 CHAPTER 9 PART 2 OF HILDA WADE At lunch that day Hilda played her first card with delicious unconsciousness, apparent unconsciousness, for when she chews, she was a consummate actress. She played it at the moment when Lady Medokroff too by this time was burning with curiosity on our account, had paused from her talk with her husband to listen to us. I happen to say something about some Oriental curious belonging to an aunt of mine in London. Hilda ceased the opportunity. What did you say was her name? She asked blandly. Why Lady Tepping? I answered in perfect innocence. She has a fancy for these things, you know. She brought a lot of them home with her from Burma. As a matter of fact, as I have already explained, my poor dear aunt is an extremely commonplace old army widow whose husband happened to get knighted among the New Year's honours for some brush with the natives on the shun front. But Lady Medokroff was at the stage where a title is a title, and the discovery that I was the nephew of a title person evidently interested her. I could feel rather than see that she glanced significantly aside at her eyeball, and that survivor in return made a little movement of his shoulders equivalent to, I told you so. Now Hilda knew perfectly well that the aunt of whom I spoke was Lady Tepping, so I felt sure that she had played this card on Mali's prepence to pique Lady Medokroff. But Lady Medokroff's herself ceased the occasion with inartistic avidity. She had hardly addressed us as yet. At the sound of the magic passport she pricked up her ears and turned to me suddenly. Burma, she said as if to conceal the true reason for her change of from. Burma, I had a cousin there once. He was in the Gloucestershire Regiment. Indeed, I answered. My tone was one of utter unconcern in her cousin's history. Miss Wade, will you take Bombay Ducks with your curry? In public I thought it wise under the circumstances to abstain from calling her Hilda. It might lead to misconceptions. People might suppose we were more than fellow travelers. You have had relations in Burma? Lady Medokroff persisted. I manifested a desire to discontinue the conversation. Yes, I answered coolly. My uncle commanded there. Commanded there? Really? I work? Do you hear? Dr. Kamble's uncle commanded in Burma. A faint intonation of the word commanded drew unobtrusive attention to its social importance. May I ask what was his name? My cousin was there, you see, an insipid smile. We may have friends in common. He was a certain Sir Malcolm Tepping. I blurted out staring hard at my plate. Tepping? I think I've heard Dick speak of him ever. Your cousin, Sir Ivar answered with emphatic dignity, is certain to have mixed with no but the highest officials in Burma. Yes, I'm sure Dick used to speak of a certain Sir Malcolm. My cousin's name, Dr. Kamblech, was Maltby, Captain Richard Maltby. Indeed, I answered with an icestive, I cannot pretend to the pleasure of having met him. Be exclusive to the exclusive, and they burn to know you. From that moment forth Lady Meadowcroft pasted us with her endeavours to scrape acquaintance. Instead of trying how far she could place her chair from us, she set it down as near us as politeness permitted. She entered into conversation whenever an opening afforded itself, and we too stood off heartily. She even ventured to question me about our relation to one another. Miss Wade is your cousin, I suppose? She suggested. Oh dear no, I answered with a glassy smile. We are not connected in any way. But you are travelling together. Merely as you and I are travelling together, fellow passengers on the same steamer. Still, you have met before? Yes, certainly. Miss Wade was a nurse at St Nathaniel's in London, where I was one of the house doctors. When I came on board at Cape Town after some months in South Africa, I found she was going by the same steamer to India, which was literally true. To have explained the rest would have been impossible, at least to anyone who did not know the whole of Hilda's history. And what are you both going to do when you get to India? Really, Lady Meadowcroft? I said severely. I have not asked Miss Wade what she is going to do. If you inquire of her point-blank as you have inquired of me, I daresay she will tell you, for myself I am just a globetrotter amusing myself. I only want to have a look round at India. Then you are not going out to take an appointment? Why George, Amy? The burly Yorkshire man put in with an air of a noise. You are cross-questioning Dr. Cambridge, now less than cross-questioning him. I waited a second. No, I answered slowly. I have not been practising of late. I am looking about me. I travel for enjoyment. That made her think better of me. She was the kind indeed who think better of a man if they believe him to be idle. She dawdled about all day on deck chairs, herself seldom even reading, and she was eager now to drag Hilda into conversation. Hilda resisted. She had found a volume in the library which immensely interested her. What are you reading, Miss Wade? Lady Meadowcroft cried at last, quite savagely. It made her angry to see anybody else pleased and occupied when she herself was listless. A delightful book he'd answered, The Buddhist Praying Wheel by William Simpson. Lady Meadowcroft took it from her and turned the pages over with a languid air. Looks awfully dull, she absurd with a faint smile, at last returning it. It's charming, Hilda retorted, glancing at one of the illustrations. It explains so much. It shows one by one turns round one's chair at cards for luck, and why, when a church is consecrated, the bishop walks three times about it sun-wise. Our bishop is a dreadfully prosy old gentleman, Lady Meadowcroft answered, getting off at a tangent on a personality, as is the want of her kind. He had, oh, such a dreadful quarrel with my father over the rules at St. Alfred's schools at Millington. Indeed, Hilda answered, turning once more to her book. Lady Meadowcroft looked annoyed. It would never have occurred to her that within a few weeks she was to owe her life to that very abstruse work and what Hilda had read in it. That afternoon, as we watched the flying fish from the ship's side, Hilda said to me abruptly, My chaperon is an extremely nervous woman. Nervous about what? About disease, chiefly. She has the temperament that treats infection, and therefore catches it. Why do you think so? Haven't you noticed that she often doubles her thumb under her fingers, folds her fists across its soul? Especially when anybody talks about anything alarming. If the conversation happens to turn on jungle fever or any subject like that, down goes her thumb instantly, and she clasps her fist over it with a convulsive squeeze. At the same time, too, her face twitches. I know what that trick means. She's horribly afraid of tropical diseases, though she never says so. And do you attach importance to her fear? Of course. I count upon it as probably our chief means of catching and fixing her. As how? She shook her head and quizzed me. Wait and see. You are a doctor. I a trained nurse. Before twenty-four hours, I foresee she will ask us. She's sure to ask us now she has learned that you are Lady Tipping's nephew and that I am acquainted with several of the best people. That evening, about ten o'clock, Sir Ivers trolled up to me in the smoking room with affected unconcern. He laid his hand on my arm and drew me aside mysteriously. The ship's doctor was there, playing a quiet gamer poker with a few other passengers. I beg your pardon, Dr. Cambridge, he began in an undertone. Could you come outside with me a minute? Lady Meadowcroft has sent me up to you with a message. I followed him on to the open deck. It is quite impossible, my dear sir, I said, shaking my head austerely, for I divine his errand. I can't go and see Lady Meadowcroft, medical etiquette, you know, the constant and salutary rule of the profession. Why not? he asked astonished. The ship carries a surgeon, I replied in my most precise tone. He is a duly qualified gentleman, very able in his profession, and he ought to inspire your wife with confidence. I regard this vessel as Dr. Boyle's practice, and all on board it as virtually his patience. Sir Ivers' face fell. But Lady Meadowcroft is not at all well, he answered, looking pictures. And she can't endure the ship's doctor, such a common man, you know. His loud voice disturbs her. I must have noticed that my wife is a lady of exceptionally delicate, nervous organization. He hesitated, beamed on me, and played his trump card. She dislikes being attended by out but a gentleman. If a gentleman is also a medical man, I answered, his sense of duty toward his brother practitioners would, of course, prevent him from interfering in their proper sphere, or putting upon them the unmerited slight of letting them see him preferred before them. Then you positively refuse? He asked, wistfully drawing back. I could see he stood in a certain dreed of that imperious little woman. I conceded a point. I will go down in twenty minutes, I admitted looking grave. Not just now, lest I annoy my colleague, and I will glance at Lady Meadowcroft in an unprofessional way. If I think her case demands treatment, I will tell Dr. Boyle, and I return to the smoking room and took up a novel. Twenty minutes later, I knocked at the door of the ladies' private cabin with my best bedside manner in full play. As I suspected, she was nervous, nothing more. My mere smile reassured her. I observed that she held her thumb fast, doubled under in her fist, all the time I was questioning her, as Hilda had said. And I also noticed that the fingers closed about it convulsively at first, but gradually relaxed as my voice restored confidence. She thanked me profusely and was really grateful. On deck next day she was very communicative. They were going to make the regular tour first, she said, but were to go on to the Tibetan frontier at the end, where survivor had a contract to construct a railway in a very wild region. Tigers, natives, oh, she didn't mind either of them, but she was told that that district, what did they call it, the Terai or something, was terribly unwholesome. Fever was what you may call it there, yes? Endemic, that was the word. Oh, thank you, Dr. Cambridge. She hated the very name of fever. Now you, Miss Wade, I suppose, with an avestruck smile, are not in the least afraid of it. Hilda looked up at her calmly. Not in the least, she answered, I have nursed hundreds of cases. Oh, my, how dreadful and never caught it. Never? I'm not afraid, you see. I wish I wasn't. Hundreds of cases. It makes one ill to think of it. And all