They travelled quietly, so as not to fatigue Grace and Kit, and it took them three days to work across the jungle from the robbers' path, where Bâl Narîn had found the first traces of the fugitives, to the Maharajah's Road.
This, of course, was the most difficult and dangerous part of the journey, but they accomplished it safely. There was no talk of fever now, no grumbling about the denseness of the jungle and the fatigue of the way. Bâl Narîn issued the orders for each day, and they were obeyed with joyful alacrity. It would almost seem as if the gladness that had taken possession of the camp since Grace and Kit were found had given it strength and tone. But for all this, and in spite of the kind and gracious face he showed to his followers, the young rajah carried about with him an aching heart. His hope and dream had not been fulfilled. He had saved his love from the last extremity; but for what had he saved her? Sometimes when he saw the wandering horror in her eyes, when he listened to the broken words of pain, which for his sake she tried to repress, when, with a trouble which almost unmanned him, he realised that so it must be as long as she lived, he would say to himself ruefully, that for her it would have been better if in the trance in which he found her in the hut, her gentle spirit had winged its flight from earth.
But these were his worst moments. The best times were when, as Kit expressed it, Grace was 'somewhere else.' Then, but for the curious expression of her eyes, the haunting pain that seemed always to be lying in wait for her, she was so quiet and peaceful, so much the Grace of the dear old days, that he could venture to hope for her restoration to health of body and peace of mind.
He would lengthen out these times of mental aberration. When she called to him by some name out of the past, he would answer to it. Patiently he would work himself into the spirit of her dream, so that he might live and act in it. With an ingenuity born of love, he would keep out of her sight, as much as possible, everything that would remind her of the present. Kit was not allowed to come near her while the dream lasted. The servants were kept in the background. Of everything strange that she saw about her, there would be some ingenious explanation. Thus the meal under the shadow of a tree was a picnic; and the jungle was an English wood, and the tent was a cottage in which they had taken shelter from heat or storm, he and she together, and the others—Lady Elton and Mrs. Gregory, and Lady Winter and the fine Sir Reginald, and the girls—these were all behind them and would presently come up. So in the hours of tranquillity, which his love made for her, she gained marvellously in health and strength; but Tom had an uneasy feeling that the spectre of pain and horror which she carried about with her was not destroyed, and that some day it would assert its presence dangerously. The fact was, that Grace lacked the robust individualism which enables the majority of people, and especially of women, to exult over their own exceptional good fortune. She could not feel herself a favourite of heaven; she could not, as she would say pathetically, be grateful. That thought of the others, the ill-doers as well as those who had suffered wrong, haunted her perpetually. She saw them in her dreams. They seemed to be holding out their hands to her. Whenever she was not wandering in the past, her heart was full of a new and incomprehensible anguish.
A little diversion, which had a beneficial effect upon her mind, was created by their meeting with Hoosanee. It was in a great sâal-forest, when they were travelling pleasantly along an easy road, under a fine canopy made by overarching trees, that the rajah's faithful servant, who had made up his mind that no such fugitives as those he was seeking could have crossed Sisagarhi, came up with them.
He came in late in the evening, when the cavalcade had halted as it did habitually between sunset and moonrise. The blow on the hillside had done for him what his master had hoped from it. The fever that had begun to work in his blood had gone, and his power and energy had returned. The meeting between him and the rajah was rather that of intimate friends than of master and servant. When Hoosanee heard that the object of the expedition had been fulfilled, that the fair and gracious maiden whom they had travelled so far, and on his part so hopelessly, to seek was actually in camp, he cried like a child. 'Master! Master!' he sobbed, the tears rolling down his face. 'Who will dare to tell me now that the gods do not fight on our side? Ah! if some miracle would take us straight to the gates of our own town! How proudly we shall enter! It will be better even than the night when first the Rajah Sahib passed through our streets and the people saluted him as Rama, their prince and hero——'
'That remains to be proved, Hoosanee,' said Tom, smiling. 'Remember that I have offended the people of Gumilcund grievously. I doubt whether they will accept me as their rajah now. But I am sure that, for the love of those who have gone, they will admit me for a time. And I have been mindful of their interests while I was away. Is it not strange, Hoosanee,' he went on dreamily, 'now I have fulfilled my task the love of my people and my work has come back to me? The voice that was silent so long spoke to me again last night. I am one of you, my friend, as I was before. You are so near to me that you will understand this. But we must not be surprised if the others do not.'
'They will: they will. Chunder Singh knows. Chunder Singh is the friend of his Excellency. There is no fear,' said Hoosanee joyfully.
Then he left his master and presented himself at the door of the tent where Grace was resting. Kit was just outside. He saw him and gave a joyful cry of recognition. Grace heard it and started up. 'Who has come? What has happened?' she cried.
'Oh!' said Kit, rushing in, 'it's Tom's bearer. It's Hoosanee. They did not kill him after all. Hooray! Hooray! Three cheers! Grace! Grace! mayn't he come in?'
'Yes! Yes; bring him in,' said Grace joyfully. So Kit set the curtain aside, and Hoosanee, whose dark face was glowing with happiness, came in, and stood with bowed head and hands crossed reverently before the lady of his dreams. As for Grace, she held out both her hands and burst into tears.
'My gracious lady should laugh: she should not weep,' he said, bending low over her hands.
'But it is for joy not for sadness. My brave Hoosanee, I never thought to see you alive again. How splendidly you stood your ground that awful night, and how nobly you pleaded for me! And did you take care of the others? Did you carry them to Gumilcund safely?'
'Missy Sahib,' said Hoosanee, a smile breaking over his face, 'it was not so easy when you had gone. The ladies cried and sometimes they were unreasonable and doubted me, thinking that, as I had given you up, so I would give them up; and the storm beat upon us angrily, and it was with difficulty we dragged ourselves along. But on the second night we entered the gates of our city and one ran to tell our rajah and he met us.'
'And they were safe and well—Lucy and Kit's mother, and the baby and the other Mem Sahib?'
'They were safe. The rajah gave them lodging in his palace. But we did not see them again, for that very night we departed for the fort.'
'The fort? Dost Ali Khan's fort?' said Grace shuddering. 'That was where the wicked Soubahdar took me. But how did you know, Hoosanee?'
'It had been told to one of my lord's servants that we should find Missy Sahib there. Dost Ali Khan thought to buy the favour of my master by giving her up.'
'But I was not there, Hoosanee.'
'Let us give thanks to the Supreme Spirit!' said the Indian, bowing low.
Grace gazed at him, speechless with wonder.
'The fort has gone,' he went on solemnly. 'Like a wild beast in its lair Dost Ali Khan was destroyed. The day after Missy Sahib was put out the English came up, and they made a mine secretly and the fort was blown to pieces.'
'With everyone within,' said Grace, whose eyes were distended with horror.
'My master and my master's servants escaped. Some few of the defenders may have left by the secret passage. All the others perished.'
'There was an English woman there,' said Grace.
'The woman who called herself the White Ranee, and to whom Dost Ali Khan the pretended ruler of the country did homage, was within the fort. She was slain,' said Hoosanee quietly.
'Slain!' echoed Grace.
'It is true, Missy Sahib. The rajah himself brought her dead out of the ruins. I saw her in his arms. He made a fire in the room where they had imprisoned him, and her body was consumed. Then he and I went out to meet the English.'
While Hoosanee was speaking, Grace had covered her face with her hands. When she looked up she was as pale as death. 'Dead!' she murmured, 'Vivien dead! Is it true? Then God have mercy upon her!'
She paused. Hoosanee did not speak, and after a few moments she went on, in a stifled voice, as if she were speaking to herself: 'I had been thinking of her, wondering how it would end. But it is best so—much best! Hoosanee,' suddenly, 'you must tell no one. Remember! It is a secret between you and me and the rajah.'
