again before long ; but he may call it either good hick, or God's mercy, according to his tuvn oi mind, that you cam« when, you <Vid. He's an excitable fellow, and he's got into money troubles, I gather — and I don't mind telling you, his reason was simply hanging in the balance yesterday. He wiis insane to all intents and purposes, and if it had come- to a- struggle, if one of these natives Lad tried to overpower him, he would have gone mad — raging, raving mad." " Oh, poor boy ; will he really recover?" " I hope so, Jn time and with care ; thab sleep ho got last night was the best thing possible." He laughed suddenly. "It's funny to look at the size of your hands, Mrs Addison, and tliink that, you have prevented a man from committing two or three murders !" "He was quite gentle with me." " Yes, I know that sort of gentleness, and the watching and managing he needs ; and you're a plucky woman, a very plucky i woman." I " No, lam not, not^ a bit," said Mary Addison ; " but it might iiave been one of

my own boys ill and in trouble, with no one to look after him. Fancy if Roger, or Ted, or my .little Diek — " Her voice broke and she hid her face. " There's nothing to cry for now," said the doctor. " That's why I let myself do it," eaid Mary Addison, through her tears.