Chapter L: Conclusion

Day by day Herbert made progress towards recovery, and with peace of mind returned strength and vigour. He had been ill for nearly a fortnight before the time we speak of, and had been tended with that constant and unremitting solicitude by his dear friends and brothers, which can easily be imagined, but not easily described. There was another too, the brave Kasim Ali, who had been quickly summoned to Philip’s tent after the arrival of the lost one, and who had rejoiced in his recovery with joy as genuine as the others.

‘How often I told you to hope, Sahib,’ he would exclaim, as he looked on the joy of the friends, and their love for each other. ‘How often I said he was not dead; that the Sultaun (may his sepulchre be honoured!) would not destroy him.’

And then they would shake their heads, and think that if the Sultaun had been alive, how little would have been the chance of their ever meeting again upon earth.

‘You appear to cling to his memory with fondness,’ said Dalton, in reply to a burst of praise which Kasim had uttered; ‘yet he used you ill, and would have killed you.’

‘I do,’ he replied; ‘he was a great man—such an one as Hind will never see again. He had great ambition, wonderful ability, perseverance, and the art of leading men’s hearts more than they were aware of, or cared to acknowledge; he had patient application, and nothing was done without his sanction, even to the meanest affairs, and the business of his dominions was vast. You will allow he was brave, and died like a soldier. He was kind and considerate to his servants, and a steady friend to those he loved. Mashalla! he was a great man.’

‘Yet he was treacherous to you, Meer Sahib,’ said Philip.

‘Ay, and had he not been so, ye might now have been far from hence. Ye see, sirs, the power of destiny, which, working even by such mean instruments as myself and Jaffar, has wrought great ends.’

‘What treachery?’ said Herbert. ‘I have wondered to see thee here in the English camp, but thought thou mightest have been admitted to protection like the rest of the Sultaun’s officers.’

‘It is a long tale,’ said Kasim, ‘but your brother, the colonel, knows much of it already, and he will tell it to you.’

‘Not so,’ said Philip, ‘tell it yourself, I should only blunder in the narration;’ and he added, ‘since we have been together, I have never asked after the lady you loved, Meer Sahib; it is a painful question, perhaps, and may awaken thoughts and feelings long since dead. You smile—I rejoice to see it.’

‘You know, Sahib, we Moslems are not given to speaking of our wives or families,’ said Kasim, ‘and therefore I have never mentioned her; but she lives, I rejoice to say, and is as beautiful to my eyes as ever.’

‘Come!’ said Herbert, ‘if it be a tale of love, let me hear it; I have talked long enough, and can listen patiently.’

Kasim then related his adventures, from the time he had appeared a youth in Tippoo’s Durbar, to that in which, wearied by his cruelties and uneven temper, he had left him, and had so narrowly escaped assassination.

‘I reached my village,’ he continued, ‘and long remained in secrecy, enjoying the quiet of my own home. I read my favourite poets, wrote verses, and a history of my own adventures, to pass the time; but in truth, after so much excitement, I at length grew tired of the dull life, and looked around me for employment. The administration of the affairs and collection of the revenue of my district happened then to be vacated by the person who had held the offices, and, as I understood the duties perfectly, I solicited and obtained the situation by help of a douceur to the minister: in its duties, and in the suppression of the disorders of the country, I found ample employment. Still I had never visited the city of Hyderabad, and as I had need to go there to arrange some matters with the minister regarding the revenue collections, I determined upon a short visit, and was courteously received both by him and by the Prince, who spoke much to me of the Sultaun’s character, and the wild schemes of conquest which he meditated.

‘I was delighted with the city, and the polite and courtly character of its nobles, and I remained longer than I had intended. One day I was riding towards the minister’s house, in order to take my leave of him, previously to my departure, when a woman, rather old, but decently dressed as a servant, whose features at first sight appeared familiar to me, ran towards me in the open street, and catching hold of the rein of my horse uttered a loud cry of joy. The horse was a spirited one, and began to curvet and bound, and she dared not approach me. I saw her speak to my groom; and when she had learned where I lived, she told him she would come in the evening, waved her hand to me, and darted down a narrow street. All that day I wondered much who she could be; I could not by any effort recall her name to my memory, and though I had an engagement with a friend, I waited at home till late.