'I will remember, Missy Sahib.'
'Let them think that she was taken prisoner,' went on Grace. 'It may have been so. Yes: that is the true explanation. I wonder I did not think of it before—and the terror and horror shook her reason. Poor Vivien! I am sorry I had hard thoughts of her. She was much too beautiful to be wicked. It was madness, Hoosanee. If she had not been mad she would never have treated me so. I might have known it at once. And you say she is dead?'
'She is dead, Missy Sahib.'
'It was best. To have come to herself here would have been terrible. But I cannot think of it any more. Thank you for telling me, my good Hoosanee. You have just come in?'
'I rode into camp an hour ago, Missy Sahib.'
'You must want rest. I am selfish to keep you up so long. Good-night! I will see you again to-morrow.'
'May the sleep of my gracious lady be sweet, and may the gods preserve her from evil!' said Hoosanee fervently.
He went out, to find the rajah waiting for him with eager questions. Then Bâl Narîn joined them. A runner had come out in search of the rajah. He brought intelligence of a great and notable Ghoorka victory, which had resulted in the complete pacification of the district between the Nepaul frontier and the Kingdom of Oude. Gambier Singh was triumphant. He sent word that the rajah must join him in his camp near Janhpore, and that he would tell off a detachment to escort him to Gumilcund, as a part of the Doab, which he would have to cross on his journey, was said to be still in an unsettled condition.
When questioned about the state of the country generally, the runner reported that Delhi was supposed to have been taken by assault a few days since; but that Lucknow was still in the hands of the mutineers.
This was joyful news to the rajah. 'If Delhi is taken the worst is over,' he said to his servants. 'And our Gumilcund men will be in it. If we reach our city safely, I will put myself at the head of another little army and join the forces that will be marching to Lucknow. What do you say, Billy? Will you join me?'
'I will go to the ends of the earth with his Excellency,' said Bâl Narîn. 'But let him have a care!'
'Of what, Billy?'
'Of the jealousy of the gods, Excellency.'
'You think I am too prosperous, Billy? Don't alarm yourself. I shall have my knock-down presently.'
'It is useless to speak of such things,' said Hoosanee. 'The Rajah Sahib, as we know, has risked his life in two dangerous enterprises. It is fitting now that he remains with his people in Gumilcund.'
'Time enough to discuss our further movements when we have reached that haven of rest,' said Tom, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
And so, when the moon rose that night, they went on together joyfully. One more halt in the Terai, and a short day's march through the forest brought them to the borders of the dominions of the Maharajah of Nepaul, when they entered upon the vast agricultural plains of Upper India, held then by the British and Ghoorka armies.
Concerning this part of the journey, which, under any other circumstances, would have been monotonous, there is very little to record. The rajah's diary, to which he returned about this time, deals more with feelings and states of mind than with events. I gather from it that, as the days went by, his deep interest in the social and political condition of the people amongst whom his lot had been cast revived. He was impatient, for his own sake as well as for that of his friends, to be in Gumilcund again. He took a more wholesome and a larger view of life. Away from the pestilential swamps of the fever-haunted jungle, and under the wide benignant sky, he could forget the wild agony of despair that for so many days had bound him in prison; he could believe that it was not madness, but a sound philosophy, which caused men everywhere to expect and to work for the redemption of humanity.
Here and there he speaks of Grace, but only briefly. 'My darling is better,' he writes on one occasion. 'I think Hoosanee is doing her good. He understands how to make her comfortable. I really think she is at home in her tent.' And again, 'There is something on her mind still. If she could tell it, the look of haunting terror, which goes to my very soul, might leave her eyes. But I dare not urge her.' And yet again, 'A woman should be with her; one she has known and loved. Thank God she will find friends at Gumilcund! Perhaps her mother would come if I sent for her. She will not be happy until she has told what is on her mind. Will she then? God help my darling and send her rest and peace!' From Bâl Narîn, who would not go back to his native valley until he had seen his friends at the end of their journey, I learn that the young rajah, who travelled in semi-Oriental dress, but who did not now disguise from anyone that he was of European origin, won hearts wherever he went by his grace and dignity. To this day most of these people believe that there was something supernatural about him. At the villages, when there was difficulty about the supplies of food and firing, he had only to come forward and speak and his orders were obeyed without delay. To himself his power over the native mind, which he could not help seeing and acknowledging, was a mystery. I, who look at this part of his history in the light not only of what went before but of what followed, can find an explanation. In him the indomitable pluck, the perseverance, the rectitude, and stern sense of justice, which have enabled a Western people to conquer and hold dominion in the East, were combined with the softer, more graceful and endearing qualities of the race with which he was allied, although at that time he did not know it, no less by birth than by circumstances. Gracious as well as great, sympathetic as well as strong, feeling at every point the people with whom he came in contact, tolerant in them of the weaknesses, whose germs, covered but not destroyed by his Western training, he found in himself, yet, rising above them by his proud indifference to selfish considerations, his quickness to execute what his brain had devised; and, more than all, by his keen spiritual insight, Thomas Gregory has always seemed to me to be in himself a living parable. So in my fanciful moments I have imagined may society be, when the two great branches of humanity's noblest family, which have been separated so long, will consent not only to meet, but to meet on the same ground; when they will take one from the other as brothers should; when they will sit down together at the rich feast of stored-up experience wrought out painfully on the opposite sides of dividing oceans; when they will realise that one requires the other, and that only from sympathy and mutual concession can spring the union, out of which, as some of us hope, a perfectness such as the world has never known will grow.
But this is in the future still; and our present business is with the rajah on his march to Gumilcund. They made a slight detour to visit Gambier Singh in his camp near Janhpore; and I am told that the greeting they received from that magnificent young officer was of the warmest. He was highly elated with his own success, concerning which he had much to say to his friend, while his delight and admiring sympathy over the happy accomplishment of the feat, which when they met before he had judged to be impossible, were inexhaustible. During the few hours they spent together in the young Captain's tent Tom had to give over and over again his account of the various incidents of their journey. Then Bâl Narîn was called in to receive his meed of praise and substantial reward, which he did modestly, asserting that he was but an instrument in the hands of the gods and demons, who were bent upon honouring the Rajah Sahib. Finally, having hinted at his wish to be thus distinguished, Gambier Singh was introduced to Grace, who thanked him in graceful and touching words for the assistance he had rendered to her friends in their search. It happened to be one of her best days. She was conscious of everything that went on around her, and the hope of being in Gumilcund soon, of seeing her friends, and gladdening their hearts with the news of her deliverance, although it could not lift from her face the shadow that rested there continually, gave to her an expression of tremulous anticipation that was curiously pathetic. This, with her delicacy of form, her low voice and gentle manner, and the white purity of her perfect face, made an undying impression on the mind of the chivalrous young soldier. When, accompanied by his friend the rajah, he left the English girl's tent, his dark face was glowing with a new enthusiasm. 'A few days ago, my brother,' he said, grasping Tom's hand, 'I could not understand you. Now it is clear to me. She is a fair and noble woman—one for whom a true man would willingly lay down his life. That I have been able to help you to save her will be a joyful memory to me as long as I live.'
Later he said, meditatively, 'Is she a type? Are there many like her in England?'
'There are many as beautiful, and true, and courageous,' answered Tom. 'Although to me, naturally, she stands alone.'
'Then I can understand your greatness,' said Gambier Singh.
'You must visit us and see our women at home,' answered Tom with a smile.
