# The Dilemma/Chapter VII

CHAPTER VII.
As Yorke rode home to his bungalow at the other end of the station, after the dinner-party in the eminent personage's camp, smoking his cigar and reviewing the events of the evening, he felt for the time an elation which he had never before experienced. Miss Cunningham, he thought, must surely now understand my feelings. True, I have not said a word which could be taken to mean distinctly what I long to express; but I could not, if I would, disguise the passion I feel. She must see that I worship the very ground she treads on; and, seeing that, she is too noble to trifle with my love. She would have discouraged me ere this if it had been displeasing to her. There would be no such kind greetings if she thought my homage unworthy. But then what, after all, has passed between us that I should dare to build any hopes upon it? We have not spoken more than half-a-dozen times, and only a few words at a time; what is this to build a romance upon? And what am I, with no good looks worth speaking of, no money, no position, to hope to win this noble woman, so beautiful, so accomplished, so well-placed? I may know a little more than other fellows about some things, but I have given her no opportunity to find this out; a donkey's braying were scarcely more inane than my conversation whenever I have been talking to her. Yet, after all, to be sure, women don't choose men for their good looks or their wit. There is Tirtell of the 80th N.I., certainly not much to look at, and about as stupid a fellow as there is in the army, yet he found a pretty woman to fall in love with him, and one with ten times his brains. Look at Grumbull, too, our doctor; what little chance the climate leaves a fellow will be lost if he gets into his hands. And yet if he were a perfect Galen, Mrs. Grumbull could not have a higher opinion of him; and she is a clever woman enough. No; there is no accounting for tastes, as Jerry would say; if only she chooses to fancy a penniless sub, neither face nor empty purse need be against me; and as for fortune, why, after all, every man in India starts in the race of life from "scratch." Lawrence and Outram were once penniless subs, and with no better prospects than I have; and something tells me that if I do ever get a chance, I too shall be able to turn it to good account.
But then, again, whispered conscience, what are your chances in the race you are now running? You may be right in thinking that women throw away their hearts at random, but there must be opportunity — companionship — the means of meeting. Here are you, only a few miles off, 'tis true, but what are your chances and opportunities? A few stray words at a ball or dinner-party. What do you know of her inner life, and thoughts, and feelings? What chance have you, you awkward, shy gowk, of pushing yourself forward, and making the most of such small chances as offer themselves? And do you suppose that the prize will remain unwon forever, or for long? Wake up from your trance of folly, young dreamer that you are.
But no — he argues again. Love needs no rules of time and opportunity. Has not my poor mother often said that she fell in love at first sight with my father, and that they were engaged to be married before they had known each other a week? And is it true that we are even now common acquaintances? Does she greet other men as she greets me? And then, as a vision came up before the young man of a life to be spent in companionship with the woman he loved, with no need to long and look for scanty interviews, a constant presence of her beauty, those eyes always looking into his, his awe at speaking to her exchanged for perfect trust, to learn the secret of her noble mind, to have the sympathy of her noble heart to urge him onwards in his aims for a high career — as the young man, pacing to and fro along the gravel-path in front of his little dwelling, conjured up this picture of a heaven on earth, his step under the excitement became so loud as to arouse his brother subaltern from sleep.
"I say, old fellow," said Spragge, rising on his elbow in bed and looking at his chum through the open door, "you ain't paid for doing watchman, you know. You might let a fellow go to sleep, I think. We've got a parade at gunfire."
Thus rebuked, Yorke retired to his own room, but only to toss about on his bed, recalling time after time the record of each word Miss Cunningham had spoken to him, and picturing incoherent visions for the future, till summoned to rise again by the sound of the morning gun.
The next opportunity for meeting the ​young lady happened a day or two afterwards, on the occasion of the brigadier's half-yearly inspection of the hussars. Alas! it was only an opportunity from which nothing came. Riding to the parade-ground on the morning in question, Yorke was in time to see the regiment drawn up in line awaiting the brigadier's arrival, himself one of the first spectators on the ground. But the inspection was half over before, straining his eyes across the plain in the direction of the city, he was at last rewarded for his patience. This time only two persons could be seen cantering towards the scene, who as they came nearer were made out to be Miss Cunningham and Colonel Falkland. They did not, however, join the other spectators in attendance on the brigadier, but pulled up their horses at some distance off, whence they stood watching the manœuvres of the regiment. Yorke sat irresolute for some time, watching the pair — the colonel's upright figure on his powerful horse, the graceful outline of the young lady as her body swayed with every movement of her high-bred Arab, which, excited by the clatter of the dragoons, was pawing the ground and tossing its little head; and, as the two figures stood out in clear relief against the plain, he could not help thinking what a fitting protector the soldier-like colonel made to his gentle godchild. At last he made bold to join them, a bold movement indeed, involving his complete separation from the group of spectators, and committing himself alone to the naked plain, crossing the gap too at a foot-pace, for to ride faster would have attracted attention. But just as he was approaching the lady and her companion, whose heads were turned the other way, they set off in a gallop after the regiment, now executing a rapid change of front. Yorke's first impulse was to follow in pursuit, but he was restrained by a sense of the absurd figure he would cut, in full uniform, mounted on a diminutive pony, and by a doubt whether the pony could go fast enough to overtake them, and of the undignified appearance he would present, if he did come up with them, looked down upon especially by Colonel Falkland from the height of his big horse. Thus thinking, the youngster pulled up, and wanting self-possession to enable him to rejoin the other lookers-on, remained by himself on the plain, fancying that everybody was noticing his discomfiture. In reality everybody was watching the hussars moving rapidly to and fro. (for Colonel Tartar always went the pace, and was carrying out to the full his subaltern's promise that the inspection would be something of a kind to amuse the ladies); and so Yorke's little expedition passed unobserved.