successfully? Almost all of them? You don't tell your patients' stories when they're ill about other cases who died, do you? Lady Meadowcroft went on with a quick little shudder. Hilda's face, by this time, was genuinely sympathetic. Oh, never, she answered with truth. That would be very bad nursing. One's object in treating a case is to make one's patient well. So one naturally avoids any sort of subject that might be distressing or alarming. You really mean it? Her face was bleeding. Why, of course. I try to make my patients my friends. I talk to them cheerfully. I amuse them and distract them. I get them away as far as I can from themselves and their symptoms. Oh, what a lovely person to have about one when one's ill. The language lady exclaims ecstatically. I should like to send for you if I wanted nursing. But there, it's always so, of course, with a real lady. Common nurses frighten one so. I wish I could always have a lady to nurse me. A person who sympathizes, that is the really important thing, Hilda answered in her quiet voice. One must find out first one's patient's temperament. You are nervous, I can see. She laid one hand on her new friend's arm. You need to be kept amused and engaged when you are ill. What you require most is insight and sympathy. The little fist doubled up again. The vacant face grew positively sweet. That's just it. You have hit it. How clever you are. I want all that. I suppose, Miss Wade, you never got out for private nursing? Never, Hilda answered. You see, Lady Meadowcroft, I don't nurse for a livelihood. I have means of my own. I took up this work as an occupation and a swear in life. I haven't done anything yet, but hospital nursing. Lady Meadowcroft drew a slight sigh. What a pity! she murmured slowly. It does seem hard that your sympathies should all be thrown away, so to speak, on a horrid lot of wretched poor people, instead of being spent on your own equals, who would so greatly appreciate them. I think I can venture to say the poor appreciate them too, Hilda answered, riling up a little, for there was nothing she hated so much as class prejudice. Besides, they need sympathy more. They have fewer comforts. I shall not care to give up attending my poor people for the sake of the idle rich. The set fraciolity of the country rectory recurred to Lady Meadowcroft. Our poorer brethren and so forth. Oh, of course, she answered, with the mechanical acquiescence such women always give to moral platitudes. One must do one's best for the poor, I know, for conscience's sake and all that. It's our duty, and we all try hard to do it, but they are so terribly ungrateful. Don't you think so? Do you know, Miss Wade, in my father's parish? Hilda cut her short with a sunny smile. Half contemptous toleration, half genuine pity. We are all ungrateful, she said, but the poor, I think, the least so. I'm sure the gratitude I've often had from my poor women at St Nathaniel's has made me sometimes feel really ashamed of myself. I had done so little, and they thanked me so much for it. Which only shows, Lady Meadowcroft broke in, that one ought always to have a lady to nurse one. Samarch, Hilda said to me with a quiet smile, a few minutes after, when her ladyship had disappeared in her fluffy robe down the companion ladder. Yes, Samarch, I answered, in an hour or two you will have succeeded in landing your chaperon, and what is most amusing landed her too, Hilda, just by being yourself, letting her see frankly the actual truth of what you think and feel about her and about everyone. I could not do otherwise, Hilda answered, growing grave. I must be myself or die for it. My method of angling consists in showing myself just as I am. You call me an actress, but I am not really one. I am only a woman who can use her personality for her own purposes. If I go with Lady Meadowcroft, it will be a mutual advantage. I shall really sympathise with her, for I can see the poor thing is devoured with nervousness. But do you think you will be able to stand her? I asked. Oh, dear, yes. She is not a bad little thing or fond when you get to know her. It is society that has spoiled her. She would have made a nice, helpful motherly body if she'd married the curate. As we neared Bombay, conversation grew gradually more and more Indian. It always does under similar circumstances. A sea voyage is half retrospect, half prospect. It has no personal identity. You live Liverpool for New York at the English standpoint and are full of what you did in London or Manchester. Halfway over, you begin to discuss American custom houses and New York hotels. By the time you reach Sandy Hook, the talk is all of quick trains west and the shortest route from Philadelphia to New Orleans. You grow by slow stages into the new attitude. At Malta, you are still regretting Europe. After Aden, your mind dwells most on the Hyrule, Punga Wallas and the proverbial toughness of the Da Pungalok chicken. How's the plague at Bombay now? An inquisitive passenger inquired of the captain at dinner our last night out. Getting any better? Lady Meadowcroft's thumb dived between her fingers again. What is that plague in Bombay? She asked innocently in her nervous fashion. Plague in Bombay? The captain burst out, his burly voice resounding down the saloon. Why bless your soul, ma'am. Where else would you expect it? Plague in Bombay. It's been there these five years. Better? Not quite. Going ahead like mad. They're dying by thousands. Amicrob I believe, Dr. Boyle? The inquisitive passenger observed differentially, with due respect for medical science. Yes, the ship's doctor answered helping himself to know 40 million microbes to each square inch of the Bombay atmosphere. And we are going to Bombay! Lady Meadowcroft exclaimed aghast. You must have known there was plague there, my dear. Survivor put in soothingly, with a deprecating glance. It's been in all the papers, but only the natives get it. The thumb uncovered itself a little. Oh, only the natives, Lady Meadowcroft echoed relief, as if a few thousand Hindus more or less would hardly be missed among the blessings of British rule in India. You know, I never read those dreadful things in the papers. I read the society news and our social diary and columns that are headed mainly about people. I don't care for anything but the morning post and the world and truth. I hate horrors, but it's a blessing to think it's only the natives. Plenty of Europeans, too. Bless your heart. The captain thundered out unfeelingly. While last time I was in port, a nurse died at the hospital. Oh, only a nurse! Lady Meadowcroft began and then collared up deeply with a side glance at hill down. And lots beside nurses. The captain continued, positively delighted at the terror he was inspiring. Parker Englishmen and Englishwomen, bad business, this plague, Dr. Cumberlidge, catches particularly those who are most afraid of it. But it's only in Bombay! Lady Meadowcroft cried, clutching at the last straw. I could see she was registering a mental determination to go straight up country the moment she landed. Not a bit of it, the captain answered with provoking cheerfulness, rampaging about like a roaring lion all over India. Lady Meadowcroft's thumb must have suffered severely. The nails dug into it as if it were someone's elses. Half an hour later, as we were on deck in the cool of the evening, the thing was settled. My wife, survivor said, coming up to us with a serious face, has delivered her ultimatum, positively her ultimatum. I've had more to travel with her and now she's settled. Either she goes back from Bombay by the return steamer or else. You and Miss Wade must name your own terms to accompany us on our tour in case of emergencies. He glanced wistfully at Hilda. Do you think you can help us? Hilda made no hypocritical pretence of hanging back. Her nature was transparent. If you wish it, yes, she answered, shaking hands upon the bargain. I only want to go about and see India. I can see it quite as well with Lady Meadowcroft as without her, and even better. It is unpleasant for a woman to travel unattached. I require a chaperone and I'm glad to find one. I will join your party, paying my own hotel and travelling expenses, and considering my service engaged in case your wife should need my services. For that you can pay me, if you like, some nominal retaining fee, five pounds or anything. The money is immaterial to me. I like to be useful, and I sympathize with nerves, but it may make your wife feel she is really keeping a hold over me if we put the arrangement on a business basis. As a matter of fact, whatever sum she chooses to pay, I shall hand it over at once to the Bombay Plague Hospital. Sir Ivor looked relieved. Thank you ever so much, he said, ringing her hand warmly. I thought you were a brick, and now I know it. My wife says your face inspires confidence and your voice sympathy. She must have you with her. And you, Dr. Kamrelic? I follow Miss Wade's lead. I answered in my most solemn tone with an impressive bow. I too am travelling for instruction and amusement only, and if it would give Lady Metacroft a greater sense of security to have a duly qualified practitioner in a suite, I shall be glad on the same terms to swell your party. I will pay my own way, and I will allow you to name any nominal sum you please for your claim on my medical attendance if necessary. I hope and believe, however, that our presence will so far reassure our prospective patient as to make our post in both cases a scenic Europe. Three minutes later, Lady Metacroft rushed on deck and flung her arms impulsively round Hilda. Your dear good girl! She cried, how sweet and kind of you! I really couldn't have landed if you hadn't promised to come with us, and Dr. Kamrelic too! So nice and friendly of you both! But there it is so much pleasanter to deal with ladies and gentlemen! So Hilda won her point, and what was best, won it fairly. After LibriVox Recording Or LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, Reading by Lars Rolander. Hilda Wade, A Woman with Tenacity of Purpose by Grant Allen, Chapter 10, Part 1 The Episode of the Guide Who Knew the Country We toured all round India with the Metacrofts and really the lady who was so very exclusive turned out not a bad little thing when once one has succeeded in breaking through the ring fence with which she surrounded herself. She had an endless, quenchless restlessness. It is true. Her eyes wandered aimlessly. She never was happy for two minutes together unless she was surrounded by friends and was seeing something. What she saw did not interest her much. Certainly her tastes were on the level with