They could not spend more than a day and a night in Gambier Singh's hospitable camp. Moreover, the gallant little Ghoorka army had work to do. It had been reinforced by English officers and troops, and it was bound on an expedition south to cut off the retreat of a body of rebels who, having escaped the swords and guns of Havelock's Highlanders, were rushing up to hide themselves in the mountains. But Gambier Singh, with the full consent of his fellow officers, both British and Nepaulese, would not let his friends depart unattended. An escort, sufficiently strong to make them respected both by insurgent villagers and fugitive sepoys, was told off to protect them on their further journey, and he added to their travelling stores such comforts as he could command.
Both parties, the English rajah, with his Nepaulese escort, and the Ghoorka army, started with light hearts, for there could be no doubt now that the tide of affairs in the peninsula had changed for the better. Delhi was taken by assault; the news was in every mouth. The King of Delhi was a captive; his army was scattered and destroyed; and although, while Oude was in insurrection, and Lucknow was in the hands of the rebels, and a vast army reinforced by the mutinous contingent from Gwalior still held the field, the mutiny could not be said to be crushed, there was good hope now of a successful issue to the efforts which had been made to extinguish it.
With the intelligence from Delhi, which was brought by swift runners to the Ghoorka camp, Tom had the satisfaction of receiving a good account of his Gumilcund levies. They were specially mentioned as having distinguished themselves in the assault. What he did not know then, but what he heard later, was that these men of Gumilcund had earned the praise even of the heroic Nicholson. On the day after the assault, when the gallant English soldiers, who had fought like lions and shed their blood like heroes, fell prone to the temptation thrown in their way by their enemies, and lay about, stupid as sheep, in the streets and courts of the city they had so brilliantly won, it was a band of Gumilcund men, who, by their steadfastness and intrepidity, prevented the day of dishonour from being, to many of them, a day of disaster.
This the rajah heard at Gumilcund, whither, as there is nothing in his further journey to deserve a special record, we must now return.
The English ladies in the palace had settled down, as we shall remember, into a peaceful and well-cared-for, if somewhat monotonous, life. They never went out into the streets of the city. This was by the advice of Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, who feared that the people, looking upon them as, in some sort, responsible for the loss of their rajah, might show signs of hostility if they appeared amongst them. As for those grave personages themselves, they had overcome their first feelings of doubt and suspicion.
By the time of which I am speaking the rajah's message from the village in the Doab, where he halted to rescue the English prisoners, and received the intelligence which sent him to Azimgurh and Nepaul, had arrived. It had been immediately obeyed. Before Grace and Kit were found Mrs. Lyster shared the hospitality of the English rajah's palace, and the two young officers, who had so narrowly escaped an ignominious death, were resting and recruiting their strength in the Resident's comfortable house.
This message had brought hope back to the city. Their rajah had not completely deserted them. He sent word that he would return, that wherever he went he was mindful chiefly of their interests, that he would die rather than betray them; and they believed him. Over the common people, in fact, to whom the contents of this letter was made known, his influence was rather strengthened than weakened by what had taken place. His mysterious departure, his extraordinary escape out of the hands of Dost Ali Khan the deadly enemy of Gumilcund, with the destruction of the fort, from which the city and State had so often been threatened, confirmed their belief that the gods were in league with their rajah, and that, while he continued to rule over them, peace and prosperity were assured to the State.
And in fact this small principality was, at the time of which I am writing, like one of those islands in the Southern Seas which awful coral reefs guard from the onslaught of stormy waves. To her very doors the tempest raged. From east and west, from north and south, the posts, which had again begun to run, brought news of mutinous armies in possession of the country, of burning villages and sacked cities, of robber-tribes pursuing unchecked their career of violence, and of peasants fleeing from their unreaped fields. She remained untouched—a fortress and a refuge.
In the palace things were not so dull as they had been. Chunder Singh and Lutfullah paid daily visits to the ladies, to assure themselves that they wanted for nothing. The message from the rajah and the arrival of Mrs. Lyster raised their drooping spirits. Mrs. Durant began to hope that she might one day see her darling Kit again, and Lucy was better able to excuse herself for what she still looked upon as her own cowardly desertion of her cousin and friend.
As for Mrs. Lyster, I am afraid it would take more space than I have at my command to do anything like justice to her feelings. When, after her long and toilsome journey, she was carried within the precincts of the palace, and her litter being set down in the cool marble court of the quarter allotted to the European ladies, she found herself surrounded with gentle and sympathetic faces, she was as one in a dream. Long after, as she has told me since, it abode in her mind like a picture in a vision. There were little Lucy, with her pure white skin and golden hair and pathetic eyes, from which the dream of horror had not yet passed away; and the pale-faced mother eager—so eager—for news, yet not venturing to ask a question until the haggard, wild-eyed visitor had been refreshed and comforted; and Aglaia, like a child-angel with love and wonder in her face, and close to her the dusky-faced Sumbaten, pouring out broken words of welcome and offers of assistance; and little Dick, rosy and sweet, at sight of whom the poor fugitive covered her face with her hands and wept. Her baby had been shot—her soft innocent little darling—shot, in the arms of its father, who had torn it from the ayah to protect it with his own body. And then he had fallen too, and when, cold and still as lifeless stone, she leant over them to staunch their life-blood, he whispered to her hoarsely, 'For the sake of our children in England, escape!'
She had escaped—oh, God! she had escaped! But was not life far bitterer than death?
They knew how it was with her. Everyone of them had gone through her hour of worse than martyrdom, so they waited silently till she looked up again and made a pathetic effort to smile and thank them; and then Aglaia, who, having been the first comer, continued to do the honours of the palace, took her by the hand, and Aglaia's ayah followed, and she was given clear water and fresh garments, and when she was ready she was brought out again to the rajah's summer-house, where an English tea, with tinned meats and wheaten bread, and luscious Eastern fruits, was spread out.
It was then, as she has told me, that her perplexity began. She was asked a number of questions which she could not answer. Aglaia stood up before her, and besought earnestly to be told where Daddy Tom was, and why he did not come back, and when, thinking naturally the poor child was asking for one of the dead, she said that she had not seen him, Lucy interposed quickly: 'Oh! she means the rajah; don't you know? He sent you here.'
'The rajah! Daddy Tom!' echoed Mrs. Lyster.
'Of course you know he is an Englishman,' said Lucy.
'It was no Englishman saved us,' said Mrs. Lyster, shaking her head. 'Ask the others!'
'Oh! but it was; it was Tom. I think his second English name is Gregory. It's a funny story. Grace told me part of it,' said Lucy, 'and I heard the rest here. Surely he told you about Grace——'
'And about Kit, my sweet Kit, my little hero!' said Mrs. Durant, weeping.
'Grace! Kit! I don't understand. I think indeed we must be playing at cross-purposes. God knows it would give me the truest happiness to relieve your anxieties: you who have received me so kindly. But what can I tell you but the truth? We were saved by an Indian prince, a young man. He came to see us in the headman's hut, late at night, after he had killed twenty of our captors with his own hand. He told us he was the rajah of this place, and he would send us here with soldiers of his own. But, Tom—Thomas Gregory! what do you mean?' cried Mrs. Lyster, in great agitation. 'I knew an Englishman of that name once.'
'But you don't, youcan't, mean to say that you know nothing more!' said Lucy. 'Think, for heaven's sake! Try your hardest to remember.'
'Try to remember? Do you think I could forget? In the depths of our despair, I and those two poor boys, who were dying under my eyes; not knowing what fresh horrors each fresh day might have in store for us; living on and praying to a God who, we still believed, was a God of Mercy, to let us die swiftly, and our pains and troubles end; all at once, in a moment, at dead of night, dragged out to what we thought must be the swift and sudden death we had prayed for; and then to find ourselves safe, our bonds loosened, our enemies gone, kind and gracious friends about us, with words of hope which have been fully—fully redeemed upon their lips! Forget! we should be monsters of ingratitude if we forgot. If I could ever return it, ever show—but that would be impossible,' cried Mrs. Lyster wildly.
