Matthew started. “Her Royal Highness is—married?”
“She is to be married.”
“And she is summoned to India?”
“She is. Three Indians of highest rank have arrived in this country, and I believe they have come to fetch her and the royal ruby.”
“And why, then, has she summoned me?”
“Perhaps—she still hesitates between—”
“Love and duty?” said Matthew, dreamily.
“Between self-indulgent fantasy and the salvation of Bwodpur,” ’ cried the Indian passionately.
“And I,” said Matthew slowly, “can seal her choice.”
“To few it is given to make a higher, finer sacrifice. You are free. You have but to hint and you can be rich—pardon me—I know. Well, what more? Will you not, in turn, free the Princess? Do the fine and generous act; let her go back to her people.”
“Does the Princess wish this freedom?”
“She is one who would not admit it if she did. And yet her very solicitude concerning Mrs. Towns—did it not suggest to you that she saw in your reunion with Sara, on a higher and more congenial plane, a chance for her to renew her own life and work? Is it possible that she cannot yearn for something beyond anything you can offer?”
“Yes, that occurred to me, and I made the offer to my former wife—perhaps too crassly and ungraciously, but with full sincerity.”
“True—and now why not follow further and write the Princess, definitely and formally withdrawing from her life, and doing it with such decision that there shall be no doubt in her mind?” The Indian bent forward with strained and eager face.
“You seem—anxious,” said Matthew.
“I am,” said the Indian. “You do not realize how our hopes for Bwodpur center on the Princess: an independent sovereignty about which a new Empire of India might gradually gather. Then, her eager and inexperienced mind, reaching out, leapt beyond to All India and All Asia; gradually there came a vision of all the Darker Races in the World—everybody who was not white, no matter what their ability or history or genius, as though color itself were merit.
“And now, now finally, God preserve us, the Princess is stooping to raise the dregs of mankind; laborers, scrubwomen, scavengers, and beggars, into some fancied democracy of the world! It is madness born of pity for you and your unfortunate people.
“With every dilution of our great original idea, the mighty mission of Bwodpur fades. The Princess is mad—mad; and you are the center of her madness. Withdraw—for God’s sake and your own—go! Leave us to our destiny. What have you to do with royalty and divinity?”
The Indian was trembling with fervor and excitement, and his black eyes burned into Matthew’s heart. “You will forgive me, sir. I have but done my duty as I saw it,” he said.
Matthew looked at the Indian thoughtfully.
“I believe you are right,” he said. “Quite right. I believe that you and your friends were right from the beginning and that I was—headstrong and blind. Now the problem is to find a way out.”
“For the brave,” said the Indian, slowly and distinctly, “there is always a way—out.”
XVIII
Matthew stood awhile looking at the door where the Indian with low salaam had disappeared. Then, turning hastily, he put a few things into his handbag, and going out, closed the door. He left a note and key under the doormat and started downstairs, almost colliding with a boy who was racing up, two steps at a time.
“Looking for a man named Towns—know where he stays?”
“I’m Matthew Towns.”
“Long distance wants you—quick—drugstore—corner.” And he flew down, three steps at a time. Matthew stood still a long minute. He could not go away leaving her standing, waiting, listening. No. This thing must be faced, not dodged. He must talk to her. If she asked, he must even go to her. She, too, was no coward. Eye to eye and face to face, she would say the last word: she was summoned home to India. And then the final parting? He could say it—he would. They must work for the world—but she in her high sphere, and he in his, more lowly: forever parted, forever united in soul.
And more: this meeting which she had announced was of the highest importance. He must attend it and make it successful. He must show Kautilya that her return to India need not hinder nor in the slightest degree retard the Great Plan.
He descended slowly and went into the drugstore and into the little booth. How curious that he had never thought of evoking this miracle before in his heavy loneliness! Yet it was well. There was, there could be, but this ending; out of time and space he was calling a memory.
“Hello—hello! New York—hello, Richmond—go ahead.”
At first the voices came strained, far-off, unnatural, interrupted with hissings and brazen echoes. Then at last, real, clear, and close, a voice came pouring over the telephone in a tumult of tone:
“Matthew, Matthew! I have heard the great good news. I am happy, very, very happy. And, Matthew, the friends are waiting. They want you here at sunrise.”
“But, Kautilya—is it necessary that I come? Is it wise? I have been thinking long, Kautilya—”
“Matthew, Matthew, what is wrong? Why would you wait? Are you ill? Has something happened?”
“No, no, Kautilya, I am well—and if you wish me, I am coming—if the friends insist. But I have been wondering if I could not meet them elsewhere, a little later?”
“Later! Matthew—what do you mean?”
“I mean, Kautilya, that I have a duty to perform toward you and the world.”
“Matthew, do you mean that you have changed toward me?”
“Changed? No, never. But I see more clearly—as clearly as you yourself saw when you bade me drain the cup.”
“What have you feared, Matthew?”
“Nothing but myself. And now that fear is gone—I have drained the cup.”
“Yes, dear one. And yet you knew that never and to no one could I give you up?”
“Rather I knew that