those of a very young child. An odd-looking house, a queerly dressed man, a tree cut into shape to look like a peacock, delighted her far more than the most glorious view of the quaintest old temple. Still she must be seeing. She could no more sit still than a fidgety child or a monkey at the zoo. To be up and doing was her nature, doing nothing to be sure, but still doing it strenuously. So we went the regulation round of Dili and Agra, the Tashmahal and the Gats at Benares, at railroad speed fulfilling the whole duty of the modern globetrotter. Lady Metacroft looked at everything for ten minutes at a stretch. Then she wanted to be off to visit the next thing set down for her in her guidebook. As we left each town she murmured mechanically, Well, we've seen that, thank heaven, and straightway went on with equal eagerness, an equal boredom to see the one after it. The only thing that did not bore her, indeed, was Hilda's bright talk. Oh, miss Wade, she would say, clasping her hands and looking up into Hilda's eyes with her own empty blue ones. You are so funny, so original, don't you know? You never talk or think of anything like other people. I can't imagine how such ideas come up in your mind. If I were to try all day, I'm sure I should never hit upon them, which was so perfectly true as to be a trifle obvious. Sir Ivor not being interested in temples, but in steel rails, had gone on at once to his concession or contract for whatever else it was on the northeast frontier, leaving his wife to follow and rejoin him in the Himalayas as soon as she had exhausted the sites of India. So after a few dusty weeks of wear and tear on the Indian railways, we met him once more in the recesses of Nepal, where he was busy constructing a light local line for the reigning Maharaja. If Lady Meadowcroft had been bored at Alabahad and Akshmer, she was immensely more bored in a rough bungalow among the track steps of the Himalayan valleys. To anybody with eyes in his head, indeed, Tolo, where Sir Ivor had pitched his headquarters, was lovely enough to keep one interested for a twelve-month. Snow-clad needles of rock hemmed it in on either side. Great deodars rose like huge tapers on the hillsides. The plants and flowers were a joy to look at. But Lady Meadowcroft did not care for flowers which one could not wear in one's hair. And what was the good of dressing hair? With no one but Ivor and Dr. Kamblech to see one. She jawned till she was tired. Then she began to grow peevish. Why, Ivor, would you want to build a railway at all in this stupid, silly place, she said, as we sat in the veranda in the cool evening? I'm sure I can't imagine. We must go somewhere. This is maddening, maddening. Miss Wade, Dr. Kamblech, I count upon you to discover something for me to do. If I vegetate like they see nothing all day long but those eternal hills, she clenched her little fist, I shall go mad with ennui. Hilda had a happy thought. I have a fancy to see some of these Buddhist monasteries, she said, smiling, as one smiles at a tiresome child whom one likes in spite of everything. You remember, I was reading that book of Mr. Simpsons on the steamer coming out, a curious book about the Buddhist praying wheels, and it made me want to see one of their temples immensely. What do you say took camping out a few weeks in the hills? It would be an adventure at any rate. Camping out, Lady Meadowcraft exclaimed, half roused from her languor by the idea of a change. Oh, do you think that would be fun? Should we sleep on the ground? But wouldn't it be dreadfully horribly uncomfortable? Not half so uncomfortable as you'll find yourself here at Toulou in a few days, Emy, her husband Prudin Grimly. The rains will soon be onlass, and when the rains are on, by all account, they are precious heavy earbuds. Rare fine rain so that a man's half flooded out of his bed of nights, which won't suit you, my lady. The poor little woman clasped her twitching hands in feeble agony. Oh, Ivor, how dreadful! Is it what they call the mongoose or monsoon or something? But if they're so bad here, surely they'll be worse in the hills and camping out too, won't they? Not if you go the right way to work. I'm told it never rains the other side of the hills. The mountains stop the clouds, and once you're over, you're safe enough. Surely you must take care to keep well in the Maharaja's territory. Cross the frontier through the other side into Tibet, and they'll skin thee alive as soon as look at thee. They don't like strangers in Tibet, prejudiced against them somehow. They pretty well skinned that young chap Landor who tried to go there a year ago. But Ivor, I don't want to be skinned alive. I'm not an ill-please. That's all right, lass. Leave that to me. I can get thee a guide, a man that's very well acquainted with the mountains. I was talking to a scientific explorer here the other day, and he knows of a good guide who can take you anywhere. He'll get you the chance of seeing the inside of a Buddhist monastery if you like, Miss Wade. His hand in glove with all the religion they've got in this part of the country. They've got no one much, but at what there is, he's a rare devout one. We discussed the matter fully for two or three days before we made up our minds. Lady Meadowcroft was undecided between our hatred of dullness and her haunting fear that scorpions and snakes would intrude upon our tents and beds while we were camping. In the end, however, the desire for change carried the day. She decided to dodge the rainy season by getting behind the Himalayan passes in the dry region to the north of the Great Range where rain seldom falls, the country being watered only by the melting of the snows on the high summits. This decision delighted Hilda, who since she came to India had fallen prey to the fashionable vice of amateur photography. She took to it enthusiastically. She had bought herself a first-rate camera of the latest scientific pattern at Bombay and ever since had spent all her time and spoiled her pretty hands in developing. She was also seized with a craze for Buddhis, the objects that everywhere particularly attracted her were the old Buddhist temples and tombs and sculptures with which India is studied. Of these she had taken some hundreds of views, all printed by herself with the greatest care and precision. But in India after all, Buddhism is a dead creed. Its monuments alone remain. She was anxious to see the Buddhist religion in its living state and that she could only do in these remote outlying Himalayan valleys. Our outfit therefore included a dark tent for Hilda's photographic apparatus, a couple of roomy tents to live and sleep in, a small cooking stove, a cook to look after it, half a dozen bearers and the highly recommended guide who knew his way about the country. In three days we were ready to survive her great delight. He was fond of his pretty wife and proud of her, I believe. But when once she was away from the whirl and bustle of the London that she loved, it was a relief to him. I fancy to pursue his work alone, unhumped by her restless and querulous childishness. On the morning when we were to make our start, the guide who was well acquainted with the mountains turned up, as villainous looking a person as I have ever set eyes on. He was sullen and furtive. I judged him at sight to be half Hindu and half Tibetan. He had a dark complexion between brown and tawny, narrow slant eyes, very small and beady black, with a cunning layer in their oblique corners, a flat nose much broadened at the wings, a cruel thick censure's mouth, and high cheekbones, the holes are mounted by a comprehensive skull and an abundant crop of blank black hair, tied up in a knot at the nape of the neck with a jello ribbon. His face was shifty. His short stout form looked well adapted to mountain climbing and also to wriggling. A deep scar on his left cheek did not help to inspire confidence, but he was polite and civil-spoken, altogether a clever, unscrupulous, wide-awake soul who would serve you well if you thought he could make by it and would betray you at a pinch to the highest bidder. We set out in merry mood, prepared to solve all the obstruous problems of the Buddhist religion. Our spoiled child stood the camping out better than I expected. She was fretful, of course, and worried about trifles. She missed her maid and her accustomed comforts, but she reminded the roughing it less on the whole than she had minded the boredom of inaction in the bungalow. And being cast on Hildan myself for resources, she suddenly evolved an unexpected taste for producing, developing, and printing photographs. We took dozens as we went along of little villages on our route, wood-built villages with quaint houses and turrets, and as Hildan had brought her collection of prints with her for comparison of the Indian and Nepalese monuments, we spent the evenings after our short days marched, each day in arranging and collating them. We had planned to be away six weeks at least. In that time the monsoon would have burst and passed. Our guide thought we might see all that was worth seeing of the Buddhist monasteries, and so I thought we should have fairly escaped the dreaded wet season. What do you make of our guide? I asked Hildan on our fourth day out. I began somehow to distrust him. Oh, he seems all right. Hildan answered carelessly. And her voice reassured me. He's a rouge, of course. All guides and interpreters and dragomans and the like in out-of-the-way places always are rouge. If they were honest men, they would share the ordinary prejudice of their countrymen and would have nothing to do with the hated stranger. But in this case our friend Ramdas has no end to gain by getting us into mischief. If he had, he wouldn't scruple for a second to cut our throats. But then there are too many of us. He will probably try to cheat us by making preposterous charges when he gets us back to Tulu. But that's Lady Meadowcraft's business. I don't doubt Sir Ivor will be more than a match for him there. I'll back one shrewd Yorkshire man against any three Tibetan half-castes any day. You're right that he would cut our throats if it served his purpose, I answered. His servile and servility goes hand-in-hand with treachery. The more I watch him, the more I see scoundrel written in large type on every bend of the fellow's oily shoulders. Oh yes, he's a bad lot, I know. The cook who can speak a little English and a little Tibetan as well as Hindustani tells me Ramdas has the worst reputation of any man in the mountains. But he says he's a very good guide to the passes for all that, and if he's well paid, will do what he's