Sound though Heideck’s sleep was, the confused din that penetrated through the sides of the tent would have recalled an unconscious person to life. Confused and drowsy as he was, he hurried out just in time to prevent a wild-looking, dark-skinned Indian from dealing a heavy blow with a thick staff, which he held in his right hand, upon a thin, black-garbed gentleman, who was surrounded by a whole band of natives. The European, with his emaciated, beardless face, looked like a clergyman, and all the greater was Heideck’s surprise that none of the Russian non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who were spectators of the assault, raised a hand to protect him. It was certainly not his duty to act in this place as one in authority, but the danger in which he perceived this perfectly defenceless man to be, made him forget all personal considerations. With a menacing shout he drove off the excited Indians, and, taking the stranger’s arm, led him into the tent.

None of the Russian military prevented his doing so. He had been seen in confidential conversation with the Colonel, and his position as a friend of the Prince procured him respect.

The stranger, half dead from fear, gratefully accepted the glass of wine which Heideck poured out for him, and, having recovered somewhat, thanked his protector in simple, but cordial terms. He introduced himself as Professor Proctor, of Acheson College, and explained that he had come to the camp to look after a relation who had probably been seriously wounded. He had on a sudden found himself threatened by a band of excited Indians, who were probably misled by his dress to take him for a cleric.

“You, also, are no Russian, sir. Judging from your accent, I should take you for a German.”

Heideck assented, and narrated his history in a few words. Having done so, he could not help expressing his amazement at the attack of which the Professor had been the victim.

“Never during my whole stay in India have I ever before observed any outburst of hatred on the part of the Indian natives against the English clergy,” he said.

To this the Professor replied: “Even a few days ago not one of them would, I should think, have had anything to fear; but in the face of such terrible upheavals as are now taking place all ideas are thrown into confusion, all slumbering passions are unfettered. I do not venture to think of the horrors that will take place throughout the whole of India now that the bridle that curbed the people has been rent asunder; and the worst of all is that we have only ourselves to blame.”

“Do you mean on account of the carelessness with which the defence of the country was organised?”

“I do not mean that alone. Our fault is that we have ignored an eternal truth, the truth that all political questions are only the external expression, the dress, so to say, of religious questions.”

“Pardon me, but I do not quite follow the sense of your words.”

“Please consider the slow, steady advance of the Russians in Asia. Every land that they have brought under their sway—all the immense territories of Central Asia have become their assured, undisputed possessions. And why? Because the Russians have known how to win over the hearts of their subject races, and how to humour their religious views. The victors and the vanquished thus better assimilate. The English, on the other hand, have governed India purely from the political side. The hearts of the various races in India have remained strange and hostile to us.”

“There may be some truth in what you say. But you must allow that the English have in India substituted a new civilisation in return, that inculcates a spirit of intellectual progress, and I conceive that no nation can for any length of time remain blind in the face of higher ideals. All history forms a continuous chain of evidence for the truth of this statement.”

“The word ‘civilisation’ has various significations. If it is only a question of investigating whether the government and administration of the country have improved, the answer is that the civilisation we brought to India has, beyond all doubt, made enormous strides, in comparison with the conditions that obtained in former centuries. We have broken the despotism of the native princes, and have put an end to the endless sanguinary wars which they waged with each other and with their Asiatic neighbouring despots. We have laid down roads and railways, drained marshes and jungles, constructed harbours, won great tracts of lands from the sea, and built protecting dams and piers. The terrible mortality of the large cities has considerably decreased. We have given them laws assuring personal security and guaranteeing new outlets for trade and commerce. But the aspirations of our English Government have been purely utilitarian, and as regards the deeper-lying current of development no progress is anywhere perceivable.”

“And, pray, what do you exactly mean by this?”

“Your views in this matter are possibly divergent. I discern in most of our achievements in India only another manifestation of that materialism which has ever proved the worst obstacle to all real development.”

“It appears to me, Mr. Proctor,” Heideck interrupted, with a smile, “that you have become a Buddhist, owing to your sojourn in India!”

“Perhaps so, sir, and I should not be ashamed of such a creed. Many a one, who on first coming here regarded India with the eyes of a Christian, has, on nearer acquaintance, become a Buddhist. Greek wise men once expressed the wish that kings should be chosen from among the philosophers. That may possibly be an unrealisable hope, but I do not believe that a ruler who has a contempt for philosophy will ever properly fulfil the high duties of his station. A policy without philosophy is, like an unphilosophical religion, not established on firmer ground than those houses there on the river Ravi, whose existence is not safe for a single day, because the river at times takes it into its head to change its course. A government that does not understand how to honour the religious feelings of its people, does not stand more securely than one of those huts. The fate that has now overtaken the English is the best proof of what I say. We are the only power in Asia that has not founded its political sway upon the religion of the people. In our folly we have destroyed the habitual simplicity of a nation, which, until our coming, had been content with the barest necessities of life, because for thousands of years past it cared more about the life after death than for its earthly existence. We have incited the slumbering passions of this people, and by offering to their eyes the sight of European luxury and European over-civilisation, have aroused in them desires to which they were formerly strangers. Our system of public instruction is calculated to disseminate among all classes of the Indian race the worthless materialistic popular education of our own nation. Of all the governors and inspectors of schools who have been sent hither by England not a single one has taken the trouble to penetrate beneath the surface of the life of the Indian people and to fathom the soul of this religious and transcendentally gifted race. What contrasts are not the result! Here a holy river, priests, ascetics, yogis, fakirs, temples, shrines, mysterious doctrines, a manifold ritual; while side by side, without any transition, are schools wherein homely English elementary instruction is provided, a State-supported university with a medical school and Christian churches of the most varied confessions.”

