The Native Born

The Native Born, by I. A. R. Wylie

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Native Born, by I. A. R. Wylie Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
Title: The Native Born or, The Rajah's People
Author: I. A. R. Wylie
Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7940] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on June 3, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NATIVE BORN ***

Produced by Elizabeth Trapaga, S. R. Ellison, William A. Pifer-Foote, Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

[Illustration: "Miss Cary has consented to become my wife."]

THE NATIVE BORN
or
THE RAJAH'S PEOPLE
by
I. A. R. WYLIE
1910

with Illustrations by
JOHN NEWTON HOWITT

PREFACE
In earlier days a preface to a novel with no direct historical source always seemed to me somewhat out of place, since I believed that the author could be indebted solely to his own imagination. I have learned, however, that even in a novel pur sang it is possible to owe much to others, and I now take the opportunity which the despised preface offers to pay my debt--inadequately it is true--to Mr. Hughes Massie, whose enthusiastic help in the launching of this, my first serious literary effort, I shall always hold in grateful remembrance.
I. A. R. W.
May 9th, 1910

CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
WHICH IS A PROLOGUE II THE DANCING IS RESUMED III NEHAL SINGH IV CIRCE V ARCHIBALD TRAVERS PLAYS BRIDGE VI BREAKING THE BARRIER VII THE SECOND GENERATION VIII THE IDEAL IX CHECKED X AT THE GATES OF A GREAT PEOPLE XI WITHIN THE GATES XII THE WHITE HAND XIII THE ROAD CLEAR XIV IN WHICH MANY THINGS ARE BROKEN XV THE GREAT HEALER XVI FATE XVII FALSE LIGHT
BOOK II
I BUILDING THE CATHEDRAL II CATASTROPHE III A FAREWELL IV STAFFORD INTERVENES V MURDER VI CLEARING AWAY THE RUBBISH VII IN THE TEMPLE OF VISHNU VIII FACE TO FACE IX HALF-LIGHT X TRAVERS XI IN THE HOUR OF NEED XII HIS OWN PEOPLE XIII ENVOI

THE NATIVE BORN

BOOK I
CHAPTER I
WHICH IS A PROLOGUE
The woman lying huddled on the couch turned her face to the wall and covered it with her hands in a burst of uncontrollable horror.
"Oh, that dreadful light!" she moaned. "If it would only go out! It will send me mad. Oh, if it would only go out--only go out!"
Her companion made no immediate answer. She stood by the wall, her shoulders slightly hunched, her hands clasped before her in an attitude of fixed, sullen defiance. What her features expressed it was impossible to tell, since they were hidden by the deep shadow in which she had taken up her position. The rest of the apartment was lit with a grey, ghostly light, the reflection from the courtyard, in part visible through the open doorway, and which lay bathed in all the brilliancy of a full Indian moon.
"When the light goes out, it will mean that the end has come," she said at last. "Do you know that, Christine?"
"Yes, I know it," the other answered piteously; "but that's what I want--the end. I am not afraid to die. I know Harry will be there. He will not let it be too hard for me. It's the suspense I can not bear. The suspense is worse than death. I have died a dozen times tonight, and suffered as I am sure God will not let us suffer."
Margaret Caruthers bent over the cowering figure with the sympathy which education provides when the heart fails to perform its office. There was, indeed, little tenderness in the hand which passed lightly over Christine Stafford's feverish forehead.
"You give God credit for a good deal," she said indifferently. "If the light troubles you, shall I shut the door?"
Christine sprang half upright.
"No!" she cried sharply. "No! I should still see it. Even when I cover my face--so--I can still see it flickering. And then there is the darkness, and in the darkness, faces--little John's face. Oh, my little fellow, what will become of you!" She began to cry softly, but no