paid for. Next day but one we approached at last after several short marches the neighborhood of what our guide assured us was a Buddhist monastery. I was glad when he told us of it, giving the place the name of a well-known Nepalese village. For to say the truth, I was beginning to get frightened, judging by the sun for I had brought no compass. It struck me that we seemed to have been marching almost due north ever since we left Tulu, and I fancied such a line of march must have brought us by this time suspiciously near the Tibetan frontier. Now I had no desire to be skinned alive as a rival put it. I did not wish to emulate Saint Bartholomew and others of the early Christian marchers, so I was pleased to learn that we were really drawing near Kulak, the first of the Nepalese Buddhist monasteries to which our well-informed guide himself a Buddhist had promised to introduce us. We were tramping up a beautiful high mountain valley closed round on every side by snowy peaks. A brawling river ran over a rocky bed in Cataract's down its midst. Crags rose abruptly a little in front of us, halfway up the slope to the left, on a ledge of rock rose a long low building with curious pyramid-like roofs crowned at either end by a sort of minaret which resembled more than anything else a huge earthenware oil jar. This was the monastery or lamasari we had come so far to see. Honestly, at first sight, I did not feel sure it was worth the trouble. Our guide called the halt and turned to us with a sudden preemptory air. His servility had vanished. You stop here, he said slowly in broken English, while me I go on to see whether lamasibes ready to take you. Must ask leave from lamasibes to visit village. If no ask leave, he drew his hand across his throat with a significant gesture. Lamasibes cut the head of eulopean. Goodness gracious! Lady Meadowcroft cried, clinging tight to Hilda. Miss Wade, this is dreadful! Where on earth have you brought us to? Oh, that's all right! Hilda answered, trying to soothe her. Though she herself began to look a trifle anxious, that's only rammed us graphic way of putting things. We sat down on a bank of trailing clubmos by the side of the rough track, for it was nothing more, and let our guide go on to negotiate with the lamas. Well, tonight anyhow, I exclaimed looking up, we shall sleep on our own mattresses with a roof over our heads. These monks will find us quarters. That's always something. We got out our basket and made tea. In all moments of doubt, your English woman makes tea, as Hilda said she will boil her etna on Vesuvius. We waited and drank our tea. We drank our tea and waited. A full hour passed away. Ramdas never came back. I began to get frightened. At last something stirred. A group of excited men in yellow robes issued forth from the monastery, wound their way down the hill and approached us shouting. They should stipulate it as they came. I could see they looked angry. All at once Hilda clutched my arm. You but she cried in an undertone. We are betrayed. I see it all now. These are Tibetans, not Nepalese. She paused a second, then went on. I see it all, all, all. Our guide Ramdas. He had a reason after all for getting us into mischief. Sebastian must have tracked us. He was pried by Sebastian. It was he who recommended Ramdas to survive. Why do you think so? I asked Lo. Because look for yourself. These men who come are dressed in yellow. That means Tibetans. Red is the color of the llamas in Nepal. Yellow in Tibet. And all other Buddhist countries. I read it in the book. The Buddhist praying wheel, you know. These are Tibetan fanatics. And as Ramdas said, they will probably cut our throats for us. I was thankful that Hilda's marvelous memory gave us even that moment for preparation and facing the difficulty. I saw in a flash that she was quite right. We had been invagled across the frontier. These Mootis were Tibetans. Buddhist inquisitors. Enemies. Tibet is the most deolous country on earth. It allows no stranger to intrude upon its borders. I had to meet the worst. I stood there. A single white man armed only with one revolver. Answerable for the lives of two English ladies. And accompanied by cringing outcasts, and half a dozen doubtful Nepalese bearers. To fly was impossible. We were fairly trapped. There was nothing for it but to wait and put a bold face on our utter helplessness. I turned to our spoiled child. Lady Meadowcroft, I said very seriously. This is danger. Real danger. Now listen to me. You must do as you are bid. No crying. No cowardice. Your life and ours depend upon it. We must none of us give way. We must pretend to be brave. Show one sign of fear, and these people will probably cut our throats on the spot here. To my immense surprise, Lady Meadowcroft draws to the height of the situation. Oh, as long as it isn't disease, she answered resignedly. I'm not much afraid of anything. I should mind the plague a great deal more than I mind a set of howling savages. By that time the men in yellow robes had almost come up to us. It was clear they were boiling over with the indignation, but they still did everything decently and in order. One who was dressed in finer vestments than the rest. A portly person with the fat greasy cheeks and rooping flesh of a celibate church dignitary, whom I therefore judge to be the Abbot or Chief Lama of the monastery, gave orders to his subordinates in a language which we did not understand. His men obeyed him. In a second they had closed us round as in a ring or codon. Then the Chief Lama stepped forward with an authoritative air, like Puba in the play, and said something in the same tongue to the cook who spoke a little tibetan. It was obvious from his manner that some of us had told them all about us, for the Lama selected the cook as interpreter at once, without taking any notice of myself, the ostensible head of the pity expedition. What does he say? I asked as soon as he had finished speaking. The cook who had been salamming all the time at the risk of a broken back in his most utterly abject and groveling attitude made answer tremulously in his broken English. This is priest Saheb of the temple. He very angry because why European Sahab in Mem Sahab's come into tibet land. No European, no Hindu must come into tibet land. Priests Sahab say cut all European throats. Let Nepal man go back like him, come to him own country. I looked as if the message were purely indifferent to me. Tell him, I said smiling, though at some little effort. We were not trying to enter tibet. Our rascally guide misled us. We were going to Kulak in the Maharaja's territory. We will turn back quietly to the Maharaja's land if the priests Sahabit will allow us to camp out for the night here. I glanced at Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. I must say their bearing under these trying circumstances was thoroughly worthy of two English ladies. They stood erect looking as all tibet might come and they would smile at it scornfully. The cook interpreted my remarks as well as he was able, his tibetan being probably about equal in quality to his English, but the chief lama made a reply which I could see for myself was by no means friendly. What is his answer? I asked the cook in my haughtiest voice. I am haughty with difficulty. Our interpreter Salan once more is looking in his shoes if he wore any. Priests Sahab say that all lies, that all damn lies, you is European missionary, very bad man. You want to go to Lhasa, but no white Sahab must go to Lhasa. Holy city Lhasa for Buddhists only. This is not the way to Kulak. This is not Maharaja's land. This place belong Adalai Lama. Head of all Lamas have house at Lhasa. But priests Sahab know your European missionary want to go to Lhasa, convert Buddhists because Ramdas tell him so. Ramdas I exclaimed thoroughly angry by this time. The rouge, the scoundrel, he has not only deserted us, but betrayed us as well. He has told this lie on purpose to set the tibetans against us. We must face the worst now. Our one chance is to coy all these people. The fat priest spoke again. What does he say this time, I asked? He say Ramdas tell him all this because Ramdas good man, very good man. Ramdas converted Buddhists. You pay Ramdas to guide you to Lhasa, but Ramdas good man not want to let European see Holy city. Bring you here instead. Then tell priest Sahab about it. And he chuckled inwardly. What will they do to us? Lady Medecraft asked her face very white, though her manner was more courageous than I could easily have believed of her. I don't know, I answered biting my lip, but we must not give way. We must put a bold face upon it. Their bark after all may be worse than their bite. We may still persuade them to let us go back again. The men in yellow robes motioned us to move on towards the village and monastery. We were their prisoners and it was useless to resist. So I ordered the bearers to take up the tents and baggage. Lady Medecraft resigned herself to the inevitable. We mounted the path in a long line, the lama in yellow closely guarding our draggled little procession. I tried my best to preserve my composure and above all else not to look deducted. As we approached the village with its squalid and fetid huts, we caught the sound of bells, innumerable bells tinkling at regular intervals. Many people trooped out from their houses to look at us, all flat-faced, all with oblique eyes, all stolidly, sullenly, stupidly passive. They seemed curious as to our dress and appearance, but not apparently hostile. We walked on to the low line of the monastery with its pyramidal roof and its queer flower-based minarets. After a moment's discussion, they ushered us into the temple or chapel, which was evidently also their communal council room and place of deliberation. We entered trembling. We had no great certainty that we would ever get out of it alive again. End of Chapter 10, Part 1, read by Lars Rolander. Chapter 10, Part 2 of Hilda Wade This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lars Rolander. Hilda Wade, a woman with tenacity of purpose by Grant Allen, Chapter 10, Part 2. The temple was a large oblong hall with a great figure of Buddha, cross-legged, imperturbable and thrown in a niche at its further end, like the abs or recess in a church in Italy, before it stood an altar. The Buddha sat and smiled on us with his eternal smile. A complacent deity carved out a white stone and gaudily painted a yellow robe like the llamas dangled across his shoulders. The air seemed close with incense and also with bad ventilation. The center of the nave, if I may so call it, was occupied by a huge wooden cylinder, a sort