‘About dark a woman came, closely veiled, leading another. Both, as they entered, threw themselves at my feet, and kissed them repeatedly, uttering expressions of joy; they could not speak intelligibly for some time, nor would they unveil, though I could hear from their voices that they were aged. At length one playfully pulled the veil from the other’s head, and to my joy and surprise I beheld Meeran. I recognised her instantly, and, raising her up, embraced her cordially. Sahib, the other was Sozun.

‘I was, as you may suppose, breathless to know Ameena’s fate. Was she alive? or did that hated place I remembered hold her mortal remains? “Speak, I conjure you,” I cried, “for I burn with impatience.”

‘“She lives, Meer Sahib,” said Meeran; “she lives, blessed be Alla and Moula Ali, and the Apostle and the Lady Muriam! to whom we have offered up Fateehas for her recovery on every anniversary of that event. Ah, Meer Sahib, it is before me now!”

‘“Alive!” I cried; "but perhaps she is another’s; some nobleman hath heard of her beauty, and hath sought her in second marriage?"

‘“No, by your soul!” cried Sozun; “she lives, and thinks but of you. She is as beautiful as a houri; the years that have passed now seem but as hours; her skin is as fair, her eye as bright, her form as round and perfect as ever.”

‘“And the wound?” I asked.

‘“Ah! it was a horrible gash,” said Meeran, shuddering, ‘and it was long before it healed; she will show you the place if—if—"

‘“Come,” said I, “come! I burn to see her. I am not married; I never should have married, perhaps. Come! it is my destiny. Ya Alla kureem, how it hath been worked out!”

‘They led the way joyfully: her mother had been advised of my presence in the city by Meeran in the morning, and, closely veiled, she sat in her private apartment, awaiting me. Her husband was absent on some military duty, so I had to arrange all with her.

‘How my heart beat as I entered the house! To be once more under the same roof with her who had loved me so long and so truly—to be there in the hope that ere many hours should elapse she would be mine—mine for ever! Sahib, I had fought and bled on a battle-field, yet I never felt so agitated as I did at that moment.

‘A cry of joy from the old lady welcomed me. “Blessed be Alla!” she said, as she embraced me like a son; “blessed be his name, that thou art here! Oh that my lord were here, to welcome thee, and greet thee as a son!”

‘“And Ameena,” I said, “tell me, by your soul, how is she? Doth she still remember Kasim Ali? I am rich, I am high in rank; I have left the Sultaun’s service, and am now in that of your own Government. What delay need there be? Let me, I beseech you, speak to her, and send for the Moola to read the Nika.”

‘“Fie!” said the old lady, “that would be indecent haste.”

‘“What, after years of absence, mother? nay, say not so, but tell her I am here.”

‘“Wait,” she said; “I will return immediately.”

‘I arose and walked about, burning with love, with hope, with joy. The passion which for years had been smothered within me broke out as freshly, as strongly as when I had first seen her. The memory of that kiss was as if it still lingered on my lips. I heard a movement, a sort of hesitation at the door; I thought the old lady would come in. A figure entered, veiled from head to foot; it was a useless precaution—my heart told me that it was Ameena. I rushed towards her, caught her tottering form in my arms, removed the veil from her lovely features, and in a moment more strained her to my heart in an embrace which she did not resist; and in a kiss which united our souls once more, I pledged to her my faith and love for ever.

‘Yes, she was as fair as ever; even more beautiful in the mature charms of womanhood, than had been the girl I bore from the dreadful waters, or preserved from the maddened elephant. There was more fulness in her form, more fire in the large and soft eye, which, filled with tears, rested on me. She clung to me as though I should never part from her again, and her hand trembled in mine.

‘I understood her. “I will not go from thee, fairest! most beloved!” I cried; “more even than the bulbul to the rose! more than Mejnoon to Leila will I be to thee!”