'Yes, impossible,' said the ladies together. And Lucy added softly, 'Tom has been our good angel. But it was for Grace's sake. We must not forget that. He sent for us because of her. Do you know, all of you, she might have escaped alone, long before, and we, God only knows where we should have been! He was searching for Grace when he rescued you, Mrs. Lyster; he is searching for her still. Most likely she is dead, and then he will die too!'
'Oh! Lucy! Lucy! Don't talk so wildly!' said Mrs. Durant. 'Look at Aglaia and think of me! You are frightening Mrs. Lyster.'
'I am not frightened,' said the poor lady, 'only bewildered. My Thomas Gregory was such an interesting boy. At least, we thought him so at first. Then some one said he was more than half a native. There was a curious story about him,' she went on gropingly. 'He was going out, they said, to inherit the wealth of an Indian rajah. Dear! how strangely things come round. If'—with a little laugh—'I had only known he was Thomas Gregory——'
'Was he going on with his search?' said Lucy.
'Yes; and now I think of it, I must have given him a clue. His servant questioned me!'
'Hoosanee, our good Hoosanee!' cried Lucy, clapping her hands.
'He struck me as being rather artful,' said Mrs. Lyster.
'So he is, but it is in his master's service,' said Lucy joyously. 'Hoosanee is a man of resource. I am sure they are safe now.'
'God grant it!' said poor Mrs. Durant, breaking into tears and sobs. 'If he were not such a darling—much too good for this world—I might hope too! Oh! Kit, my poor Kit, my pretty Kit, I can see your brave little face now as you went away! How I kept still I don't know. I was paralysed.'
'If Grace had been paralysed, we should none of us have been here to tell the tale,' said Lucy, with a sort of disdain, which was as much for herself as for these others, on her pale face.
'How she found strength to do it I can't imagine,' said little Dick's mother. 'But for baby——'
'Oh!' interposed Lucy, 'we all had our own reasons, of course. As a fact, I believe we couldn't have done any differently!'
'It is all very mysterious,' said Dick's mother; 'but I don't see why you should be so sardonic about it, Lucy. We ought to be thankful that our lives are spared. I am sure I am, both for myself and dear little baby.'
'Don't! Don't!' cried Lucy passionately. 'You hurt me! Thankful! How can I be thankful? Till Grace and Kit are here beside me, I shall not be thankful. I know I am wicked; but I can't help myself. It's in me.' And then she turned away, and gripped Aglaia by the arm. 'Come!' she said, 'youwon't reason with me or try to make me good. Let us find Sumbaten, and see what she is doing for Mrs. Lyster!'
They looked after her, as with a defiant step she went away along the avenue, and Mrs. Durant sighed deeply, while Dick's mother shook her head, and said that Lucy's temper did not improve. It was a pity they could not see her more subdued and humbled. As for Mrs. Lyster, she sat very silent. She was gazing out into the soft rose lilac of the narrowing heavens, and thinking of the young fellow who had been her companion on that delightful voyage, that seemed now so long ago—the young fellow whom she had liked and admired until a certain strange day, when he mystified her and others by putting on an Oriental robe, and assuming, with such marvellous perfection, the speech and manners of an Oriental grandee.
The message from the rajah and Mrs. Lyster's arrival did, as I have said, revive the drooping spirits of the ladies in Gumilcund; but many weary days and nights were destined to go by before they could receive certain news of their friends. In the meantime the posts, which ran now with tolerable regularity, brought them a variety of intelligence—some of it depressing; but, for the most part, tending to hope. That, though the North-West had failed in preparedness for the crisis, the gallant rulers of the Punjaub had not only held their own, but were pouring down reinforcements to the army before Delhi, while from Bombay, Calcutta and Allahabad men and munitions of war were being marched up country, Chunder Singh told them with exultation. Delhi, he was sure, would not long hold out, and then, as he too sanguinely believed, the insurrection would be at an end.
They received private intelligence too. Strange and pathetic, as some of us will remember very well, were the letters exchanged between friends and relatives in those strange days. You would mourn a dear friend as dead, and then, all of a sudden, one wonderful morning you would see a letter in his well-known handwriting; and when, with beating heart, feeling as if a missive had come to you from the grave, you would tear it open, you would find that your friend had given up you as lost, and was writing to you joyfully as one brought back from the jaws of death. These were the bright spots—the red-letter days—in that time of anguish. Of those other letters which brought no joy, only a fearful confirmation of our worst fears—the letters which told us of the tender hunted to death—of the fair and fragile giving way under the awful strain of horror, and sleeping, as we fondly believed, in the bosom of their God—of the beautiful, the strong, the noble cut off in the flower of their youth and the plenitude of their service—yes, of these, too, we carry about with us memories, and the bitterness of those memories will never fade until we meet our beloved on the further shore. Of news such as these there is happily no question here. Mrs. Durant heard of her husband. He had escaped from Nowgong by the skin of his teeth, having been surrounded and actually imprisoned for a season by a body of his own men who, though pledged to the mutineers, were unwilling to injure him personally. Mrs. Lyster knew of her own the very worst. Little Dick's father had been summoned to Allahabad shortly before the outbreak at Nowgong, and joyful news it was to him that his wife and son were safe at loyal Gumilcund. Lucy was encouraged by letters from Meerut, and she sent back such encouragement as she could. Tom—theywould know who Tom was—had left everything and run the risk of rebellion in his wonderful little State, which Lucy remarked parenthetically was like the Garden of Eden before the Fall, just to search for Grace and Kit. He had not come back; but he had been heard of, and it was the belief of everyone that he would succeed, so she begged her uncle, and aunt, and cousins to keep up their spirits and to hope for the best.
They smiled when they read the fly-away letter. It was like herself; but it was not very satisfactory to them. And indeed the family were in miserable case just then. General Elton, who had barely recovered from the effects of his wound, was about again; and it may be that the bolder counsels which began from this time to prevail in Meerut were due in large measure to his advice and assistance. But he himself was, if that were possible, a greater anxiety to his friends than when he had been lying at the point of death, for then they at least knew the worst. Now his restlessness and irritability were such that they could never for a single instant be sure of him.
Accustomed as he had been to take a large share in the conduct of affairs, his personal inactivity galled him. He had no civil authority, and the collapse of the magnificent army with which for so many years it had been his pride to be connected, had deprived him, at a stroke, of his military occupation. Meanwhile the state of anarchy, into which the province was falling, cut him to the soul, the more so that he felt convinced something might be done to check it.
With the Asiatic nothing goes so far as audacity, a quality which he cannot understand, and, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, does not believe in. Where he sees unflinching boldness, he suspects hidden strength, and as often as not he will throw down his arms rather than have them forced from him. So the General was never tired of preaching, but for some time no one would listen to him.
Then there came a change. From the hills, where, when the storm broke, he had been enjoying his well-earned holiday, the gallant collector, Dunlop, came down. He was armed with the authority of a magistrate over the districts surrounding Meerut, and, to the surprise of everyone, he asserted his determination of exercising it without delay. He would march out alone if no one cared to join him, and it was his belief that the terror of the English name, reinforced by the outcries of the unfortunate people, whose lands had been ravaged by a brutal soldiery, would carry him along.
Dunlop was one of those Englishmen who believed in audacity.
But if a few volunteers amongst those whom the breaking up of the old order had deprived of occupation would put themselves under his orders, there could be no doubt that the pacification of the country would be more easily and swiftly accomplished.