of overgrown drum painted in bright colors with ornamental designs and tibetan letters. It was much taller than a man, some nine feet high, I should say, and it revolved above and below on an iron spindle. Looking closer, I saw it had a crank attached to it with a string tied to the crank. A solitary monk absorbed in his devotions was pulling this string as we entered and making the cylinder revolve with a jerk as he pulled it. At each revolution a bell about rang once. The monk seemed as if his whole soul was bound up in the huge revolving drum and the bell worked by it. We took this all in at a glance, somewhat vaguely at first, for our lives were at stake and we were scarcely in a mood for ethnological observations. But the moment Hilda saw the cylinder, her eye lighted up. I could see it once, an idea had struck her. This is a praying wheel, she cried in quite a delighted voice. I know where I am now, you bird. Lady Meadowcroft, I see a way out of this. Do exactly as you see me do, and all may yet go well. Don't show surprise at anything. I think we can work upon these people's religious feelings. Without a moment's hesitation, she prostrated herself thrice on the ground before the figure of Buddha, knocking her head ostentatiously in the dust as she did so. We followed suit instantly. Then Hilda rose and began walking slowly round the big drum in the nave, playing aloud at each step in a sort of monotonous chant like a priest intoning the four mystic words, Ammanipadmehum, Ammanipadmehum. Many times over, we repeated the sacred formula after her as if we had always been brought up to it. I noticed that Hilda walked away of the sun. It is an important point in all these mysterious half-magical ceremonies. At last after about ten or twelve such rounds, she paused with an absurd air of devotion and knocked her head three times on the ground once more, doing puja before the ever-smiling Buddha. By this time, however, the lessons of some alphagist rectory began to recur to Lady Meadowcraft's mind. Oh, Miss Wade, she murmured in an avestruck voice, ought we to do like this is indeed clear idolatry? Hilda's common sense weighed her aside at once. Idolatry or not, it is the only way to save our lives, she answered in her firmest voice. But ought we to save our lives, oughtn't we to be, well, Christian martyrs? Hilda was patience itself. I think not there, she replied gently, but decisively. You are not called upon to be a martyr. The danger of idolatry is scarcely so great among Europeans of our time that we need feel it a duty to protest with our lives against it. I have better uses to which to put my life myself. I don't mind being a martyr where a sufficient cause demands it, but I don't think such a sacrifice is required of us now in a Tibetan monastery. We have not given us to waste on ratituitous martyrdoms, but rarely I am afraid. Don't be afraid of anything there, or you will risk all. Follow my lead, I will answer for your conduct. Surely, if Naaman in the midst of idolaters was permitted to bow down in the house of Rimon to save his place at court, you may blamelessly bow down to save your life in a Buddhist temple. Now, no more kaswistri, but do as I tell you, ah manipad mehum again, once more round the drum there. We followed her a second time, Lady Meadowcraft giving in after a feeble protest. The priests in yellow looked on, profoundly impressed by our circumnavigation. It was clear they began to reconsider the question of our nefarious designs on their holy city. After we had finished our second tour round the drum with the utmost solemnity, one of the monks approached Hilda, whom he seemed to take now for an important priestess. He said something to her in Tibetan, which of course we did not understand, but as he pointed at the same time to the brother on the floor who was turning the wheel, Hilda nodded acquiescence. If you wish it, she said in English, and he appeared to comprehend. He wants to know whether I would like to take a turn at the cylinder. She knelt down in front of it before the little stool where the brother in yellow had been kneeling till that moment and took the string in her hand as if she were well accustomed to it. I could see that the abbot gave the cylinder a surreptuous push with his left hand before she began, so as to make it revolve in the opposite direction from that in which the monk had just been moving it. This was obviously to try her, but Hilda let the string drop with a little cry of horror. That was the wrong way round. The unlucky, uncanonical direction, the evil way, widershins, the opposite of sun-wise. With an aid air she stopped short, repeated once more the four mystic words or mantra, and bowed thrice with well-assumed reverence to the Buddha. Then she set the cylinder turning of her own accord with a right hand in the propitious direction and send it round seven times with the utmost gravity. At this point, encouraged by Hilda's example, I too became possessed of a brilliant inspiration. I opened my purse and took out of it four brand new silver rupees of the Indian coinage. They were very handsome and shiny coins, each impressed with an excellent design of the head of the Queen as Empress of India. Holding them up before me, I approached the Buddha and laid the four in a row, submissively at his feet, uttering at the same time an appropriate formula. But as I did not know the proper mantra for use upon such an occasion, I supplied one from memory, saying in a harsh voice, hokey pokey winky womb, as I laid each one before the benignly smiling statue. I have no doubt from their faces the priests imagined I was uttering a most powerful spell or prayer in my own language. As soon as I retreated with my face towards the image, the chief lama glided up and examined the coins carefully. It was clear he had never seen anything of the sort before, for he gazed at them for some minutes and then showed them round to his monks with an air of deep reverence. I do not doubt he took the image of our gracious majesty for a very mighty and potent goddess. As soon as all had inspected them with many cries of admiration, he opened a little secret drawer of relic holder in the pedestal of the statue and deposited them in it with a muttered prayer as precious offerings from the European Buddhist. By this time we could easily see we were beginning to produce a most favorable impression. The study of Buddhists had stood us in good stead. The chief lama or Abbot motioned to us to be seated in a much politer mood, after which he and his principal monks held a long and animated conversation together. I gathered from their looks and gestures that the head lama inclined to regard us as orthodox Buddhists, but that some of his followers had grave doubts of their own as to the depth and reality of religious convictions. While they debated and hesitated, Hilda had another splendid idea. She undid her portfolio and took out of it the photographs of ancient Buddhist topes and temples which she had taken in India. These she produced triumphantly. At once the priests and monks crowded round us to look at them. In a moment when they recognized the meaning of the pictures, their excitement grew quite intense. The photographs were passed round from hand to hand amid loud exclamations of joy and surprise. One brother would point out with astonishment to another some familiar symbol or some ancient text. Two or three of them in their devout enthusiasm fell down on their knees and kissed the pictures. We had played a trump card. The monks could see for themselves by this time that we were deeply interested in Buddhism. Now, minds of that calibre never understand a disinterested interest. The moment they saw we were collectors of Buddhist pictures they jumped at once to the conclusion that we must also of course be devout believers. So far did they carry their sense of fraternity indeed that they insisted upon embracing us. That was a hard trial to Lady Meadowcroft for the brethren were not conspicuous for personal cleanliness. She suspected germs and she dreaded typhoid far more than she dreaded the Tibetan cup throat. The brethren asked through the medium of our interpreter the cook where these pictures had been made. We explained as well as we could by means of the same mouthpiece a very earthen vessel that they came from ancient Buddhist buildings in India. This delighted them still more though I know not in what form our Gorka retainer may have conveyed the information. At any rate they insisted on embracing us again after which the chief Lama said something very solemnly to our amateur interpreter. The cook interpreted Priest Saib said he too got very sacred thing come from India sacred Buddhist puja thing water show it to you. We waited breathless. The chief Lama approached the altar before the recess in front of the great cross-legged vapidly smiling Buddha. He bowed himself to the ground three times over as well as his poorly framed would permit him knocking his forehead against the floor just as Hilda had done. Then he proceeded almost abstract to take from the altar an object wrapped round with a cage and very carefully guarded. Two acolytes accompanied him in the most reverent way. He slowly unwound the folds of gold cloth and released from its hiding place the highly sacred deposit. He held it up before our eyes with an air of triumph. It was an English bottle the label on it shown with gold and bright colors. I could see it was figured the figured represented a cat squatting on its haunches. The sacred inscription ran in our own tongue old Tom Jean unsweetened. The monks bowed their heads in profound silence as the sacred thing was produced. I caught Hilda's eyes. For heaven's sake I murmured low. Don't either of you laugh. If you do it's all up with us. They kept their countenances with admirable decorum. Another idea struck me. Tell them, I said to the cook, that we too have a similar and very powerful god but much more lively. He interpreted my words to them. Then I opened our stores and drew out with a flourish our last remaining bottle of Simla soda water. Very solemnly and seriously I unwired the cork as if performing an almost sacrosan ceremony. The monks crowded round with the deepest curiosity. I held the cork down for a second with my thumb while I uttered once more in my most avesome tone the mystic words Then I let it fly suddenly. The soda water was well up. The cork bounded to the ceiling. The contents of the bottle spurred it out of the place in the most aggressive fashion. For a minute the llamas drew back alarmed. The things seemed almost devilish. Then slowly reassured by