‘Her mother entered soon after; she saw Ameena unveiled and in my arms. She gently chid her, but she did so no longer when the fair and gentle creature bent on her an imploring look, and nestled closer to my bosom.

‘The next evening the Moola came: all had been prepared in the meanwhile, and such a marriage as mine wanted no long ceremony—it was that only of the Koran. Some friends were sent for: in their presence I wrote a settlement upon Ameena, and received an assignment of all her property; it was little needed, for henceforth our lot was to be together for good or for evil. There was a screen put up in the apartment; the ladies came behind it; I heard the rustle of their garments, and the tinkling of their anklets—it was like delicious music. The few prayers were quickly read, the witnesses signed and sealed the papers, and they left me. I heard the old lady bless her daughter, and the servants join in a fervent Ameen! In a few moments the screen was withdrawn, and I was alone with Ameena. Sirs, the true believer when he enters Paradise, and is welcomed by the beauteous houris that await his coming, is not more blessed than I was then. Hours flew, and still we talked over the past, and the miseries and sufferings of that dreadful time.

‘“Tell me,” I said, “how you escaped, and show me the place—the wound.”

‘She bared her beauteous neck, modestly and shrinkingly. I looked on the wound and kissed it; it was on her shoulder, and had reached the back of her neck. A heavy gold necklace and chain, she said, had saved her life; but for that she must have been killed.

‘“But,” she continued, “I knew nothing until I found myself in a small hut; Sozun was there, and Meeran. I shrank from Sozun, for I knew her to have been an evil woman; but she was vehement in her protestations of affection, and I believed her. I knew not till long after how nearly she had been connected with my fate; but she has been faithful, and that is long since forgiven and forgotten in her constancy. The house belonged to her daughter, and her husband was a foot-soldier in the army; they were kind and good to me, and the faithful Zoolfoo bound up my wound; indeed he sewed it up, which gave me great pain; but I was soon strong again, and I inquired for the Khan and for you; they said you had both fallen, and I mourned you as dead. Afterwards when the Sultaun capitulated, and there was peace, I followed my protector as a humble woman, and attended by Meeran and Sozun, under pretence of making offerings at a shrine, we escaped from the Fort, and entered that of the troops of the Dekhan: although my father had not accompanied them, yet I found his intimate friend Sikundur Beg, with whose daughters I had been a playmate. He was a father to me, gave me his palankeen to travel hither, and in my own home I speedily recovered.”

‘I should weary you, sirs,’ continued Kasim after a pause, ‘were I to tell you of her daily increasing love, and the joy I felt in her society. I wrote word to my mother that I had met her and was married; and the old lady, transported with joy, actually travelled up to the city to greet her daughter. I was fortunate in meeting with a good deputy in the person of my excellent uncle, and I remained at the city with Ameena’s family. Her father arrived in due time from his post, and there never was a happier circle united on this earth than ours. I became known in the city: there was talk of a war with the Sultaun, and I was offered the command of a risala of horse, and received a title from the Government; they are common, but I was honoured. “Distinguish thyself,” said the minister, “thou shalt have a jaghire[61] for life.” Sirs, ye know the rest. He has given me two villages near my own, the revenue of which, with my patrimony, and the command of five hundred horse, most of which are my own, makes me easy for life. My mother (she has old-fashioned notions) sometimes hints that the marriage was not regular, that I should even now ask the young daughter of a nobleman of high rank, and go through all the forms with her; but I am content, sirs, with one wife, and I wish to Alla that all my countrymen were so too; for I am well assured that to one alone can a man give all his love, and that where more than one is, there ensue those jealousies, envies, wild passions, evil, and sin, which were well-nigh fatal to my Ameena.’

-----

Footnote 61:

Estate.

-----

‘Thou art a noble fellow!’ exclaimed both; and Charles Hayward too—for he also had been a listener—added his praise; ‘and believe me,’ added Dalton, ‘thou wilt often be remembered, and thy wife too, when we are far away in our own land. If it be not beyond the bounds of politeness, carry her our affections and warmest wishes for years of happiness with thee. I would that my wife could have known her! she must have loved one so sorely tried, yet so pure in heart. Thou wilt see her at Bangalore, Meer Sahib, and will tell thy wife of her.’

