The Daughter of Brahma | Page 4

kicked away the chair which supported his nether limbs and sat up. "Now what the devil is the matter?" he demanded.
"Three o'clock, Sahib. Sahib's horse outside."
"Yes, yes, I've heard all about that. What I ask is, what do I want with a horse at three o'clock in the afternoon. You don't know? Well, I'm sure I don't, though you seem to think I ought. Let me see what clothes have I got on? That might give me a hint."
He got up and inspected himself thoughtfully. "My best breeches, eh? A silk tie and I perceive that my new and most comfortless toppers await me. Son of the Night, there is a lady in the case --cherchez la femme, as our French friends say, though with a different accent. There, give me my coat. I shall remember in a minute." He seated himself again and stretched out a stockinged foot for the boot which the native held in readiness. It was a somewhat tight squeeze, and the judge groaned softly. "It must be an altogether exceptional lady," he muttered.
"Who the devil--" He stopped, and a slow smile dawned over his face. "I have it! Of course! Son of the Night, you should have been more insistent. I'm going to be late for tea. Now just cast an eye over me and tell me what I look like."
The native glanced at the massive figure in spotless duck and bowed his head reverently.
The judge chuckled.
"Well, that's one way of getting out of it, anyhow," he said. "Now for it!"
He adjusted his sun-helmet carefully, took his riding-crop from the table, and limped out on to the verandah. A wave of dry, lifeless air greeted him, and he stood for a moment hi the shadow, evidently more than half inclined to turn back. But the syce with the big, raw-boned horse stood at the bottom of the steps, stoical and unrelenting, and the judge, apparently bowing to the dictates of Fate, crossed the Rubicon into the blazing sunshine and swung himself heavily into the saddle with a groan which the pig-skin echoed. The horse took an involuntary step forward, and the judge repeated his chuckle.
"I'm getting too much for you, Sarah Jane," he said regretfully. "However, I daresay you'll bear me as long as I want you. Now then, old lady, make an effort, will you?"
The "old lady " complied with his request and ambled sedately out through the compound gates and on to the high-road. Without any apparent indication from the judge, she took the turning to the right and broke into a trot which lasted until they had left the last human habitation behind them. No one had witnessed their progress. The European quarter was wrapped in profound slumber and such natives as were visible lay about in the shade of their dirty, tumble-down dwellings and deigned the passerby not so much as a glance.
Nevertheless, as though fearing unseen witnesses, both horse and rider kept up a certain appearance until the last hut was out of sight, when the "old lady" immediately relapsed into her amble, and the judge collapsed in his saddle like a man suddenly deprived of his backbone. He was tall, heavily built, with a figure and a square-cut, ruddy face which seemed to combine to represent strength and a robust goodnature. Irritable, parchment-skinned Anglo-Indians were wont to look upon his apparently blooming health and unimpaired nervous system very much in the light of a personal insult. The fewest were clever enough to see beneath the surface, and those who did were discreet enough to hold their peace. A man who successfully " keeps up appearances" year after year in a tropical temperature deserves to have his secrets respected, and the judge had never been heard to complain. He carried himself bravely in the eyes of the world, and if at the present moment he hung in the saddle with bowed shoulders and a white, puffy face which was not good to look on, there was at least no one to note the passing weakness not even the " old lady," though, in any case, she would not have counted. That worthy animal had her own burdens to carry in every sense of the word and plodded on through the blinding heat with a mechanical stoicism which suggested that a brick wall would not have stopped her. Evidently she was well acquainted with the road and her present destiny.
At a sudden bend which revealed a low, white bungalow lying well back amongst a pleasant clump of trees, she jerked her head and resumed her canter with a spirit wholly inconsistent with her previous performance. The judge sat up, like a man aroused from sleep by a well-known signal. He straightened his shoulders, and, as though obeying some command of the