Written on their Foreheads

Preface

. In the dialogues of this story the reader will find some allusions to Indian affairs — affairs which deeply concern the holders of Indian securities, and are of much importance to every English taxpayer. In an Appendix to the second volume I give a list of books, reports, and pamphlets. Some will be found useful to the special student ; others interest ing to the general reader. Most of them have been consulted by me with advantage, and I have much pleasure in acknowledging my obligations to the writers and translators. Robert H. Elliot. CONTENTS. VOLUME I. CHAPTER PAGE I. Cheltenham and Andover . . . . 1 II. Andover Park. The Doctor and his Wife 8 III. Martin Kerr and Annie Leigh ... 20 IV. The Meeting in the Shrubbery . . , 33 V. Annie Leigh's Madness 43 VI. Martin offers up his Collie . . . . 51 VII.

The Beginning of the Dawn . . . .60 VUI. What is Love ? 73 IX. The Cottage 80 X. On the Borders 88 XI. The Mystery of Annie Leigh ... 97 XII. The Cheviot Hills 103 XIII. The Heather Plant and Annie Leigh . 108 XIV. Love and Partridge-shooting . . . . 119 XV. Annie Leigh taken from Andover . .132 XVI. Martin Kerr's Good-bye 143 XVII. Last Glimpse of Annie Leigh . . .152 XVIII. From Marseilles to the Western Ghauts of India . Contents. VIII CHAPTER TAOa XIX. Mulanaad. John Grant, the Planter". 167 XX. Arrival of the Planter's Daughter . 175 XXI. Ubeemonay. The Visit to the Brahmin Sage 189 XXII. Life in Mulanaad. The Invitation . . 207 XXIII. The Brahmin and his Daughter Kambla 218 XXIV. The Day at Kadamonay. Martin Kerr and Kambla 231 XXV. The Summer-house in the Garden . 243 XXVI. Martin Kerr begins his Planting Life 253 XXVII.

The Boundary Dispute .... 259 XXVIII. Martin Kerr's Visit to Ubeemonay . . 264 XXIX. A Wise Man from the East . . . 277 XXX. Arthur Netherton, the Missionary . . 282 XXXI. The Missionary and the Brahmin . . 292 XXXII. Religion. Arthur Netherton's Resolve 304 VOLUME II. XXXIII. Shooting. Martin Kerr Wounded by a Tiger 1 XXXIV. Martin Kerr at Ubeemonay . . . 21 XXXV. Kambla and her Cobra .... 3 XXXVI. Signs of Love 41 XXXVII. Martin Kerr and Kambla . . .49 XXXVIII. The Brahmln's Thoughts on Religious Matters Contents. IX CHAPTEB PAs;E XXXIX. Martin Kerr Removed to Kadamonay . 83 XL. Kambla's Love Blown Out . . . . 91 XLI. End of the Mulanaad Season . . .96 XLII. Preparations for the Famine . . . 104 XLIII. Martin Kerr Returns to his Planta tion 114 XLIV. Solitude. Love's Dream Dissolved . . 118 XLV.

Another Season in Mulanaad Begun . 124 XL VI. Famine Talk 133 XL VII. Arthur Netherton puts up at Ubeemonay 141 XLVHI. Kambla and Conversion. The Missionary in Love 153 XLIX. Love Declared. A Year's Delay . . 161 L. Preparations for a Housewarming . . 176 LI. The Housewarming. Martin Kerr Summoned to England 180 LII. Wanted — Justice, not Charity . . . 199 LHI. Left Alone with Famine .... 207 LIV. In Park Lane 212 LV. The Visit to Andover 221 LVI. In the India Office Library . . . . 229 LVII. John Grant's Famine Letter . . . 241 LVIII. Another Famine Letter. Measures for the Future 255 LIX. At Pau. 'Twas Written on their Foreheads 268 LX The Meeting in the Wood . . . . Co7ite7its. X CHAPTER PAGE LXI. A Canter Along the Coteaux . . . 289 LXII. Fate's Arrow Sped 297 LXIII. ' The Highway to Lintoun ' . . . . 308 LXIV.