We may imagine, but it would be very difficult to describe, the effect of this announcement on the fiery soul of the old General. As a war-horse that scents the battle-field afar off; as a Moslem soldier, who sees the pearly gates of his Paradise slowly opening like a flower across the clouds and thunder of tumultuous war, so he felt when, to the deep dismay of his family, he went up to Dunlop and offered him his sword. Numbers followed his example, but of the brilliant and successful campaign in which they took part there is no need to write here. It has its place in history.
Twice the seasoned old soldier rode out with the gallant little corps, called theKhakee Ressalah, on account of its dust-coloured uniform, and twice he returned to his trembling wife and children, safe, but triumphant. As for Trixy, though no less anxious than her sisters, she did not once bid her father stay. I rather think she would have liked to march with them. 'One of us ought to have been a boy,' she said to her mother one day. 'Women have far the worst of it—sitting at home and watching and weeping—it is very hard work and rather humiliating.'
'Hush! Trixy; you don't know what you are saying,' said Lady Elton. And then the wild look that they all dreaded to see came over her face, and she cried out piteously, 'Yes, child, you are right. I have too many daughters, and the world is cruel to women. If a man dies, he dies fighting. If a woman dies——'
'Darling, you must not,' broke in Trixy vehemently. 'I am a little idiot. Forgive me! And do you know—listen, dearest, and don't look so—do you know that I have been having the strangest dreams about our Grace? When she comes back——'
'When, oh! Trixy, when——'
'Listen, dear, hear me to the end! When she comes back, I believe we shall find that she has the spirit of a heroine, if not of a hero.'
It was curious that this conversation, in which, for the first time for many days, Grace's name was mentioned before her mother, preceded by only a few hours the arrival of the letter from Lucy. It brought a slender ray of comfort to Lady Elton, and now her one idea was to reach Gumilcund herself. She dared not speak of it to anyone; but, all the more for her silence, it haunted her mind day and night. If she could only go! If she could only go! Now that her husband was well and she could feel that Meerut was a safe refuge for the girls, the spirit of passionate restlessness, which had once nearly shaken her reason, took possession of her with increased violence.
Sometimes it was like a madness. She would watch her girls and the servants furtively, and plan how she could evade them and slip away silently. One evening she got up in her sleep and reached as far as the door; but Yaseen Khan, the faithful bearer, was stretched across the threshold, and the noise he made, when she tried to step over him, awoke her and aroused the tent. After that they took fright and watched her more closely.
When her reason was nearly giving way under the strain, and she had begun to beg piteously, not knowing what she said, to be taken to Gumilcund, where it was now her possessing idea that Grace was kept in prison, a strange thing happened. A messenger from Gumilcund found his way into Meerut. Trixy saw him come in, and she recognised in him, as she believed, the faquir who had brought the first letter from Tom, and under whose convoy Bertie Liston had left the station. Supposing his message to be addressed to the General in command, she ran back to their tent with the information. She had scarcely time to give her news before Yaseen Khan rushed in, crying out, 'A letter! a letter! Missy Sahib is safe.'
The General was in his tent, furbishing up his arms, which had seen hard service lately. 'Silence, you foolish fellow,' he cried out, 'do you wish to kill the Mem Sahib? Give the letter to me.'
'No, no; to me,' cried a piercing voice from the further side of the tent. 'Children, let me alone! I shall not faint. And, General, don't you call the poor fellow names! What did you say, Yaseen Khan? Safe? Say it again! Safe! Safe!' She had rushed forward to meet him. The letter was in her hand, but her fingers trembled so that she could not open it. 'I am afraid,' she said, looking round, with a pathetic smile, 'that I shall have to ask some one to help me after all. My hands have no power to-day. No, General, not you. Trixy, come here! Open it, but don't take it out of my hands!'
Trixy obeyed, the tears rolling down her face. 'Why, your fingers are trembling too,' said Lady Elton. 'Thank you, dear. Now read it for me. My eyes are dim.' Trixy passed her eyes over the paper and broke into a joyful cry. 'Well! well!' said her mother impatiently. 'Read it, every word!'
'My dear Lady Elton,' began the girl, her voice shaking, 'I am sending my faithful Subdul to tell you and the General that we have found your Grace. She has been ill, but she is better. I am taking her to Gumilcund, where her cousin and several other English ladies, whom I and my men have been so happy as to rescue from positions of peril, are living. We are accompanied by an escort of Ghoorka soldiers. The Captain, Gambier Singh, has most generously put them at my disposal. I would willingly come down to Meerut, but I fear to add to the fatigues and hardships which your heroic child has already undergone, and I may not keep the escort longer than is absolutely necessary. I detach Subdul, who is a skilful traveller, and I believe that he will reach Meerut before we reach Gumilcund. If it could possibly be arranged for Lady Elton to join us there, I think it would be well. Grace will be happier and more at rest when she has seen one of her own people. But, in a very short time, I hope and believe, the country will settle down again, and then we shall be able to meet. In the meantime, with love and best remembrances,'I remain, my dear Lady Elton,'Your attached and always devoted friend,'Thomas Gregory.'
'My dear Lady Elton,' began the girl, her voice shaking, 'I am sending my faithful Subdul to tell you and the General that we have found your Grace. She has been ill, but she is better. I am taking her to Gumilcund, where her cousin and several other English ladies, whom I and my men have been so happy as to rescue from positions of peril, are living. We are accompanied by an escort of Ghoorka soldiers. The Captain, Gambier Singh, has most generously put them at my disposal. I would willingly come down to Meerut, but I fear to add to the fatigues and hardships which your heroic child has already undergone, and I may not keep the escort longer than is absolutely necessary. I detach Subdul, who is a skilful traveller, and I believe that he will reach Meerut before we reach Gumilcund. If it could possibly be arranged for Lady Elton to join us there, I think it would be well. Grace will be happier and more at rest when she has seen one of her own people. But, in a very short time, I hope and believe, the country will settle down again, and then we shall be able to meet. In the meantime, with love and best remembrances,
'I remain, my dear Lady Elton,
'Your attached and always devoted friend,
'Thomas Gregory.'
So Trixy read. When her voice dropped there was, for a few moments, silence in the tent. Then a great babble began. The girls clustered round their father. 'Oh! couldn't you take us to Gumilcund?' they cried. 'Do, Dad! Surely it could be managed.' Lady Elton's voice only was missing. When the General, setting his girls aside, looked round for her, he saw that she was busy, with the help of Yaseen Khan, putting a few necessaries together for her travelling bag. 'You see, Wilfrid,' she said, answering his look, 'I must go. My child wants me.'
'We all want you, Grace.'
'Ah! but she wants me most. You will arrange for me to go, will you not? Where is this good Subdul? I might put on some sort of disguise, as Bertie did.'
'Nonsense, my dear,' said the General hoarsely. 'If anyone goes, I will.'
'No, Wilfrid. Your place is here. These other children want looking after. No; no; no,' as they crowded round her. 'I cannot take you. You are safe at Meerut. And Grace is safe! Oh! yes, Grace is safe; but she wants me. Tom would not have written so if she did not. And I, oh! my dear,' turning to her husband; 'forgive me if I am adding to your trouble; but I cannot help it. I shall go mad if you do not let me go.'
'Gently, Grace, gently!' said the General brokenly.
'Say yes, and I will be as gentle as you please,' she answered.
He stood for a few moments looking down at her earnestly. Then he said, 'Promise me to do nothing rash, and I will see what can be done.'
'Thank you, dear,' she said humbly. 'Yes, I will promise. But you must make haste.'