our composure they crept back and looked. With a glance of inquiry at the abbot I took out my pocket's corkscrew and drew the cork of the gin bottle which had never been opened. I signed for a cup. They brought me one reverently. I pulled out a little gin to which I drank the soda water and drank first of it myself to show them it was not poison. After that I handed it to the chief llama who sipped at it, sipped again and emptied the cup at the third trial. Evidently the sacred drink was very much to his taste for he smacked his lips after it and turned with exclamations of surprise delight to his inquisitive companions. The rest of the soda water mixed with gin soon went the round of the expectant monks. It was greatly proved of. Unhappily there was not quite enough soda water to supply a drink for all of them, but those who tasted it were deeply impressed. I could see that they took the bite of carbonic acid gas for evidence of a most powerful and present deity. That settled our position. We were instantly regarded not only as Buddhists but as great magicians from a far country. The monks made haste to show us rooms destined for our use in the monastery. They were not unbearably filthy and we had our own bedding. We had to spend the night there that was certain. We had at least escaped the worst and most pressing danger. I may add that I believe our cook to have been a most errant liar which was a lucky circumstance. Once the the tide turned I have reason to infer that he supported our course by telling the chief Lama the most incredible stories about our holiness and power. At any rate it is certain that we were regarded with the utmost respect and treated thence forth with the affectionate deference due to acknowledged and certified sainthood. It began to strike us now however that we had almost overshot the mark in this matter of sanctity. We made ourselves quite too holy. The monks who were eager at first to cut our throats thought so much of us now that we grew a little anxious as to whether they would not wish to keep such devout souls in their midst forever. As a matter of fact we spent a whole week against our wills in the monastery being very well fed and treated meanwhile yet virtually captives. It was the camera that did it. The Lama had never seen photographs before. They asked how these miraculous pictures were produced and Hilda to keep up the good impression showed them how she operated. When a full length portrait of the chief Lama in his sacrificial robes was actually printed off and exhibited before their eyes there a delight knew no bounds. The picture was handed about among the astonished brethren and received with loud shouts of joy and wonder. Nothing would satisfy them then but that we must photograph every individual monk in the place. Even the Buddha himself cross-legged and imperturbable had to sit for his portrait as he was used to sitting. Never indeed having done anything else he came out admirably. Day after day passed suns rose and sunset and it was clear that the monks did not mean to let us leave their precincts in a hurry. Lady Medocraft having covered by this time from her first fright began to grow bored. The Buddhist ritual ceased to interest her. To vary the monotony I hit upon an expedient for killing time till our two pressing hosts so fit to let us depart. They were fond of religious processions of the most protracted sort dances before the altar with animal masks or heads and other weird ceremonial orgies. Hilda who had herself up in Buddhist ideas assured me that all these things were done in order to heap up karma. What is karma I asked listlessly. Karma is good works or merit. The more praying wheels you turn, the more bells you ring, the greater the merit. One of the monks is always at work turning the big wheel that moves the bell so as to heap up merit night and day for the monastery. This set me thinking. I soon discovered that no matter how the wheel is turned, the karma or merit is equal. It is the turning it that counts not the personal exertion. There were wheels and bells in convenient situations all over the village and whoever passed one gave it a twist as he went by thus piling up karma for all the inhabitants. Reflecting upon these facts I persist with an idea. I got Hilda to take instantaneous photographs of all the monks during a sacred procession at rapid intervals. In that sunny climate we had no difficulty at all in printing off from the plates as soon as developed. Then I took a small wheel about the size of an oyster barrel. The monks had dozens of them and pasted the photographs inside in successive order, like what is called as a trope or wheel of life, by cutting holes in the side and arranging a mirror from Lady Meadowcroft's dressing bag. I completed my machine so that when it was turned round rapidly one saw the procession actually taking place as if the figures were moving. The thing in short made a living picture like a cinematograph. A mountain stream ran past the monastery and supplied it with water. I had a second inspiration. I was always mechanical. I fixed a water wheel in the stream where it made a pity cataract and connected it by means of a small crank with a barrel of photographs. Myse trope thus worked of itself and piled up karma for all the village, whether anyone happened to be looking at it or not. The monks who were really excellent fellows, when not engaged in cutting throats in the interest of the faith, regarded this device as a great and religious invention. They went down on their knees to it and were profoundly respectful. They also bowed to me so deeply when I first exhibited it, that I began to be puffed up with spiritual pride. Lady Meadowcroft recalled me to my better self by murmuring with a sigh. I suppose we really can't draw a line now, but it does seem to me like encouraging idolatry. A purely mechanical encouragement I answered, gazing at my handicraft with an inventor's pardonable pride. You see it is the turning itself that has good, not any prayers attached to it. I divert the idolatry from human worshipers to an unconscious stream which must surely be meritorious. Then I thought of the mystic sentence, aw mani pad mehum. What a pity it is, I cried, to make them a phonograph to repeat their mantra. If I could, they might fulfill all their religious duties together by machinery. Hilda reflected a second. There is a great future, she said at last, for the man who first introduces smokejacks into Tibet every household will buy one as an automatic means of acquiring karma. Don't publish that idea in England, I exclaimed hastily if ever we get there. As sure as you do, somebody will see in it an opening for British trade, and we shall spend twenty millions on conquering Tibet in the interests of civilization and a smokejack syndicate. How long we might have stopped at the monastery, I cannot say, had it not been for the intervention of an unexpected episode which occurred just a week after our first arrival. We were comfortable enough in a rough way, with our Gorka cook to prepare our food for us, and our bearers to wait but to the end I never felt quite sure of our hosts who after all were entertaining us under false pretenses. We had told them truly enough that Buddhist missionaries had now penetrated to England, and though they had not the slightest conception where England might be and knew not the name of Madame Blavatsky, this news interested them. Regarding us as promising new fights, they were anxious now that we should go on to Laos in order to receive full instruction in the faith from the chief fountainhead the Grand Lama in person. To this we demurred, Mr. Lander's experiences did not encourage us to follow his lead. The monks for their part could not understand our reluctance. They thought that every well intention convert must wish to make the pilgrimage to Laos the mecca of their creed. Our hesitation threw some doubt on the reality of our conversion. A proselyt above all men should never be lukewarm. They expected us to embrace the opportunity with fervour. We might be massacred on the way to be sure but what did that matter? We should be dying for the faith and ought to be charmed at so splendid respect. On the day week after our arrival time Chief Lama came to me at nightfall. His face was serious. He spoke to me through our accredited interpreter, the cook. Priest Saib say very important, the Saib and Mem Saibs must go away from here before sun gets up tomorrow morning. Why so? I asked as astonished as I was pleased. Priest Saib say he liked you very much. Oh very very much. No one to see village people kill you. Kill us? But I thought they believed we were saints. Priest say that just it. Too much saint altogether. People hear about all telling that the Saib and the Mem Saibs very great saints. Much holy like Buddha. Make picture, work miracles. People think if them kill you and have your tomb here very holy place. Very great karma. Very good for trade. Plenty Tibetan man hear you holy men come here on pilgrimage. Pilgrimage make fair, make market, very good for village so people want to kill you will shrine over your body. This was a view of the advantages of sanctity which had never before struck me. Now I had not been eager even for the distinction of being a Christian martyr as to being a Buddhist martyr. That was quite out of the question. Then what does the Lama advice us to do? I ask. Priest Saibs say he love you. No one to see village people kill you. He give you guide very good guide. No mountains well. Take you back straight to Maharajah's country. Not Ramdas? I ask suspiciously. No, not Ramdas. Very good man. Tibetan. I saw at once this was a genuine crisis. All was hastily arranged. I went in and told Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. Our spoiled child cried a little of course at the idea of being enshrined, but on the whole behaved admirably. At early dawn next morning before the village was away we crept with stealthy steps out of the monastery whose inmates were friendly. Our new guide accompanied us. We avoided one whose outskirts the Lama Sarilei and made straight for the valley. By six o'clock we were well out of sight of the clustered houses and the pyramidal spires, but I did not breathe freely till late in the afternoon when we found ourselves once more under British protection in the first hamlet of the Maharajah's territory. As for that scoundrel Ramdas we heard nothing more of him. He went into space from the moment he deserted us at the door of the trap into which he had led us. The chief Lama told me he had gone back at once by another route to his own