On the Wing Once More . . . . 315 LXV. In Mulanaad Again 317 LXVI. How to Improve a Climate . . . . 319 LXVII. Retrospective 337 LXVIII. The Arrival of Lucy Colvin . . . . 343 LXIX. Arthur Netherton and Kambla . . 351 LXX. Rushdene Crags and Stacey Court . . 358 appendix WRITTEN ON THEIR FOREHEADS.

Chapter I

Some years ago, and exactly at midday, the doors of the classical department of Cheltenham College were thrown wide open by the porter, and a flood of youth streamed therefrom. There was an eager rush made for the cricket-ground, and a still more eager struggle to be first at the racket and fives courts. But as the crowd emerged from the doorway two lads split off from the throng with an air of something between work and play — with a joyous expectation in their eyes, and yet with an air of importance which showed that they were bent on something out of the common. They said little to each other, but, setting out at a fast walking-pace, went through the play-ground, and took the road which led to Burford. It was a glorious May-day. The fields in the low grounds were emerald green, the leaves were three-fourths out, and all nature was full of life.

It VOL. I. B was indeed the spring far advanced, and so it was with Martin Kerr and Edward Lorrain, for both had got half through their seventeenth years. The first was a good specimen of the Border Scot ; the second a specimen of the Border Scot who, from his father having been transplanted in early life, had retained little of the signs of his Northern blood. But both were alike aspiring and reflective, and had of late been much taken up with considering what they could best do to get on in life, and after they had got tired of dwelling on the glories of escaping into the country, their thoughts naturally reverted to the subject they had so often talked of. * I say, Ned, do you remember when you were last at Lintoun going over one day to Merebottle — that little village just under the Cheviots ? ' ' Yes, I do, and I recollect too what a lot of trout we caught near there the day before.' ' Well, never mind the trout now,' said his friend rather impatiently. ' Do you remember our going to see old Fox the village carpenter, who knows such a lot, and who, they say, has read from one end of the British Encyclopædia to the other ! ' ' What of him ? ' 'Well,' said Martin Kerr, 'I thought I would stump old Fox ; so one day after you had gone south, I went over to Merebottle, where I found him work ing away as usual.

So I commenced to talk of the dearness of everything, and then said " Fox, there's only one cheap thing left in England, and that's brains." " I'll tell you another," he said, " and that's paraffin oil." ' ' That's not bad. Brains and paraffin oil, I daresay, are the only cheap things left in England unless they are wonderfully good brains. But what of it if they are ? ' ' Why, a great deal. What can be the use of working one's brains to death if there's so little to be got by it ? ' 'That would be very true with my amount of brains,' said Edward Lorrain, ' but everyone thinks you are clever, and what is the use of throwing your self away in India or the Colonies when you might do as well here ? ' ' Well, I know I am not stupid, but I am a bad learner of anything I do not particularly fancy, and then I'd far rather hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak.

But let us sit here and have a quiet talk over it. I want to read you a letter.' So, swinging himself on to a stile, Martin Kerr explored his pockets, and extracting a letter, handed it over to his friend to read. It was from his father, Robert Kerr, of Lintoun. ' My dear Martin, — Your mother and I have had many an anxious talk as to what we are to do with you all, and as for you in particular we have always thought you might do well at the bar, but as you do B Written 071 their Foreheads. 4 not fancy the life, there is no use in thinking more about that. Now here is a chance you may like to take. Your uncle Chandos, who is with his regiment in India, has fallen in with a man who plants coffee in the western mountains of Mysore, and has visited his friend's plantations and heard a great deal about coffee, and he proposes that I should let one of you turn planter.

