Part 36 (2/2)
She remembers once hearing a man recite the words at a musical ”At home.”
People had cried then; they knew not why, save that his elocution was exquisite, and he breathed it in an undertone:
By the old Moulmein Pajoda lookin' eastward to the sea, There's a Burmah girl a-setting, and I know she thinks o' me, For the wind is in the palm trees, and the temple bells they say: ”Come you back, you British soldiers, come you back to Mandalay.”
Eleanor and Captain Stevenson join in the chorus softly. It is sung slowly, like a low wail, Major Sh.o.r.e's clear notes rising above the rest:
Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay, Where the flying fishes play, And the dawn comes up like thunder out er China, 'crost the bay.
As they sing, Carol rides up the hill, and the music falls on his astonished ear. Singing in their verandah--how can that be?
Eleanor is the first to catch sight of him, but does not speak or move, though Quinton's presence always quickens her pulses.
The chords of the guitar take up the refrain, and Captain Stevenson, turning, espies Carol.
”When the mist was on the rice fields, an' the sun was droppin' low,
continues the rich voice.
”Why, there's Quinton!” exclaims Captain Stevenson, breaking into the melody. ”My dear fellow, how was it we missed on the road?”
”I can't imagine,” he replies; ”I suppose I took a different path.”
His eyes s.h.i.+ft uneasily, a flush rises to his brow.
”Your wife has been most kind and hospitable,” declares Major Short, laying down the guitar.
”I am delighted she kept you.”
”We brought the dog. He has already attached himself to Mrs. Quinton.
I a.s.sure you at lunch his preference for her was most marked; he wouldn't look at us.”
”Cupboard love, eh? I suppose she fed him.”
”Well, yes, I should rather think so, he will not require anything more for some time.”
”I am afraid,” says Quinton, ”that I interrupted a concert. You all looked most Bohemian and enjoying the _dolce far niente_ stage of existence.”
”It was too bad to break off in the middle of your song, Major Short,”
Eleanor murmurs, seating herself beside him and taking up the guitar.
”I wish you could teach me the accompaniment, for I do know a few notes vaguely, and though I have never learned to sing I can croon a little.”
”It really is not difficult,” Major Short a.s.sures her. ”I will send you the song if you like.”
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