The month of October was in, and the great heats of the plains were over. Events had been marching. At Agra, which was still in a state of siege, the large European population gathered together in the fort and palace of the magnificent Shah Jehan began to breathe more freely. In Lucknow, where Sir Colin Campbell and his veterans had not yet arrived, Havelock and the gallant Outram held their own, and the flagging spirits of the Europeans had been cheered by several brilliant successes. Cawnpore was in the hands of the English; but Tantia Topee, the last general of note amongst the mutineers, was gathering his forces together for a final effort; and Jhansi, the home and citadel of a woman scorned, bade proud defiance to the English conquerors. These were the news which met the Rajah of Gumilcund when, journeying warily, he drew near to the gates of his own city.
Things had been going well with him since he parted from Gambier Singh. The country was much quieter than he had expected; the villages received them well; they had no difficulty about supplies; their force was large enough to frighten away the hordes of robbers that haunted the highways; and Hoosanee, who was their guide, took very good care that there should be no chance encounters with mutineers.
The rest and good food, with the comparative coolness of the atmosphere, had completely restored little Kit. The colour came back into his cheeks, and the sparkle into his eyes. It was a delight to see him going about the camp speaking in his little lordly way to the coolies and servants, and picking up phrases of Nepaulese with which to make friends with the Ghoorka soldiers. There was not a soul in the camp who did not adore him.
In one of the villages they had bought a little hill pony for the child, and day after day he trotted gravely by Tom's side, looking as picturesque as a prince of fairyland, with his brightly-coloured Indian garments, his blue and white muslin turban, and his flowing golden curls.
Grace, too, was better; but she did not speak much, and Tom would not urge her. He believed in the power of healing nature. In the meantime he had despatched Subdul with the letter, of whose arrival we have heard.
So, as I have said, they came on to Gumilcund. The rajah had sent on swift runners to apprise the people of his coming, and all the city was in a ferment. It was afternoon when he crossed the boundaries of the State. Most of the peasantry had gone up to the town, so the country had a somewhat deserted appearance; but it gave him pleasure to see that the forts stationed here and there for their protection were occupied strongly, and that there had been no break in the agricultural operations. The people went about their usual work in the daytime, and took refuge in the city at night.
He halted, as he had done before, just as dusk began to fall, about a mile from the principal gate of the city. Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, with several other distinguished citizens, and a gorgeously-attired retinue of Indian cavalry, were drawn up here to do him honour, and escort him to the city in state.
Bidding his Ghoorkas halt, Tom rode in amongst them. He had scarcely done so before he caught sight of his beautiful little Arab mare Snow-queen. She had been ridden by no one since the night when he rode her out to meet the English fugitives, and, finding that two were missing, went to Dost Ali Khan's fort to find them. Now, hearing his voice, she whinnied, and pawed the ground impatiently. In a moment Tom had dismounted from the horse he was riding, and vaulted on to her back. He had much ado then to keep her quiet, but he succeeded at last, after which he turned to Chunder Singh. 'Thank you,' he said, holding out his hand. 'This is a pledge to me of your forgiveness.'
'There is no question of forgiveness, Rajah Sahib,' said the grave Indian. 'I could have wished for the sake of the people, who were clamorous for tidings when they heard the rajah had gone, that his Excellency had treated me with more confidence. But is not that amongst the things that have passed? We have escaped from the fiery trial. The people of Gumilcund and his Excellency, their rajah——'
'The people will receive me, then?'
'The loyalty of the people of Gumilcund to Byrajee Pirtha Raj, their ruler, has never wavered.'
'That is well,' said Tom gravely. 'But you must understand, Chunder Singh, and you, Lutfullah; on some points I have changed since last I dwelt amongst you. In the wilderness where, for many days, I have been wandering seeking for my kindred, I have come to this determination chiefly,' he spoke in their own language, which all of them could understand. 'I will not,' he went on, 'go amongst you any more upon false pretences. I am an Englishman. How and to what degree I am related to your former rulers, or whether the mysterious tie which seems to unite us is merely spiritual, I do not know myself. I have written for information, and as soon as I receive it I will pass it on to you. In the meantime, I have determined to go amongst you without disguise. Such as I am, you and your people must receive me, and if the idea of serving a foreign ruler is repugnant to you I will retire and allow you to choose your own ruler, on whose behalf I will promise to interest myself with the British Government. But, however this may be, I know'—he smiled, and Chunder Singh, who had been listening with a falling countenance, plucked up heart—'I know,' he repeated, laying his hand on the closed litter, which had been brought to the spot where he had reined up Snow-queen, 'that for the sake of those who have gone before me—ay, and because they love the English name, which has been a tower of strength to their city, the good and loyal citizens of Gumilcund will receive me with respect and affection and will shelter and nourish the fugitives whom I have brought with me until they can return in peace to their own people.'
He paused, and a buzz of applause, not loud, for these were grave citizens and Asiatics, but deep and heartfelt, followed his words. 'Our rajah has spoken well. Hah! Hah! He has spoken words of wisdom. He has proved himself the true son of Byrajee Pirtha Raj. Let him come amongst us freely. The people are waiting to receive him with honour.' So from mouth to mouth the joyful answers ran.
Up to this everything was quiet, decorous, and stately; Tom playing the part of an Oriental potentate to perfection; the citizens of Gumilcund reverential in manner and dignified in speech and bearing; the two guards—the Ghoorka escort on the one hand, and the gorgeously caparisoned cavalry from Gumilcund on the other—sitting their horses like bronze images on either side of the space of ground where the rajah and the chief men of the city had met. And so it might have continued but for that upsetting element, subversive of all dignity, an English boy.
Kit had been riding in the rear of the cavalcade with Bâl Narîn. He had seen one or two things that interested him—a score or so of flying foxes, hanging like black bags from the trees, which he insisted upon disturbing, so that he might see them fly—a huge cobra, which they followed and killed, and a herd of screaming jackals that he galloped after until Bâl Narîn caught his pony by the rein and made him come back. They were thus considerably in the rear when the cavalcade halted.
Now, as soon as Kit saw that something was going on, he set spurs to his pony, gained upon the Ghoorka guard, passed it like a flash of lightning at imminent risk of setting the whole of it in motion, and drew rein by Tom's side just as the citizens of Gumilcund were assuring him of the continued homage of their city.
For a moment the child paused, looking out at them. It was light enough to see him well—the slender, shapely figure, the proud little head, the shower of golden curls. Every one of the grave men smiled. He answered their kind looks with a ringing laugh. 'Are you the people from Gumilcund?' he cried out, his childish treble ringing shrill and clear through the still air of the evening. 'And have you come to meet us?'
'Hah! Hah!' answered the grave elders. 'Gumilcund people, little Sahib,'
'Oh! I say,' whispered Kit, in his own tongue to Tom. 'Don'tthey look jolly? Let's give them an English cheer. Where are Bâl Narîn and Hoosanee and the others? I've been teaching them. They can cheer pretty well. Come up, you men! Now then,' lifting his small turban from his head, and holding it in one hand, while he shook his reins with the other. 'Hip! Hip! Don't be frightened, you men! Sing out! Hip! Hip! Hooray! That's better! Again! Hip, Hip, Hooray! for Gumilcund. And for the rajah—a good one this time!'
The men had begun to cheer with might and main—the soldiers joined. It was a joyful tumult, the like of which had never been heard in Gumilcund before. The grave citizens were bewildered. The horses, unaccustomed to the noise, grew restive. It was all Tom could do to hold Snow-queen in. 'That's enough, Kit,' he cried. 'Bus! Bus,we shall be at the gates in another moment, if you go on like this!'