If I will do that, he will find one half of the money, and I am to find the other half, and send out one of you as working partner. Well, you are now nearly seventeen, and, if you like the thing, I do not see why you should not go out next year. We shall be sorry to lose you, my boy, but everyone in the family must push out and do the best he can for himself, and then we shall look forward to returning some day with enough money to settle at home. Remember me to your favourite friend, Edward Lorrain, and you can bring him down in the summer to catch some of our burn-trout. I enclose your uncle's letter. Please return it. ' Ever your loving father, ' Robert Kerr.' Martin Kerr watched his friend's face with in terest as he read the letter; not that he had not made up his mind to go to India, but because he felt he would like to have the pleasure of being con firmed in his own opinion. ' Well ? ' said Martin, interrogatively.

Written 071 their Foreheads. 5 ' Well,' echoed Edward, doubtfully. ' You surely don't think I ought to refuse a chance like that?' ' I am sure I don't know what to say, but when you get to Andover you had better have a talk with my uncle William, who has just come from Australia, and see what he says.' ' But what can he know about India ? ' ' I can't tell, but there will be no harm asking him, anyhow. He has seen a great deal of the world.' ' Very well,' said Martin reluctantly. ' But I know I shall like India. My father has sent me my uncle's letter, and he gives a grand account of tbe life and the country. It is quite above the plains, and at an elevation higher than the top of Cheviot. Then it's a beautiful country with a cool climate, and I shall have no very hard work — merely to look after thepeople, and see that things are going on all right.

And then think of the sport. Just listen to what my uncle says about that. " Bison are plentiful all along the Grhauts, and so are sambur — a big kind of deer — spotted deer, and jungle sheep (I wonder what sort of animal that is). Elephants are sometimes to be got at, though they are not very numerous. Bears are pretty thick in some parts, and though tigers don't breed in that part of the country they often come down when water is scarce elsewhere. Panthers, too, are common enough, and Written on their Fo7'cheads. 6 as for small game, there's pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and spur-fowl, and many kinds of duck and teal and plenty of snipe in the season." Is not that splendid ? ' ' Well, I daresay,' said his more cautious com panion, ' that it is splendid, but I have always heard that where all these animals live, there is plenty of fever.' ' Oh, fever,' said Martin. ' Here is what my uncle says about that.

" The country at times is feverish, but a strong lad like yours may laugh at fever with a little care and a few ounces of quinine." ' But Edward Lorrain, who was of a less venture some disposition than his friend, still stuck to his point, and thought he would like to hear what his uncle William Lorrain had to say. The two lads had now talked themselves out, or at any rate they felt that they had better get on with their journey, as they had still some miles before them. So on they went along the road to Andover Park. And how they enjoyed their walk, or rather their own high spirits which brightened everything about them, and how firmly did it dwell in memory as, years afterwards, they hastened on through manhood. But even without youth's spirits it was a gladdening view. On either hand the land stretched upwards from the road, and field rose above field to be topped on one side by a glorious wood, from the edge of which the wild flowers faintly Written 071 their Foreheads. 7 showed, and on the other side by occasional cottages and farm-houses surrounded by orchards, and many a green corn-field.

Two miles more and they reached a point where two roads met. The right hand one led up a steep hill and through the village of Dowdeswell, where the grey-roofed church and cheery parsonage looked down the vale, while below ran a purling brook where the trout were jealously guarded by the Squire of the parish. The lads paused for one moment to feast their eyes on the fish that lay basking in the sun, and then striking up the left-hand valley soon left the village of Dowdes well behind, and toiled up the road to Andover. ' There's the park wall at last,' said Edward Lorrain. ' Yes, and there go our old friends the rooks. Sha'n't we have fun ? ' And his eyes glowed with delight at the thought of fetching down the young rooks from the tree-tops. The wall was soon reached, and they had not walked far along it before they passed a picturesque ;greystone-roofed old farm-house, with a church and vicarage close by.

