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Updated: September 28, 2025
When it was his time to retire, he sent his money to England, he made all his arrangements to come home, and then one night he walked out of the hotel in Bombay, a couple of days before the ship sailed, and disappeared. He has never been heard of since." "Had he no wife?" asked Dewes. "No," replied Sybil. "Do you know what I think? I think he went back to the north, back to his Road.
Men are hard the best of them are, and they don't understand. He is kind I am sure he means it all in kindness; but he is not yielding; he is as masterful as when he dragged the dogs to the edge of the bank and let them drop into the Dewes for their good. He will never be turned from what he thinks right.
But back there, one forgets the discomfort of India. By George! that's pretty good, too. Shall we look at the horses?" Shere Ali did not answer that question. With a quiet persistence he kept Colonel Dewes to the conversation. Colonel Dewes for his part was not reluctant to continue it, in spite of the mental wear and tear which it involved. He felt that he was clearly in the vein.
They were beginning to pay the price of their five weeks' siege. The Brigadier looked at the group. "What of Luffe?" he asked. "Dead, sir," replied Dewes. "A great loss," said Brigadier Appleton solemnly. But he was paying his tribute rather to the class to which Luffe belonged than to the man himself. Luffe was a man of independent views, Brigadier Appleton a soldier clinging to tradition.
Sybil Linforth was now thirty-eight years old, but the fourteen years had not set upon her the marks of their passage as they had upon Dewes. Indeed, she still retained a look of youth, and all the slenderness of her figure. Dewes grumbled to her with a smile upon his face. "I wonder how in the world you do it. Here am I white-haired and creased like a dry pippin. There are you " and he broke off.
Ralston had pondered the question with an uncomfortable vision before his eyes, evoked by certain words of Colonel Dewes a youth appealing for help, for the only help which could be of service to him, and then, as the appeal was rejected, composing his face to a complete and stolid inexpressiveness, no longer showing either his pain or his desire reverting, as it were, from the European to the Oriental.
It was from the Strand, London, and the color streamed into her cheeks as she read it aloud. "We must see you at once in the interests of B. M. Can you call on us to-morrow morning? Levy & Son." "When are the assizes at York, father?" she asked quickly. "In ten days." "And you are going to London to-day, are you not, to see Dewes?" "Yes."
The leaves of those trees now actually brushed against the Fort walls. Five weeks ago there had been bare stems and branches. Suddenly a rifle cracked, a little puff of smoke rose close to a boulder on the far side of the river, a bullet sang in the air past Dewes' head. He ducked behind the palisade of boards. Another day had come.
"The man lying there said that?" "Yes." "And no one listened, I suppose?" said Shere Ali bitterly. "Or listened too late," said Phillips. "Like Dewes, who only since he met you in Calcutta one day upon the racecourse, seems dimly to have understood the words the dead man spoke." Shere Ali was silent. He stood looking at the grave and the obelisk with a gentler face than he had shown before.
"Colonel Dewes." Shere Ali nodded his head as though he had expected the name. Then he said as he turned away: "What is Luffe to me? What should I know of Luffe?" "This," said Phillips, and he spoke in so arresting a voice that Shere Ali turned again to listen to him.
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