country. End of Chapter 10 Part 2 Read by Lars Rolander Chapter 11 Part 1 of Hilda Wade This is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out more, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Lars Rolander Hilda Wade A woman with tenacity of purpose by Grant Allen Chapter 11 Part 1 The episode of the officer who understood perfectly. After our fortunate escape from the clutches of our two admiring Tibetan hosts we wound our way slowly through the Maharaja's territory towards Sir Ivar's headquarters. On the third day out from the Lama Sari we camped in a romantic Himalayan valley, a narrow green glen with a brawling stream running in white cataracts and rapids down its midst. We were able to breathe freely now. We could enjoy the great tapering deodorists that rose in ranks on the hillsides. The snow and the needles of ramping rock that bounded the view to north and south. The feathery bamboo jungle that fringed and half obscured the mountain torrent was cool music alas, fallaciously cool was born to us through the dense green a waving foliage. Lady Meadowcroft was so delighted at having got clear away from those murderous and saintly Tibetans that for a while she almost grumbled. She even condescended to admire the deep cleft ravine in which we bevucked for the night and to admit that the orchids which hang from the tall trees were as fine as any at her florists in Piccadilly. Though how they can have got them out here already in this outlandish place, the most fashionable kinds, when we in England have to grow them with such care in expensive hot houses, she said really passes my comprehension. She seemed to think that orchids originated in Covent Garden. Early next morning I was engaged with one of my native men enlightening the fire to boil our kettle, for in spite of all misfortunes we still made tea with creditable punctuality. When a tall and good looking Nepalese approached us from the hills with cat-like tread and stood before me in an attitude of profound supplication. He was a well-dressed young man like a superior native servant. His face was broad and flat but kindly and good-humored. He salumed many times but still said nothing. Ask him what he wants. I cried turning to our fair weather friend the cook. The differential Nepalese did not wait to be asked. Salaam saib. He said bowing again very low till his forehead almost touched the ground. You are European doctor saib? I am, I answered, taken aback at being thus recognized in the forest of Nepal. But how in wonder did you come to know it? You camp near here when you passed this way before and you doctor little native girl who got sore eyes. Your country here tell you is very great physician. So I come and to see if you will turn aside to my village to help us. Where did you learn English? I exclaimed more and more astonished. I is servant one time at British residence at the Maharajya city. Pick up English there. Also pick up plenty loopy. Very good business at British residence. Now gone back home village retired gentleman and he drew himself up with conscious dignity. I surveyed the retired gentleman from head to foot. He had an air of distinction which not even his bare toes could all together marre. He was evidently a person of local importance. And what did you want me to visit your village for? I inquired dubiously. Why traveller saab il der sir belly il got plague great first class sahib all same like governor il fit to die send me out all times to find European doctor. Plague I repeated startled. He nodded. Yes plague all same like them have him so bad down Bombay way. Do you know his name? I asked whether one does not like to desert a fellow creature in distress. I did not care to turn aside from my road on such an errand with Hilda and Lady Medocraft unless for some amply sufficient reason. The retired gentleman shook his head in the most emphatic fashion. How me know? He answered opening the palms of his hands as if to show he had nothing concealed in them. Forget European name all time so easily and traveller saab name very hard to remember not got English name him European Fallinger a European foreigner I repeated and you say he seriously ill plague is no trifle well wait a minute I'll see what the lady saab out it how far off is your village he pointed with his hand somewhat vaguely to the hillside to ours walk he answered with the mountaineers habit of reckoning distance by time extends under the like circumstances the whole world over I went back to the tents and consulted Hilda and Lady Medocraft our spoiled child pouted and was utterly averse to any detour of any sort let's get back straight to Ivor she said petulantly I've had enough of camping out it's all very well in its way for a week but when they begin to talk about cutting your throat all that it ceases to be a joke and becomes a wee bit uncomfortable I want my feather bed I object to their villages but consider dear Hilda said gently this traveller is ill all alone in a strange land how can you but desert him it is a doctor's duty to do what he can to alleviate pain and to cure the sick what would we have thought ourselves when we were at the country if a body of European travellers had known we were there imprisoned and in danger of our lives and had passed by on the other side without attempting to rescue us Lady Medocraft nift her forehead that was us she said with an impatient nod after a pause and this is another person you can't turn aside for everybody who's ill in all Nepal and plague too so horrid besides how do we know this isn't another plan of these hateful people to lead us into danger Lady Medocraft is quite right I said hastily I never thought about that there may be no plague, no patient at all I will go up with this man alone Hilda and find out the truth it will only take me five hours at most by noon I shall be back with you what and leave us here we are divided among the wild beasts and the savages Lady Medocraft cried horrified in the midst of the forest Dr. Kamblech how can you you are not unprotected I answered soothing her you have Hilda with you she's worth ten men and besides our Nepalese are fairly trustworthy Hilda bore me out in my resolve she was too much of a nurse and had imbibed too much through medical sentiment to let me desert a man in peril of his life in a tropical jungle so in spite of Lady Medocraft I was soon winding my way up a steep mountain track overgrown with creeping Indian weeds on my road to the still problematical village grazed by the residents of the retired gentleman after two hours hard climbing we reached it at last the retired gentleman led the way to a house in a street of the little wooden hamlet the door was low I had a stoop to enter it I saw in a moment this was indeed no trick on a native bed in a corner of the one room a man laid desperately ill a European with white hair and with a skin well bronzed by exposure to the tropics ominous dark spots beneath the epidermis showed the nature of the disease he tossed restlessly as he lay but did not raise his fevered head or look at my conductor well any news of Ramdas he asked at last in a parched and feeble voice parched and feeble as it was I recognized it instantly the man on the bed was Sebastian no other no news of Ramdas the retired gentleman replied with an unexpected display of womanly tenderness Ramdas clean gone not come anymore but I bring you back European doctor Saib Sebastian did not look up from his bed even then I could see he was more anxious about a message from his scout than about his own condition the rascal he moaned with his eyes closed betrayed me and he tossed uneasily I looked at him and said nothing then I seated myself on a low stool by the bedside and took his hand in mine to feel his pulse the wrist was thin and wasted the face too I noticed had fallen away greatly it was clear that the malignant fever which accompanists the disease had wrecked its worst on him and he was he indeed that he let me hold his hand with my fingers on his pulse for half a minute or more without ever opening his eyes or displaying the slightest curiosity at my presence one might have thought that European doctors abounded in Nepal and that I had been attending him for a week with a mixture as before at every visit your pulse is weak and very rapid slowly in a professional tone you seem to me to have fallen into a perilious condition at the sound of my voice he gave a sudden start yet even so for a second he did not open his eyes the revelation of my presence seemed to come upon him as in a dream like cumbulages he muttered to himself gasping exactly like cumbulages but cumbulage is dead I must be delirious if I didn't know to the contrary I could have sworn it was cumbulages I spoke again bending over him how long have the glandular swelling been present professor I asked with quiet deliberativeness this time he opened his eyes sharply and looked up in my face he swallowed a great gulp of surprise his breath came and went he raised himself on his elbows and stared at me with a fixed stare cumbulage he cried cumbulage come back to life then they told me you were dead and here you are cumbulage who told you I was dead I asked sternly he stared at me still in a dazed way he was more than half comatose your guide rammed us he answered at last half incoherently he came back by himself came back without you he swore to me he had seen all your throats cut in Tibet he alone had escaped the Buddhists had massacred you he told you a lie I said shortly I thought so I thought so and I sent him back for confirmatory evidence he never brought it he let his head drop on his rude pillow heavily never never brought it I gazed at him full of horror the man was too ill to hear me too ill to reason too ill to recognize the meaning of his own words almost otherwise perhaps he would hardly have expressed himself quite so frankly though to be sure he had said nothing to eliminate himself in any way his action might have been due to anxiety for our safety I fixed my glance on him long and dubiously what ought I to do next as for Sebastian he lay with his eyes closed half oblivious of my presence the fever had gripped him hard he shivered and looked helpless as a child in such circumstances the instincts of my profession were imperative within me I could not nurse a case properly in this wretched hut the one thing to be done was to carry the patient down to our camp in the valley there at least we had air and pure running water I asked a few questions from the retired gentleman as to the possibility of obtaining sufficient bearers in the village as I supposed any number were