Almost immediately opposite was the lodge of Andover Park. They rang, the side gate was unlocked, and then they entered the park and made for the house, which stood on ground that sloped gently upwards. Writte7i 071 their Foreheads. 8

Chapter II

Andover was an old English house built with stone, and more for comfort than for show. In fact, it seemed to be almost square, though it was rather long than deep. As you entered, there was a dark oak-panelled oblong hall, which looked more like a room than a hall, and was used occasionally for family prayer. Beyond was a snug little morning room, which was often used as a breakfast-room, and for supper too when there were few at home. On the left of the entrance was the dining-room, on the right the drawing-room, with the usual bed-rooms over-head. So far there was nothing remarkable about the house of Andover Park, but as you looked out at the back of the house you could see that two wings stretching backwards, and a storey lower than the rest of the house, had been added. In the centre of the left-hand wing was a spacious dining-room, with a passage all round it, and above was a sky-lit billiard -room.

As you walked round the passage which encircled the dining-room, you passed the doors of what were evidently fair-sized bed-rooms. The opposite wing closely corresponded in form, though applied to different purposes, there being a drawing-room below, and over-head a room with bagatelle-boards, and, from a man's point of view, other trifling games. At first sight there was nothing about these wings in any way peculiar, but there were two facts which told their own tale — one was that each door required a key to open it ; and the other was that, though there were no signs of bolts and bars, you could not open a window at top or bottom for more than six inches. And yet so little was there of the lunatic asylum about the place, that jou might have remained in the old part of the house for weeks without knowing that you were under the same roof with those unfortunate beings who have been fatedto suffer from some form of mental ailment.

But after all there was not much to be wondered at, for the inmates of Andover Park were few, and as the object of the Doctor was to devote himself entirely to cases which were at once mild, .and which held out reasonable hopes of cure, there was none of the jar and rattle of a larger and more miscellaneous establishment. The daily life at Andover went on as regularly as clockwork is supposed to do. The men had their wing, their billiards, and a garden to walk and work in. When the weather was fine they walked •out with their attendants, and sometimes took a turn .at the work on the Doctor's farm, which he kept up partly as an amusement for himself, partly as a W7-itte7i on their Foreheads. 10 diversion for his patients. The ladies in the opposite wing had, too, their garden, and their indoor amuse ments, and in the season were allowed to help the haymaking.

They, also, or at least some of them, derived much comfort from picking up the walnuts in the park, the apples in the great orchard, sticks to light the fires, and, when the worst came to the worst, even the leaves which fell from the trees. For, above all things, there is nothing that weak minded people delight in more than in the act of collection and accumulation — a pleasure, by the way, which is not quite unknown to those who are at large. Altogether, Andover Park was a pleasant place to live at, and quite as bearable as a retreat, or a nunnery, or board ship on a long voyage, and many was the mind that therein had found a blessed haven and the means of restoration to the world. If Andover Park was a model of its kind, the gentleman who presided over it — Dr. George Frankling — was equally so in his profession.

His eye was calm, resolute, and steady, bis whole appearance collected and sagacious, while there was a kindliness in his manner and a charm in his voice which seldom failed to subdue, and pleasantly subdue, any patient who was inclined to be unreasonable. His age was about fifty-five, his hair grizzled, his height about the middle, and, with the exception of a small allowance of whisker, he was clean-shaved. His wife was a slim little lady of active movement and long trained to habits of tact and caution which fitted her so well for presiding over the ladies' department. Their only daughter had been long since married, and the whole family now consisted of themselves and Edward Lorrain, the orphan child of Mrs. Frankling's brother. After the day's work was fairly over, the Doctor and his wife used to sit down, and generally at half past eight exactly, to a light supper in the morning room.

After it. was over they then went to the library, where the Doctor, after lighting his cigar, would quietly rest and ruminate, or perhaps look over his correspondence, or read up some matter relating to his profession, as the humour took him. Now, it was on a Friday, and on the evening preceding the arrival of Martin Kerr and Edward Lorrain, that the Doctor, lighting his cigar and stretching out his legs with that air of satisfaction which accompanies com plete liberation of mind and body, said : ' To-morrow, Mary, is Saturday, and you must remember to have something good for the boys. Does it not do one good to see them, and especially that lively and impetuous Martin ? ' ' That it does,' said Mrs. Frankling ; ' but ' and then she paused. ' But what, Mary ? ' ' Well, it is a very nice thing for Edward to have picked up such a pleasant friend, and then he en joyed his visit to Lintoun so much last autumn ; but W7'itten on their Foreheads. 12 it gives a great deal of trouble in the house, and especially on Sundays (and they always come from Saturday till Monday), to have separate meals for them.' 'But why should they not breakfast and dine with us and the patients ? ' 'Would it be prudent, George, to let Martin Kerr into the secrets of the prison-house ? ' ' Why not ?