“But how would it have been possible to combine in a school modern scientific education with Indian fanaticism?”

A superior smile flitted across the professor’s intellectual face.

“Compare, I pray you, the tiresome trivialities of English missionary tracts with the immortal masterpieces of Indian literature! Then you will understand that the Indian, even when he approves Christianity as a system of morals, demands a deeper and wider basis of these morals, and inquires as to the origin of the Christian doctrine; and then he very soon finds that all light which has come to Europe started from Asia. Ex oriente lux.”

“I am not sufficiently well informed to be able to answer you on this point. It may very well be that even Christianity was not the offspring of Judaism alone, but of Buddhism. It may also be the case that the teachings of our missionaries of to-day are too insipid for the Indians. But the metaphysical needs of a people have, after all, little to do with sound policy and good laws. Think of Rome! The Roman state had most excellent laws, and a magnificent political force which for centuries kept it in its predominant position among the nations of the world. But what of religion and philosophy in Rome? There was no state religion whatsoever; there was no priestly hierarchy, no strict theological codex, but only a mythology and worship of gods, which was of an eminently practical character, and it was owing to their practical common sense—or, as you would prefer to call it, materialism—that the Romans were enabled to found an organised society upon purely human needs and aspirations. And why should what they were enabled to achieve be impossible again for other nations who have succeeded them in their world-power? The spirit of the age is ever changing, yet it is only a regularly recurring return of the same conditions, just as the planets in the heavens, ever again in their orbit, come back to their old positions.”

“And supposing the ‘Zeitgeist,’ like many planets, does not move in a circle but in a spiral line? The British world-sovereignty has, as we see, taken a higher flight than did the Roman. Could not this British world-power, by permeating wise diplomacy with the profound idea of Indian philosophy, have attained to a great reformation of the whole of the human race? It would have been a glorious idea, but I have here learnt how far they were from its realisation.”

“All the same, I do not think that the English army would have been defeated by the Russian, had they not fought in accordance with the rules of antiquated tactics.”

“Oh, sir, if the Indian troops had fought with their whole soul for England we should never have sustained this defeat.”

“As a soldier, I am inclined to dispute that. The Indians will never be a match for a well-disciplined European army. The race is wanting in too great a measure in military qualities.”

“The Indian people is, by nature, it is true, gentle and good-hearted. In order to render it wild and bloodthirsty it must be wounded in its most sacred feelings.”

“Perhaps you judge it rather too mildly. Decided traces of barbarism still linger in this people, even in its highest circles. Here is a case in point that I am able to quote of my own personal knowledge. An Indian prince, before the outbreak of the war, attempted to carry off, by his servants, an English lady from her home, and bribed an assassin to poison the English resident, who rebuked him for his conduct.”

The Professor was astounded.

“Is it possible? Can such things be? Have you not perhaps been deceived by an exaggerated report?”

“I myself was close at hand, and observed all that took place, and can give you, the names. The lady upon whom this dastardly attempt was made is Mrs. Edith Irwin, who had followed her husband, a captain in the lancers, to the camp of Chanidigot.”

The astonishment of the Professor visibly increased.

“Mrs. Edith Irwin? Is it possible? The daughter of my old friend, the excellent Rector Graham? Yes, beyond doubt, it must be the same, because she was married to a captain in the lancers.”

“Since yesterday she is this officer’s widow. He fell in the battle of Lahore, and she herself is among the prisoners interned in Anar Kali.”

“Then I must endeavour to find her, for she has a claim, for her father’s sake, upon my assistance. But, certainly, for the moment,” he observed, with a somewhat melancholy smile, “I am myself in the greatest need of protection.”

“I believe you may be perfectly easy in your mind as to this lady. My friend, Prince Tchajawadse, has just now ridden over to Anar Kali in order, at my request, to look after the lady.”

He had not concluded the sentence when the tall form of the Prince made its appearance at the entrance of the tent. His downcast face presaged no good news. He advanced to Heideck and shook his hand.

“I am not, unfortunately, the bearer of any good news, comrade. I have not discovered the lady whose guardian you are.”

“What! Has she left? And you could not learn whither she is gone?”

“All that I have been able to elicit is that she was driven off in an elegant carriage, in the company of several Indians. An English lady who saw the occurrence told me this.”

A fearful dread overcame Heideck.

“In the company of Indians? And does nobody know whither she was taken? Did she leave no message for me or anyone else?”

“The lady had no opportunity of speaking to her. She saw the departure at a distance.”

“But she must have noticed whether Mrs. Irwin left the mausoleum of her own free will or under compulsion?”

The Prince shrugged his shoulders.

“I cannot, unfortunately, say anything about that. My inquiries were without result. Neither any one of the English prisoners or of the Russian sentries was able to give me further information.”