forthcoming immediately his by nature a beast of burden he can carry anything up and down the mountains and spends his life in the act of carrying him I pulled out my pencil tore a leaf from my notebook and scribbled a hasty note to Hilda the invalid is whom do you think Sebastian he's dangerously ill with some malignant fever I'm bringing him down into camp to nurse get everything ready for him then I handed it over to a messenger found for me by the retired gentleman to carry to Hilda my host himself I could not spare as he was my only interpreter in a couple of hours we had improvised a rough woven grass hammock as an ambulance couch had engaged our bearers and had got Sebastian underway for the camp by the river when I arrived at our tents I prepared everything for our patient with her usual cleverness not only had she got a bed ready for Sebastian who was now almost insensible but she had even cooked some arrow root from our stores beforehand so that he might have a little food with a dash of brandy in it to recover him out of the fatty view of the journey down the mountain by the time we had laid him out on the mattress in a cool tent with the fresh air blowing about him and had made him eat the meal prepared for him he really began to look comparatively comfortable Lady Meadowcroft was now our chief trouble we did not dare to tell her it was really plague but she had got near enough back to civilization to have recovered her faculty for profuse grumbling and the idea of the delay that Sebastian would cause us drew her vile with annoyance only two days off from I work she cried and that comfortable bungalow and now to think we must stop here in the woods a week or ten days for this horrid old professor why can't he get worse at once and die like a gentleman but there with you to nurse him Hilda he'll never get worse he couldn't die if he tried he'll linger on and on for weeks and weeks through common sense you but Hilda said to me when we were alone once more we mustn't keep her here she will be a hindrance not a help one way or another we must manage to get rid of her how can we? I asked we can't turn a loose upon the mountain roads with a Nepalese escort she isn't fit for it she would be frantic with terror I've thought of that and I see only one thing possible I must go on with her myself as fast as we can push to Sir Ivor's place and then return to help you nurse the professor I saw she was right it was the sole plan open to us and I had no fear of letting Hilda go off alone with Lady Meadowcroft and the bearers she was a host in herself and could manage a party of native servants at least as well as I could I went and came back again meanwhile I took charge of the nursing of Sebastian fortunately I had brought with me a good stock of jungle medicines in my little traveling case including plenty of quinine and under my careful treatment the professor passed the crisis and began to mend slowly the first question he asked me when he felt himself able to talk once more was nurse Wade what has become of her who he had not yet seen her I feared the shock for him she is here with me I answered in a very measured voice she is waiting to be allowed to come and help me in taking care of you he shuddered and turned away his face buried itself in the pillow I could see some twinge of remorse had ceased upon him at last he spoke he said in a very low frightened tone don't let her come near me I can't bear it I can't bear it ill as he was I did not mean to let him think I was ignorant of his motive you can't bear a woman whose life you have attempted I said in my coldest and most deliberate way to have a hand in nursing you you can't bear to let her heap coals of fire on your head in that you are right I have attempted my life too you have twice done your best to get me murdered he did not pretend to deny it he was too weak for subterfuges he only read as he lay you are a man he said shortly and she is a woman that is all the difference then he paused for a minute or two don't let her come near me he moaned once more don't let your voice don't let her come near me I will not I answered she shall not come near you I spare you that but you will have to eat the food she prepares and you know she will not poison you you will have to be tended by the servants she chooses and you know they will not murder you she can heap coals of fire on your head without coming into your tent consider that you sought to take her life and she seeks to save yours she is as anxious to keep you alive as you are anxious to kill her he lay as in a reverie his long white hair made his clear cut thin face look more unearthly than ever with the hectic flush of fever upon it at last he turned to me we each work for our own ends he said in a weary way we pursue our own objects it suits me to get rid of her it suits her to keep me alive I'm now good to her dead living she expects to ring a confession out of me but she shall not have it tenacity of purpose is the one thing I admire in life she has the tenacity of purpose and so have I Camelage don't you see it's a mere jewel of endurance between us and may the just side win I answered solemnly it was several days later before he spoke to me of it again Hilda had brought some food to the door of the tent and passed it into me for our patient how is he now she whispered Sebastian overheard her voice and covering within himself still managed to answer better get him better I shall soon be well now you have carried your point you have cured your enemy thank god for that Hilda said and glided away silently Sebastian ate his cup of arrow root in silence then he looked at me with wistful musing eyes Camelage he murmured at last after all I can't help admiring that woman she's the only person who has ever checkmated me she checkmates me every time steadfastness is what I love her steadfastness of purpose and her determination she told me I wish they would move you to tell the truth I answered he mused again to tell the truth he muttered moving his head up and down I have lived for science shall I wreck all now there are truths which it is better to hide than to proclaim uncomfortable truths truths that never should have been the truth which helped to make greater truths incredible but all the same I cannot help admiring that woman she has joke bannermans intellect with a great deal more than joke bannermans force of will such firmness such energy such resolute patience she is a wonderful creature I can't help admiring her I said no more to him just then I thought it better to let nascent remorse and nascent admiration work out their own natural effects unimpeded for I could see our enemy was beginning to feel some sting of remorse some men are below it Sebastian thought himself above it I felt sure he was mistaken yet even in the midst of these personal preoccupations I saw that our great teacher was still as ever the pure man of science he noted every symptom and every change of the disease with professional accuracy he observed his own case whenever his mind was clear enough as impartially as he would have served any outside patients this is a rare chance Cambridge he whispered to me once in an interval of delirium so few Europeans have ever had the complaint and probably none who were competent to describe the specific subjective and psychological symptoms the delusions one gets as one sinks into the coma for example are of a quite peculiar type delusions of wealth delusions of absolute power most exhilarating and magnificent I think myself a millionaire or a prime minister be sure you make a note of that in case I die if I recover of course I can write an exhaustive monograph on the whole history of the disease in the British Medical Journal but if I die the task of unikling these interesting observations will devolve upon you a most exceptional chance you are much to be congratulated you must not die professor I cried thinking more I will confess of Hilda Wade than of himself you must live to report this case for science I used what I thought the strongest lever I knew for him he closed his eyes dreamily for science yes for science there you strike the right chord what have I not dared and done for science but in case I die come village be sure you collect the notes I took as I was sickening they are most important for the history and etiology of the disease thoroughly and don't forget the main points to be observed as I am dying you know what they are this is a rare rare chance I congratulate you on being the man who has the first opportunity ever afforded us of questioning an intelligent European case a case where the patient is fully capable of describing with accuracy his symptoms and his sensations in medical frasiology he did not die however in about another week he was well enough to move we carried him down to Mutsufepur the first large town in the plains thereabouts and handed him over for the stage of convalescence to the care of the able and efficient station doctor to whom my thanks are due for much cautious assistance and now what do you mean to do I asked Hilda when our patient was placed in other hands and all was over she answered me without one second's hesitation go straight to Bombay and wait there till Sebastian takes passage for England he will go home you think as soon as he is well enough undoubtedly he has now nothing more to stop in India for why not as much as ever let me curiously it is so hard to explain she replied after a moment's pause during which she had been drumming her little forefinger on the table I feel it rather than reason it but don't you see that a certain change has lately come over Sebastian's attitude he no longer desires to follow me he wants to avoid me that is why I wish more than ever to doggy steps meaning of the end has come I am gaining my point Sebastian is wavering then when he engages the birth you propose to go by the same steamer yes it makes all the difference when he tries to follow me he is dangerous when he tries to avoid me it becomes my work in life to follow him I must keep him inside every minute now I must quicken his conscience and feel his own desperate wickedness he is afraid to face me that means remorse the more I compel him to face me the more the remorse is sure to deepen I saw she was right we took the train to Bombay I found rooms at the hospital club by a member's invitation while Hilda went to stop with some friends of Lady Meadowcroft's on the Malabar hill we waited for Sebastian to come down from the interior and take his passage Hilda with her intuitive certainty felt sure he would come End of Chapter 11 Part 1 Read by Lars Rolander