You know we have nothing to be ashamed of.' ' That we have not,' said his wife warmly ; ' rather a good deal to be proud of. But, though we have no reason to be ashamed, people always will be ashamed of having relatives who are not all there. And then Martin might meet people in the world whom he had seen here, and vice versa.'' ' Something awkward might come of that, certainly, with anyone else ; but I know human nature, and the history of the Scotch, and I can rely on his keeping dark.' ' But, George, are you sure of your ground ? A young lad like Martin often resolves resolutely to keep a secret, and then tells it — only to some chosen friend. I think I have heard you say that in the Tal mud it is written, " Thy friend hath a friend, and thy friend's friend hath a friend, therefore be discreet." ' 'My dear Mary,' said the Doctor, smiling in wardly at his wife quoting against himself one of his favourite sayings, 'that is all very well as a Writte7i 071 their Forelieads. 13 general rule, but there is a Latin proverb which tells us how largely virtue proceeds from vanity.

So I have that priceless quality to rely on in addition to his sense of honour. He was probably never trusted with a secret in his life. Then look at the character of the Scotch, and their love of keeping things dark. Why, to trust him with a secret, or even with the chance of becoming possessed of one, will be to give him a pearl of great price, and feed an inborn appetite.' ' Yes, that may be true, but Martin's mother is English.' ' That will not signify at all. His is evidently a case of reversion in the male line, and in any case it could hardly happen that a dash of Southern blood could obliterate the product of centuries.' 'Very well, George, have your own way. You are far cleverer than I am, I know, but I may be right after all.' But this surrender did not suit the Doctor from any point of view.

There was nothing he disliked so much as beating down without convincing an opponent. And besides that, he dearly loved to exercise his argumentative power, more especially when he had a chance of airing some of his pet theories, which, though plausible enough, were sometimes rather wild. Now, the Doctor was an inveterate cause-hunter, and if there was one point more than another on which he liked talking, it was Writte7i 071 their Foreheads. 14 as to the causes which produced the numerous varieties of the human animal. Man, to him, was simply a product, like oil or vitriol, and so were all his qualities, and his general appearance. Martin, then, being a Scotch product only slightly modified, the Doctor was bent on proving to his wife that he must have a large share of cautious reticence. So having paused for a little, and just after Mrs. Frankling thought she had got rid of the subject, her husband awoke as if from a brown study, and said : ' Mary, why is a Scotchman a Scotchman ? ' ' Well,' said Mrs. Frankling, laughing, ' thank heavens, I think I can answer that.

I suppose it is because he cannot help himself.' The Doctor smiled cheerfully, but was not thus to be put from his point. ' But why can't he help himself? I thought you said you had read the history of Scotland ? ' ' So I have — at least, quite as carefully as most people.' ' Howis it, then, that the Scotch have got a greater amount of long-facedness than the people of the east coast of England, though by descent the people are the same from the Humber to the Moray Frith ? ' ' I suppose it's the beer,' hazarded Mrs. Frankling. ' It's more fattening than whisky, and would make the face wider.' 'The beer,' said the Doctor. 'Well, I admit that beer may have influenced the matter a little, Writte7t on their Foreheads. 15 but there is not a doubt that the Scotch clergy are mainly answerable for the long-facedness of the Scotch.