The inspection over, and the regiment being formed up in three sides of a square, the brigadier addressed some valedictory remarks to it which Colonel Tartar received on the point of his sword, and then rode slowly off the ground. The spectators now began to disperse, making their way across the plain in the direction of their respective lines, and Yorke was just about to ride up to Miss Cunningham, when Colonel Tartar, making over his regiment to Major Winge, cantered up to them. Yorke again pulled up, watching the party as they moved slowly away in the direction of the residency, the little colonel with his legs stuck out, leaning over towards Miss Cunningham on his left, gesticulating with the right hand as if explaining the movements of the day. Yorke felt that his pony would ill compare with the other's high-caste Arab, as it stepped proudly along, excited by the exercise, and tossing its head as if enjoying the rattle of its caparisons. And yet, thought the youngster, bitterly, I am as good as he, for all that he is a colonel of hussars, and I am only subaltern of native infantry, and I would prove it if I only had a chance. Still, what chance shall I have against him if he enters the lists? She says she thinks there is no profession like the army; what more natural than that she should be dazzled with his medals, and his colonelcy, and his money? He is a dapper little fellow too, it must be confessed, and knows how to sit a horse. He is evidently going on to the residency to breakfast, the lucky beggar. But no; Colonel Tartar, after accompanying the other two for a few hundred yards, turned back, and they set off at speed, for the sun was now getting hot; whereupon Yorke turned too and cantered home. But his faithful pony was now an object of contempt, and that very morning he took advantage of the arrival of an itinerant horse-merchant to purchase a more dignified mount. A high-caste Arab would alone have satisfied his aspirations, but as this meant running hopelessly into debt, he was fain to be content with a well-looking animal with strong legs and uncertain pedigree, although having some other good points, ​for which the dealer took the pony in exchange and a promissory note for a sum which would make a formidable inroad on the young man's slender income; but he was just now in a reckless mood. "Poor little Jerry," said he, as he took the saddle off the pony named after his chum, "it seems a shame to turn you adrift after you have done your work, doesn't it? You ain't much to look at, but you know how to go, and you have taught me to ride at any rate. Many is the battle we have had to see who should be master — haven't we, you little beggar?" So saying, he gave the pony a farewell pat — to which the honest beast responded by putting back his ears as if preparatory to a bite or a kick, whichever might come readiest — and saddling his new purchase, rode it home.
The next day or two were passed mainly in looking after the new purchase, trying its paces, getting it shod properly, and teaching it to jump over a hurdle rigged up in the compound; proceedings in which Yorke's chum took as much interest as himself — for the arrival of a new horse is a great event in the household of a native-infantry subaltern; and the two young men might be seen for the greater part of the day before the shed in a corner of their compound which did duty for a stable, superintending the grooming-operations. Spragge might have grown jealous on comparing the good-looking grey with the insignificant occupant of the next stall that owned him as master, but that jealousy did not enter into Jerry's composition. "English blood there, and Arab too, I'll bet anything," said the young critic for the hundredth time, surveying the new purchase with admiration; "by Jove! I only wish I was out of debt, I'd buy a horse too. I say, old fellow, you must give me a mount on him sometimes."
The new horse being somewhat raw to the bit, and scarcely in form for appearance on the mall, Yorke took him for exercise at first to a piece of ragged ground in rear of the cantonments, which being in the vicinity of the station slaughter-houses, afforded perfect seclusion, while a number of small ravines running down to the river offered a variety of broken ground well adapted for breaking in a young horse.
Just as he was returning from this region one evening about dusk, Yorke heard the footstep of a horse coming up behind, and Falkland, cantering past on his Irish mare, on perceiving him pulled up alongside.
The colonel explained that he had been for a ride across country; he did not get enough exercise at the residency, he said, with merely a morning canter. "But what brings you to these unsavoury parts," he asked, "while all the gay world of Mustaphabad are listening to the band?"
Yorke replied that he was breaking in a new horse, and teaching him to jump ditches.
"A new purchase?" said the colonel, eyeing the horse, "and a very nice-looking one too — country-bred, I presume, but with some good blood in him evidently. So you are teaching him to jump? and a very proper thing too. Do you think he could manage this?" And so saying, the colonel turned to one side, and pressing his mare, put her at a small ravine. It was no great thing for the big mare, but a respectable jump for the little country-bred, which, however, Yorke, following the lead, sent across in good style.
"Very well done," said the colonel; "you have a good nag there, and know how to ride him. You ought to enter for the coming steeplechase."
Yorke thought he was joking; the idea of a country-bred running in a race of any sort, was like entering a hack for a flat race in England.
The colonel said he was quite in earnest. It was not a matter of speed or blood. "It is astonishing how few horses in this country can jump; want of practice, I suppose. If any horse succeeds in getting round the course, the chances are it will win, and your horse has some good blood in him, and some capital points for a fencer; but here we are in cantonments. Good evening. I must push on, or I shall be late for dinner;" and the colonel rode off.