'All right!' said Kit, 'I'll be as mum as a mouse directly. Just one more, Hip! Hip! Hooray! for Grace Sahib. Three times three! and three times more for luck!' And thereupon, the mischievous little urchin threw up his turban, caught it in his right hand, and rattled his reins over the pony's neck. Off it started at a hand-gallop; Snow-queen, who had been chafing under her master's detaining hand, went off in pursuit; the grave men of Gumilcund mounted their carriages as speedily as they could, and the two escorts found their horses unmanageable. For the level mile that lay between them and Gumilcund, it was a stampede, rather than a trot. But Kit, on his fiery mountain pony, headed them the whole way.
At the bridge which spans the ravine between the walls of the city and the open country, he drew the pony up and looked round. Tom and Snow-queen were close behind him. 'Isn't it a lark?' he cried out. 'Teazer would go, you know; I couldn't help him.'
'How much did you try, you young monkey?' said Tom. 'But since you are still, keep still for a few moments! We must let these good gentlemen come up. And Grace——'
'I say—what wonderful chaps those bearers are!' cried the irrepressible child. 'They've been running with her. She'll be inside almost as soon as we shall. Good-bye, Tom. I must trot back and get her to open the palki. She looks lovely, I know, and they'd all like to see her.'
Back he went, shouting out greetings to his Ghoorka friends. The two escorts, in the meantime, had fallen into double lines on the bridge. The elders of Gumilcund descended from their carriages and formed themselves into a procession. Tom, on Snow-queen, stood in front of them. Their faces were turned away from Gumilcund and towards the road by which they had come in. The palki and its eight bearers came on at a rapid run. The curtains were open. Grace had given in to the request of Kit, which he had been artful enough to represent as coming from Tom. And truly she was glad to see the light of this wonderful evening; for her heart was beating with a host of new feelings, and she had much trouble to keep herself quiet. Nearer and nearer drew the open palki. The light of the heavens had departed; but, as if by magic, a host of fairy lamps had sprung into being. They ran along the parapets of the bridge, up and down, throwing a weird radiance on the dark faces and showy accoutrements of the Ghoorka and Gumilcund soldiers. From the causeway, which led from the bridge to the gates of the city, thrown hospitably open, they shone out in myriads. Held on long poles they came flashing along—a glittering line of light. At the bridge the line divides, and while some of the light-carriers group themselves round the procession of citizens and their rajah, others run on to meet the palki. They form round it, and the light of their flaming torches falls full on the pale face, the snowy raiment, the golden hair, and deep steadfast eyes of the English girl.
Wonderingly the people gaze upon her, for they think that they see a vision. As for the rajah, his heart gives a great bound. Even he, who knows her so well, has never seen her look so lovely. But what is the meaning of that strangeness in her face; the fixed gaze; the aloofness? To him she is like one who is moving in two worlds, whose body is present, and whose spirit is far away.
The palki stops. It is uplifted still on the shoulders of the bearers, so that all who are within the radius of the torchlight can see it plainly. Tom had meant himself to step forward and bid her welcome, but he cannot speak for the rush of tears that are blinding and choking him. He bends himself low over his saddle-bow in the graceful Oriental fashion, and makes a signal to Chunder Singh, who steps forward.
'Madam,' he says, in excellent English, 'his Excellency permits me the honour of being the first to welcome you to Gumilcund. My friends and I have heard your story, and know what your sufferings and your heroism have been. Accept our assurances that your troubles are over. In the rajah's city the gracious lady will be as safe as in her own country and amongst those who have served her from her childhood.'
'I am sure of it, Chunder Sahib,' says Grace, bowing and smiling, 'and I thank you from my heart.'
That is all she can say, for the irrepressible little Kit has drowned her voice in another wild cheer, and from the bridge, and the causeway leading up to the gates, and from within the gates whence the light of a myriad lamps and the tumult of a great multitude gathered together is pouring, the shout comes back in deep waves of sound that rise and fall on the still air like joyful music.
Then the rajah gives the word, and the palki with its bearers, and the merry company of light carriers advance, Snow-queen, who has been reduced to order, stepping proudly in front of them, while the elders of Gumilcund, some of whom are 'fat and scant of breath,' mount their carriages and bring up the rear.
Then what a joyful tumult of welcome! All through the great avenue, with its double rows of trees, it is one sea of turbaned heads and waving garments and banners carried proudly aloft. Here and there the procession has barely room to pass, but the good temper of everyone in the crowd is perfect, and whenever the rajah, who takes the lead, draws rein, the multitudes separate of their own accord, and leave them a living lane to pass through.
So, moving slowly, they come on to the market-place.
Vishnugupta, the priest, is waiting for them here. It is an encounter which Tom would fain have delayed until a quieter moment, for the Brahmin devotee, who had doubtless believed in his pure caste and high lineage, may not, he thinks, be so ready to receive him as the simple citizens. But he is mistaken. To Vishnugupta, in his sacerdotal capacity, Byrajee Pirtha Raj was no less of an alien than his successor. But, like many another priest both of the East and of the West, he was something more than a person of approved sanctity. He was a patriot and a citizen. He knew what the present regimen had done for Gumilcund, where he had lived before the days of Byrajee Pirtha Raj and his father, and he recognised the advantages the whole country derived from the overlordship of the British. It was in the speech that Tom had made to the people, when rumours of mutiny were first rife in the country, that he had conquered Vishnugupta, the Brahmin devotee and astute politician. That he was of a different country and religion went for nothing with the priest. Nor, strange as it may seem, and although he belonged professedly to one of the most mystical faiths the world has ever known, did the legend current amongst the people of their late so passionately loved ruler having returned to them in the form of this young and comely stranger, affect him in the least. It might be so and it might not. Vishnugupta would not express an opinion. What he did feel and say was that the rule of the stranger was good for the city.
And so, to the surprise of Tom and to the measureless delight of the people who thronged round him, Vishnugupta received him with honour such as he had not granted even to his predecessors. Standing head and shoulders above the crowd, his hands, in one of which he held a cage of living brands, uplifted, and his white hair streaming in the wind, he called upon the procession to halt while, in a flood of words, all the more impressive to those who stood by for its mystical strangeness, he called down blessings upon the chosen of the gods.
He ceased, and making a low obeisance, the rajah passed on silently. Behind him were the golden-haired child and the English girl in her open palki. Vishnugupta stood in front of it, and the bearers stopped. So piercing was his gaze that even Kit was silenced. But Grace looked back at him calmly.
For the space of an instant they looked at one another across the shadows, and then the girl's lips parted in a slow and sorrowful smile. 'We will speak together another time,' she said quietly in English. 'You are a good man. I could trust you.'
'So be it,' said Vishnugupta, bending his proud head. He stood aside, and the procession, which was on its way to the palace, swept by him.
He had meant to follow, but he stood like one abashed, and his hands dropped, and the cage of fire which he had been lifting over the heads of the people, swung idly by his side, and those who had flocked round him, fearing accident, fell away, so that in a few moments he stood alone. Plunged deeply in thought, he did not observe the absence of bystanders. One, however, fascinated by his strange appearance, lingered and heard him whisper: 'That look! And on the face of a woman! I would fain see it again. But I fear! I fear! Ram! Ram! My heart flows from me like rivers that seek the sea.'
For a few moments his head sank on his breast. Then he raised it, and the fascinated observer watched him move forward slowly, till he reached the palace gate, which had closed behind the rajah and his party, but which, as he knew, would have opened at a word from him. There, for an instant, he paused in indecision. His hand touched the bell, but he withdrew it. 'Though I am a Guru and twice-born,' he murmured, 'I am old, and my eyes have not the precision of youth. To-night I will not see her again.'
In the general excitement no one had remembered to tell the English ladies of the missive that had been received from the rajah. Through Sumbaten, however, who loved gossip as much as those of her order at home, some rumour of what was going on had filtered into their quarters of the palace. Lingering in one of the outer halls, and wondering at the stir in the house, she was told that the rajah's apartments were being made ready for him, and that he was coming home that night.