The tears started to Kasim Air’s eyes: he brushed them away hastily. ‘I am a fool,’ said he; ‘but if any one, when I served him who ruled yonder, had told me that I should have loved Englishmen, I would have quarrelled with him even to bloodshed; and now I should be unhappy indeed if I carried not away your esteem. I thank you for your interest in Ameena. I will tell her much of you and your fortunes; and when you are in your own green and beautiful land, and you wander beneath cool shady groves and beside murmuring rivers, or when you are in the peaceful society of your own homes, something will whisper in your hearts that Kasim Ali and Ameena speak of you with love. I pray you then remember us kindly, and now bid me depart to-day,’ he said—but his voice trembled. ‘I have spoken long, and the Captain is weary.’

Dalton’s regiment moved soon after, and Kasim and his risala accompanied it; they marched by easy stages, and soon the invalid was able once more to mount a horse, and to enjoy a gallop with the dashing Risaldar, whose horsemanship was beyond all praise. At Bangalore they halted some time, it was to be a station for the Mysore field-force, and Dalton’s regiment was to belong to it. His wife had arrived from Madras, and the deeply attached brother and sister were once more united after so long and painful an absence. Kasim saw her there; and though he thought it profanation to gaze on one so fair, yet he often paid his respectful homage to her while he stayed, and told the wondering Ameena, and in after days his children, of the fair skin, golden hair, and deep blue eyes of the English lady; and as he would dwell in rapture upon the theme, they thought that the angels of Paradise could not be fairer.

When Kasim Ali could stay no longer, he came to take his leave. ‘I shall pass the old Fakeer,’ he said; ‘have you any message for him? the old man still lives, and prays for you.’

‘We will go to him,’ said Philip; ‘’tis but a day’s ride.’ Herbert agreed readily, and they set out that day.

The old man’s joy at seeing them cannot be told; the certainty that his poor efforts were estimated with gratitude, were to him more than gold or precious stones; but his declining years were made happy by an annuity, which was regularly paid, and he wanted no more the casual charity of passing travellers.

And there, beneath those beauteous trees, which even now remain, and which no one can pass without admiration, the friends parted, with sincere regret, and a regard which never diminished, though they never met again. The martial and picturesque companions of the Risaldar awaited him; Philip and Herbert watched him as he bounded into his saddle, and soon the gay and glittering group was lost behind the trees at a little distance.

About three weeks after the Fort had fallen, two men, one driving a heavily-laden pony, passed out of the gate of the Fort, and took their way towards the river; the rain had fallen much during that and the previous day, but there was as yet no more water than usual in the river.

‘Come on, Madar!’ said one whom our readers will easily recognise; ‘that beast goes as slow as if he had an elephant’s load; come on! we are lucky to get across, for there is no water in the river.’

‘I tell thee the brute will never travel, Jaffar; the load is too heavy. Why wouldst thou not buy the other?’

‘I could not afford it,’ he said; ‘one is enough; come on!’

The pony was laden with gold and silver bars and heavy stuffs, cloth of gold and silver, the plunder of years, and more especially of that night when the Sultaun was killed, for Jaffar knew the places where the silver and gold utensils were kept, and he had laden himself with the spoil.

‘He! he! he!’ said he chuckling, ‘we will go to Madras and live with the kafir Feringhees; no one will know us there, and we can trade with this money.’

‘Good!’ said Madar, ‘it is a wise thought; may your prosperity increase!’

They were now on the edge of the river. Opposite the Fort it is broad, and the bed, one sheet of rock, has been worn into thousands of deep holes and gulleys by the impetuous stream. It was no easy matter to get the over-laden beast across these, and he often stumbled and fell against the sharp rocks.

‘The curses of the Shitan light on thee!’ cried Jaffar to the animal, as it lay down at last, groaning heavily, and he screwed its tail desperately to urge it on. ‘Wilt thou not get up? Help me, Madar, to raise it.’

They did so by their united strength, but ere it had gone a few paces it fell again. Jaffar was in despair. There was no resource but to unload it, and carry the burden piece by piece to the bank. They were doing this when a loud roaring was heard.

