The Daughter of Brahma

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The Daughter of Brahma
By I. A. R. Wylie
Author of "The Rajah's People," "My German Year"

FIFTH EDITION MILLS & BOON, LIMITED 49 RUPERT STREET LONDON, W.
Published 1912

BOOK I
CHAPTER I
UNDER THE CURSE
"You have read enough," Mrs. Hurst said. "I am tired, and the light troubles me. Put it out -- it will seem cooler in the darkness."
"Very well -- or shall I screen it? Then if you should want anything--"
Mrs. Hurst turned a little and measured her companion from head to foot.
"You are afraid," she said, a faint note of amusement creeping into her tired voice. "I wonder why. Do you expect that a cobra will take the opportunity to do away with you, or that there is a Thug under the bed? Pray look and see. You will perhaps feel easier in your mind."
The English nurse bit her lip.
"I am not afraid, Mrs. Hurst," she said resentfully. "I only thought it would be more convenient. But of course--"
She made a movement as though to turn out the small lamp which stood by the bedside, but her mistress stretched out a detaining hand.
"Wait!" she said. "I thought I heard something--horses' hoofs--listen!"
The invalid half lifted herself on her elbow, her head raised in an attitude of tense concentration, her brows contracted with the effort. The nurse turned towards the open window sharply, as one expecting a sudden attack.
"It was nothing," she said in a dry voice. "I heard nothing."
Mrs. Hurst smiled. She let herself sink back, and her hair hung about her face like a black curtain.
"He will be here in five minutes," she said decidedly. "You have not learnt to distinguish sounds." Then she raised her tired eyes again to the nurse's face. "Why are you so afraid?" she asked.
Nurse Campden shrugged her shoulders. The movement was rude, and in her own country she had been noted for the suavity of her manners; but her nerve was gone, and the offspring of a cheap London suburb broke through the hard layer of acquired polish. She looked back fearfully at the window.
"I should think there was cause enough, Mrs. Hurst," she said, almost in a whisper. "Last week a house was broken into and the owner murdered. And only yesterday poor Mr. Harris--who knows whose turn it will be next!"
The smile deepened about Mrs. Hurst's firm mouth.
"You have been listening to the ayahs," she said. "There is nothing to fear--" a subtle change of expression passed over her young face, which seemed to make it old and hard "--and if there were, we should not be afraid," she finished quietly.
Nurse Campden said nothing. She was gazing about her with wide-open, straining eyes, trying to penetrate the shadows that shifted noiselessly in the farthest corners of the room. The silence oppressed her. Whilst she had read aloud her own voice, breaking in upon the absolute hush, had sounded strangely threatening, but this silence was more terrible. It was full of inaudible movement. If she looked towards the open window she knew that, every now and again, something white would flit across the darkness. It should have comforted, but instead it added to her terror. She knew that it was one of the Commissioner's levies on his way round the compound, but he too seemed unreal a ghostly, intangible something which was all part of the shadows and movements.
She tried to concentrate her attention on familiar objects. Everything was in its place. The silver ornaments blinked at her from the dressing-table; close at hand a small pile of white, delicate linen lay in readiness; a general atmosphere of refinement, almost of luxury, pervaded the low-built room. On the surface quiet; and beneath, the constant noiseless activity. Nurse Campden had little imagination, but she heard it. Suddenly she cried out, with that sharpness which betokens long self-repression. Mrs. Hurst turned her head.
"Who is there?" she asked quietly. The curtains hanging over the doorway parted. A woman's dark face peered through the opening.
"Tea for the Mem-Sahib--Mem-Sahib like tea?"
"It is well, Sita. Bring it here. I am thirsty." Nurse Campden drew back. The native woman glided over the uncarpeted floor and placed the tray on the table by the bedside. There was a soft, musical jingle of silver ornaments.
"Pour out for Mem-Sahib?"
"Yes, pour out."
The brown, shapely hands performed their task. Nurse Campden watched them, and her trembling lips were drawn back in uncontrollable abhorrence. The ayah caught the expression, and for an instant her eyes narrowed, then flashed back to the pale face against the pillow.
"Mem-Sahib better soon--little Sahib come," she said softly, and withdrew, the curtains falling with a faint rustle behind her.
Nurse Campden shuddered.
"I hate these black creatures," she said unsteadily. "They frighten me to death with their stealthy ways. You have nerve, Mrs. Hurst--and you so young, too."
"My grandfather was one of the men who