They carved their faces out of the human block, as plainly as the sculptor carves characteristics out of marble, though operating as gradually and unconsciously as water does when it wears fissures in the rock.' ' My dear George,' remonstrated his wife, ' how can you talk such nonsense ! ' ' It's not nonsense at all, I can assure you.' ' But how can you explain it ? ' said Mrs. Frank ling, whose curiosity had now been a little aroused. ' Well, my dear,' said the Doctor, who was highly gratified that he had awakened some interest at last, ' I will go into the subject anatomically and then historically, and just give you a little outline which will show you at a glance how the thing is.' The Doctor then got down from one of the upper shelves of the library a large volume of plates, placed it carefully on his largest book-desk, and after having arranged everything to his satisfaction, said : ' If you will be good enough to observe this facial muscle, and its action, you will see that it is the one brought into play in laughing and smiling, and if you look at yourself in the glass, you will see that the result of laughing is to make the face wider.

Now if you do not use this muscle, and if its disuse was continued in your descendants for many genera tions, it, and all the muscles in connection with it, Written 071 their Fo7'ehcads, 16 would diminish in size, and the result would be that the face would ultimately be longer in proportion to its breadth than it would have been had these laughing muscles been kept in continual play. Now, the Scotch are still rather a solemn set of people, and not being as cheerful and laughter-loving as the English, these muscles have remained in a low state of development, and thus you arrive at the long facedness of the Scotch.' 'Well, George, that seems reasonable enough, but I still do not see what the clergy had to do with the result. The English had clergy too.' ' True, but they did not cultivate lugubriousness in general, nor did they play the spy, nor were they the censors nor the judges of the people, like the Scotch clergy, who were armed with such vexatious powers of interference with the daily life of the in dividual.' ' Then your theory is, I suppose, that the Scotch became more long-faced after the Reformation ? ' ' There's not a doubt of it.

Don't you recollect our once going to hear a lecture at Dunfermline, and seeing all the town council drawn up on the platform ? What volumes there were in their faces ! They seemed to be more pronounced products of Scotch history than I had ever seen. But the ex planation was easy, and was not the seat of the Reformation in Fifeshire ? The long and the short of it is that the Scotch clergy drove sunshine from Written on their Foreheads. 17 life, and, by doing away with tendencies to laughter, altered the facial muscles of the Scotch, and made their physiognomy what it is.' ' Well, George, that sounds plausible enough— at least, for you,' she slyly added. ' Now, Mary, I daresay you see what I am coming to. The same power that lengthened the Scotch face, also affected the character of the people.

The vexatious interference of the clergy in the affairs of private life made everyone keep dark anything that might displease them, and there seemed to be few things that did not. Hence an extraordinary de velopment of cautious reticence — a quality, by the way, which makes Scotchmen so valuable in business Now, Martin Kerr, being Scotch, must have in his system strongpowers of secretiveness ; so, as I said before, I think he may safely be trusted to hold his tongue as regards anyone he might meet here.' ' You may be right, after all, George,' said Mrs Frankling reflectively, ' so we will let Martin Ken dine and breakfast with us and the patients ; and perhaps I am over-nervous, anyhow, as to the con sequences that might happen if he met anyone here he might have known in the world, or should meet anyone in the world he might happen to have met here.

But it's getting late, and we must really go to bed.' ' Oh,' said tbe Doctor, who was now getting warmly to work, ' I was just going into some of vol. 1. c Written 071 their Foreheads. the other causes that have affected the Scotch character.' ' I am tired,' said Mrs. Frankling, ' and I promise to swallow them all some other day. It's always a comfort to think,' she added laughing, ' that if all trades fail, you might still earn something by giving a course of popular lectures on Scotland. You might entitle them " Why is a Scotchman a Scotchman ? " How you would be patronised by the ministers ! ' ' Well, I should have much to say in their favour. Both the English and Scotch are more indebted to the ministers than most people are aware of. But we will go into that another day, and go to bed now.' Many years after, Martin Kerr lay on a pleasant river-bank one summer's day, thinking backwards over his life, and presently he looked up and threw into the water a chip of wood that had been cast on the brink by the last flood.