Armed with this joyful news she ran back to her ladies. This was early in the afternoon. They did not believe her in the least, so they said; yet, as the time went on, they too became aware that something unusual was going forward. At the instance of Sumbaten, reinforced by Lucy, they put on gala attire. Then they wandered up and down the shaded alley that led from the inner marble court to the summer-house, longing for this day of many hours to come to an end.
When at last the dusk began to fall, Sumbaten, who had been sent into the outer court to watch, came running in to say that there was an extraordinary stir in the market-place; but that she could get no one to tell her what it meant, for all the palace was empty.
Then they gathered together and looked into one another's faces with wonder and hope and terror. Mrs. Lyster was as pale as death. Mrs. Durant, who could not stand, clutched at her arm. Little Dick's mother seized her child, who was playing about on the grass, and clasped him in her arms, whispering that perhaps it was a rising and couldn't they get away or hide? Lucy was trembling too, but she would show no lack of courage. 'Nonsense,' she said a little scornfully. She looked down and saw Aglaia standing close beside her, her clear eyes shining like globes of light and her cheeks as red as a newly opened rose. 'What do you think, little Miss Wisdom?' she said.
'I'm not wise, I'm foolish,' said Aglaia, 'but I know he is coming, and the people are making a noise because they are glad. Hadn't we better go into the hall to meet them?'
'Yes; yes; come along! Aglaia has more sense than all of us put together,' said Lucy.
'Oh! but is all right? How shall I bear it? How shall I bear it?' cried Mrs. Durant.
'It will soon be over. Have courage for a few more moments! Ah! if I had only your hope!' said Mrs. Lyster.
'I beg your pardon, dear,' murmured Mrs. Durant. 'I had forgotten.'
They went together into the hall, where they found everything in readiness for them. Beautifully-shaded lamps, which diffused a warm glow over the apartment, were lighted; the water in the fountain in the midst of the hall, and in the channels that ran through it, was stirring briskly; and on the daïs at the upper end, which was decorated with Persian rugs and embroidered curtains from famous Indian looms, their usual evening meal was spread out. With its delicately-wrought pavement, its sculptured pillars, its flowers and ferns and gaily-plumaged birds, it was a room to make the mouth of the modern æsthete water. But the English ladies were accustomed to its beauty, and to-night they had no thoughts for it. They were given up to listening, to watching for that which was to come. Moments passed into minutes, and never surely were minutes so tardy in their flight. Louder, meanwhile, and louder grew the tumult below. Lucy threatened to veil herself and run outside, but the others held her back. Sumbaten would rush out, stay away a few moments, and come back with a sensational piece of news. They listened with white faces, all but Aglaia, whose eyes were dancing, and whose face was bright with colour.
At last, when their patience was nearly at an end, they heard the gates of the palace open. Then the sound of many voices came floating through the courts and passages and staircases that separated their apartments from the outer enclosure, and Sumbaten came rushing in to cry out that the rajah had come in.
And now little Lucy set her teeth together, and Mrs. Durant gave a low moan. 'Look out,' she whispered to Mrs. Lyster. 'I dare not.' But in the next instant she was flying across the hall, with a wild cry of joy, 'Kit! Kit! I hear him!'
She had heard him—the little silver voice that she had thought never upon earth to hear again had rung out clearly above all those others. 'Kit! Kit!' It was all over then—the anguish, the suspense, the horror of great darkness. Kit, her own golden-haired Kit, was safe. But another cry, a cry shrill and joyous, echoes through the palace court. He is in front, of course—the enterprising little hero; all these people are so slow and so stately that he cannot wait for them. He has penetrated to the foot of the great staircase that leads up to the ladies' court and hall. There he catches a glimpse of his mother's pale face irradiated with joy. 'Mother!' he cries.
'Kit, my little Kit, my darling!' She has him in her arms. She is kissing him, fondling him, breathing sweet nothings over him as if he were a baby. It is all very pleasant, of course, but to a hero of Kit's standing just a little humiliating.
'Thank you, mother dear,' he says. 'I'm awfully glad too! But look here!' drawing himself gently away. 'Couldn't you kiss me presently? I don't mind it, you know. I like it. But there are such a lot of people here just now, and we're blocking up the way.' Put down upon his feet, he smoothed his ruffled plumes, and looked round him with dignity. 'Ah!' seeing Lucy close by, 'here's some one else I know. How do you do, Lucy?'
'Very well, thank you, Kit,' said Lucy, with corresponding gravity.
'You look all right,' said Kit. 'I've brought back Grace, you know. But I say,' catching sight of Aglaia, 'who's this?'
'Do you want to be introduced to her formally, you ridiculous child?' said Lucy. 'Mrs. Durant, for heaven's sake take him away! He will make me laugh, and I feel more inclined to cry. Ah! Here they come! Grace! Grace!'
'Daddy Tom!' said Aglaia, pressing forward.
'Tom! Tom Gregory! How could I ever have mistaken him?' cried Mrs. Lyster; but she kept in the background, and her cheeks, which had been so pale, were flushed with colour. They were mounting the marble steps together, Grace leaning on the rajah's arm, and he with no eyes for anyone but her. She was very pale, as if she were weary, and there was a curious steadfast look in her eyes, which rested nowhere; but seemed always to be looking on to something beyond.
'Grace!' repeated Lucy, and could say no more, for the words seemed frozen on her lips. Then, in a rapid whisper to Tom, 'Does she know us? Why does she look so?'
'Yes, yes. She is tired. I am afraid the coming in and the welcome of the people have been too much for her,' said Tom hoarsely. 'Let her rest, and she will be better to-morrow!'
He did not ask for Mrs. Lyster, who kept still in the background watching him with one of her old smiles upon her lips. To Mrs. Durant, who had caught his hands and was pouring out her gratitude, he could scarcely pay even the attention necessary for politeness. As for Aglaia, her whispered greeting had been quite unheeded. He had not so much as seen her. The child turned away with a pale face and clouded eyes. 'He saved me too,' she whispered; 'but he has forgotten.'
They had reached the top of the stairs. Grace was smiling, but there was still that strange fixed look in her eyes. Lucy, divided between tears and laughter, threw her arms about her cousin's neck, and covered her face with kisses. Then she led her in to the others, chattering wildly. 'I can scarcely believe you have really come back!' she cried. 'I think I shall awake to-morrow and find it a dream. If you only knew what I have gone through, darling. I felt myself such a dreadful coward. I should have gone away with you as Kit did, brave little Kit! And oh! aren't you glad to be amongst us again? To-morrow you must tell us your adventures. Grace! why do you look so? Laugh! cry! say you are happy or sorry! Do anything! Perhaps it would be a relief to your feelings to scream. I know it would be to mine,' said Lucy, gazing at her cousin earnestly. But Grace only smiled that placid smile, looking out still as if she saw something beyond them. They brought her to a softly-cushioned divan on the daïs. Tom had given her up to Lucy. He was stumbling back across the hall when his glance fell upon Aglaia, and he stopped. She was standing by herself, and her eyes were full of tears.
'Aglaia!' he said, stooping over her kindly. 'Are you crying because we have come back?'
The child did not speak. 'But what is it, then? I thought I should have seen you dancing with joy.'
'I was a few minutes ago,' said Aglaia vaguely.
'And has something happened since then, little friend? Come! Tell me! They are all busy up there, so no one else will hear.'
'No; no; no; it's nothing,' said Aglaia, choking back her sobs. 'Iamyour little friend still.'
'Of course you are, dear. Did you think I was so fickle as to have forgotten you?'