‘What was that?’ said Madar.

‘Nothing, fool,’ said the other; ‘the wind, I dare say,’

It was not—it was the roaring of the mighty river, as it poured down beyond the sharp turn above the Fort—a wall of water three feet high—foaming, boiling, roaring, dashing high into the air—a vast brown, thick, muddy mass, overwhelming everything in its course. Madar fled at once to the bank.

Jaffar cursed aloud; the bundles had been tied up with scrupulous care, lest the money should fall out, and it was hard to lose all after years of toil. He tugged desperately at the knots—they would not come untied; he drew his sword and cut fiercely at them, bars of gold fell out; he seized as much as he could hold in his hands, and turned to fly. Some men were on the shore with Madar hallooing to him; he could not hear their words, but he thought they pointed to a rock higher than the rest; he got upon it, or in another instant the roaring flood would have overwhelmed him. He was safe for a minute; the waters were rising gradually but fearfully fast; he clutched the rock, he screamed, he prayed wildly; the rush of the boiling waters appeared to increase; his brain grew dizzy; then he tried to scramble up higher—to stand upright. In attempting this his foot slipped; those on the bank saw him toss his arms wildly into the air, and the next instant he was gone! The fearful tide rolled on in its majesty, but there was no sign of a living thing upon its turbid waters.

Herbert did not long wait at Bangalore. Letters to England had now preceded him more than a month; they had gone in a ship of war, which was some guarantee for their safe arrival. There was danger on the seas, but he thought not of that. Home—Amy was before him, more vividly than it is possible for us to paint; the days seemed to pass as weeks, as the gallant fleet sailed along, for home bounded their prospect; ere five months had passed they anchored at the Nore. Philip Dalton and Charles were soon to follow.

It was on a bright warm day, early in December, that a travelling carriage, with four horses, was seen driving at desperate speed into the town of——; it stopped at the inn.

‘Horses on to my father’s—to Alston,’ cried a gentleman within; ‘quick, quick!’ The landlord looked at him for a moment; it was not Mr. Compton’s son, the clergyman; no, this was a darker, taller, handsomer person than him; he looked again, and then exclaimed, ‘It cannot be!—surely it cannot be Captain Compton?’

‘Yes, I am he,’ was the reply; ‘but pray be quick!’

‘Hurrah!’ cried the jolly landlord, throwing up his cap into the air; ‘hurrah for the Captain! three cheers for Captain Compton, and God bless him! You shall have a barrel of ale, my lads, to-day, for this joy. I little thought to have ever seen you alive again, sir.’

‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Herbert; ‘I will come soon and see you; now drive on, boys, at full speed;’ and away they dashed.

An anxious party was assembled that day at the old Rectory; in trembling expectation of the sound of wheels, all felt nervous and agitated, and some laughed and cried by turns.

Poor Amy! it is difficult to describe her feelings of joy, of silent thankfulness. Her beauty was more radiant than ever; the purity of her complexion, with the exquisite expression of her eyes, was more striking, far more, than that of the lively and joyous girl of six years ago.

There was one who heard the sound of wheels long before the rest—it was Amy; the others watched her; her face, which had been flushed and deadly pale by turns, was lighted up on a sudden with a joy so intense that they almost feared for the consequences. On a sudden she appeared to listen more earnestly, then she arose, but no one followed her; she went to the door, passed into the hall, seemed to gaze vacantly around, returned, sank into a chair, and pressing her hand to her heart, panted for breath. Soon after a carriage at full speed dashed past the house; a man opened the door—jumped out almost ere it had stopped—hurried with breathless haste into the hall—passed a crowd of servants who were sobbing with joy, and in another instant he was in the room. Amy sprang to meet him with outstretched arms, and uttering a low cry of joy threw herself into his embrace, and was strained to his heart in silent rapture. Others hung round him, sobbing too, but their tears were those of joy and gratitude; the past was even then forgotten, for they beheld their long-lost Herbert safe, and knew, as he pressed to his the faithful heart which had so long loved him, that their past sorrow would soon be turned into rejoicing.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Note

Errors in the text have been corrected where they are reasonably attributable to the printer or editor, or where the same word appears as expected elsewhere. Where the issue can be attributed to the idiosynchronies of the author or the era, the text as printed has been retained. Punctuation is frequently missing at the end of sentences and especially paragraphs, and has been supplied here. The use of quotation marks is also erratic at times, and where the voices can be followed, they have been disambiguated.

