The Daughter of Brahma | Page 3

frightened, Mrs. Hurst," she said,
with a weak attempt at professionalism. "You must think of your
responsibility."
Mrs. Hurst smiled, and the smile had become scornful.
"I am not frightened, but I am rather tired. As you do not like to sit in
the dark, take the light into the next room. I will call you when I want
you."
Nurse Campden glanced back over her shoulder. Then she took up the
lamp. There was panic in the wide-open, colourless eyes.
"Very well, Mrs. Hurst as you wish it."
She went quickly towards the door and passed out. The room was now
in darkness, save for the light which filtered through the thin curtain. It
was a red curtain, and the reflection on the opposite wall was red too,
like a luminous smear of blood. Mrs. Hurst looked at it and then out
into the silent compound. Then her eyes closed. But she did not sleep.
She was listening, and her trained ears heard sounds which the nurse
had only suspected, steady footfalls, the rustle of some lithe animal
through the long grasses, and the sigh of a sudden, short-lived breeze.
Though she saw nothing, she knew when the sentry passed her window
on his round and when at length he ceased from his vigilance. Of what
use? The Sahib was gone. The Mem-Sahib slept, and the night was
long. The scornful smile flickered once more about the compressed lips.
She stretched out her hand and felt for the revolver on the table beside

her. Her fingers glided almost caressingly over the smooth barrel. Then
she drew a quiet sigh of satisfaction and lay still.
Thus the hours passed. The red, luminous smear faded from the wall;
the unseen and soundless movement sank into a hush that was full of a
dread expectancy. In breathless, holy silence, the world awaited the
first signal of the dawn. Mrs. Hurst opened her eyes suddenly. She had
slept a little, but in her sleep she had heard something which her
waking ears could not have heard. Beneath the veil of silence there was
again sound, and this time it was not the fall of a footstep, not the
movement of some animal in the long grasses, nor the sighing of a
breeze. Mrs. Hurst lifted herself on her elbow.
"Walter!" she said aloud.
No answer. But it was as though her voice had torn the veil asunder. In
the unreality of things one reality stood out a reality which had brushed
against the curtains by the window and then slid slowly, gently to the
ground. Mrs. Hurst rose up from her bed. She did not take the revolver
or call out. She felt her way across the room towards the grey patch of
light which was brightening rapidly along the horizon. At the window
she stumbled over something. She bent down. Her hands touched a
man's face. Still she was silent. She knelt, and her fingers passed
rapidly over the familiar tunic. Quite suddenly, they stopped in their
search. For a moment she knelt there motionless. It was as though she
were listening. Then she rose slowly and carefully from her knees.
"Nurse!" she called. "Nurse!"
In the next room, there was the sound of a sudden, startled movement.
A chair was overturned. Nurse Campden, dazed with sleep, stood
between the curtains. She held the lamp in her unsteady hand and the
pale light struggled vainly with the increasing brightness. But the
motionless something at Mrs. Hurst's feet was still in shadow. Nurse
Campden took a stumbling step forward.
"Mrs. Hurst," she mumbled. "You shouldn't have got up. You--"

Mrs. Hurst raised her hand. She stood with her back to the dawn,
upright, commanding, her figure magnified by the grey, uncertain
background.
"I want you to arouse the servants," she said slowly. "My husband has
been murdered. No you are not to scream or faint. You will do as I tell
you. There is my son to be considered. Now go!"
In the following moment of suspense her willpower closed with the
other's weakness and predominated. Wordless, hypnotised, Nurse
Campden obeyed. The curtains fell in their place there was a sound of
running, uncertain footsteps along the corridor and then a low,
confused murmur. Mrs. Hurst bent her head.
"My beloved!" she said.
That was all. She went back quietly to her bed and lay there as she had
lain there before, tearless, patient, awaiting her hour.
And in the first flush of the Indian morning her son, David Hurst, was
given her.
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH THE JUDGE HEARS UNPLEASANT THINGS
"No," said the judge indignantly. "I don't believe it. Go away! Do you
take me for a fool? Go away, I tell you! What I told you? At three
o'clock in the afternoon?