The details of each correction are noted below.

p. 34 Khan Sa[b/h]ib Corrected.

p. 36 anxiety.[’] Removed.

[‘]They will Removed

p. 37 [‘]he will kill Removed.

p. 41 cooked for his zenana[,/,] Corrected.

p. 44 rushed forth in a tumult[u]ous manner Added.

p. 47 we can fight as well as sleep.[’] Added.

p. 61 Nor was Mrs. Compton su[r]prised> to Added.
hear

other tha[t/n] the ordinary dangers of Corrected.
life.

p. 71 have such an opportunity[’]. Added.

p. 73 [‘]what can be done? Added.

p. 80 but daily records of hi[s] thoughts, Added.

p. 88 ‘Then we shall have a deligh[t]ful Added.
evening,

p. 100 or at any[ ]rate hard words. Added.

‘And what wouldst thou know about me, O Added.
base-born![’]

p. 101 of villa[i]ny often successful, Added.

p. 131 at any[ ]rate, you Added.

p. 136 their ensuing service[.] Added.

p. 138 [‘]I will not disturb you, Added.

p. 149 [“\‘]Wait for the word—Fire! Corrected.

p. 165 as let it go to the enemy.[”/’] Corrected.

p. 170 my horses’ expenditure! what—[”/’] Corrected

p. 171 so that the i[m/n]mates could look out Corrected.

p. 185 his admiration at the [r]are skill Added.

p. 197 ‘Kasim Ali[./,]’ said the Sultaun[./,] Corrected.
‘had one of these

p. 214 striving to recal[l] the past Added.

genuflexions prescribed by their Added.
belief[.]

p. 218 is thy doom[,/.] Choose then—in this Added.

may meet again[,/.] Corrected.

p. 221 in the Beechwood groves and round the Corrected.
Hermitage[,/.] He

p. 228 a field with a few single t[er/re]es, Transposed

p. 244 The S[a/u]ltaun’s message Corrected.

p. 249 distance could be seen Transposed.
disti[cn/nc]tly—in some places

p. 274 and the whole body hurried on[./,] Corrected.

p. 276 of a battalion of infant[r]y Added.

p. 285 [th ers/others] wheeled and screamed Corrected.

[oth/the] obscene birds, Corrected.

p. 301 ‘I will, Khanum, I will,’ cried the Added.
woman; [‘]I will

p. 305 was before him[.] Added.

p. 307 he revelled in all the opportun[it]ies> Added.

p. 311 and he passed on to the [appartment] of _Sic._
those

p. 312 ‘[’]Tis the worse for thee, Added.

and no one else dares to—[”/’] Corrected.

p. 315 sharply for our att[t]ack upon Added.
Travancore;

p. 320 despoiled me of money—[villified] my _Sic._
character;

forgott[o/e]n me then, Jaffar?’ Corrected.

the light [boddice] which enclosed it, _Sic._

p. 341 got up and followed him[,/.] Soon these Corrected.
sent

p. 356 said Philip; [‘]we must remove them.’ Added.

p. 359 [‘]but sit and speak to me Added.

p. 360 the distress of the army increased[.] Added.

p. 389 that she hath not seen this,[’] she Added.
said;

p. 405 A surgeon, a friend of the officer, was Removed.
sent for[,]; Kasim’s leg was

p. 407 Could this be thy brother?[’] Added.

‘It is! it is![’] cried Philip, Added.

p. 408 it may not be your friend.[’] Added.

p. 421 having ar[r]ived at Mangalore, Added.

p. 428 would inspire with a compas[s]ion Added.

p. 437 [‘]we have hope Added.

p. 440 ‘Stay![’] he cried, Added.