THE WELCOME OF A SORROWFUL SPIRIT
The rajah had returned from seeing off his troops, and he and Chunder
Singh were shut up together in close conclave. For the first time
since fate had so strangely thrown them together they had been having
a serious difference of opinion. The subject that divided them was the
written message which the rajah had received from Dost Ali Khan, and
which ran as follows:
'To-morrow the Englishwoman you seek will be in my hands. Come to me
for her. Ganesh will show you the way.'
After serious thought, Tom had come to the conclusion that it would be
wise at once to obey this summons--a conclusion justified no doubt by
the knowledge that rest and peace of mind would be perfectly impossible
to him until he had tested its truth. Chunder Singh, on the other
hand, who suspected a trap--he knew that Dost Ali Khan was anxious to
separate Gumilcund from the English alliance--wished him not to act
precipitately, but to endeavour, before putting himself in the power
of so desperate a rebel, to find out what had actually been done by
Hoosanee for the Nowgong fugitives.
The discussion waxed warm, and both men grew irritated. Tom insisted
on starting at once. Chunder Singh used the most cogent arguments to
stop him. Tom tore the arguments to shreds and tatters. Chunder Singh
produced others, of an even more telling character, which, in their
turn, were demolished by the ardent youth. At last Chunder Singh showed
mutinous symptoms. He couched his resistance, indeed, in the most
decorous language, being as prodigal as usual of submissive words and
high-sounding titles, but beneath the velvet glove the iron hand was
hidden. The rajah was made to understand that, having accepted the
raj, he belonged to the people over whom he ruled, and that they would
protect him, even against himself, if such a step was necessary. His
late expedition had caused much murmuring. Having received him back in
safety from the very jaws of death, the people did not feel disposed
to allow him to risk his life again. He, Chunder Singh, would, in such
case, be called to account. He besought his master, for all these
reasons, to be patient, hinting pretty broadly that impatience would
serve no good purpose, since he would not be allowed to thrust his head
into any robber's den, even for the sake of a charming young lady.
This was expressed with so much deference, and brought out in such a
roundabout manner, that it was some time before its actual significance
dawned upon Tom. When he did understand his wrath was extreme.
Forgetting, for a moment, the Oriental manners, in which he had taken
such pains to perfect himself, he stormed at his Indian counsellor in
the good old English fashion. What did the fellow take him for--a fool,
or an idiot? Did he really suppose that he would allow himself to be
dictated to? He strongly advised him to keep for the future to his
own department, and to understand that, as far as his personal action
was concerned, he intended to keep a free hand. He would exercise his
own judgment with regard to his movements, and come and go at his
own pleasure, without deigning to consult any of them. To all this
Chunder Singh listened with an unmoved countenance. His face was a
mask, behind which his irritated young master tried in vain to look.
If he was surprised, if he was angry, if he was determined, it was not
possible to say. They had reached this point--an uncomfortable sort of
deadlock--when Tom heard light, flying footsteps in the corridor, and,
looking out, saw his little friend, Aglaia, running breathless towards
his room.
'What is it, darling?' he said. 'Do you want me?'
She ran into his arms. 'Ganesh says they are coming,' she cried, 'and
ayah wants me to go to bed. Mayn't I stay up to see them?'
'Who are coming, dear? What does Ganesh say?'
Ganesh was close behind her. 'Excellency,' he said, bowing low, 'a
runner has come in with news from Hoosanee, his Honour's servant.'
'Well! well! go on, for heaven's sake!'
'He has already entered the city. He brings with him some of the
English sahib-log from Nowgong.'
'From Nowgong! Thank God! Chunder Singh, do you hear? They have come
in. Now we can lie down in peace and sleep. Ganesh--why do you look at
me so? Hoosanee, you said, from Nowgong?'
'Hoosanee, Excellency. He has come back safely.'
'And where are they?'
'The mem-sahibs are in a cart which travels slowly. The runner left
them within the gate of the Princes. He came at his full speed.'
'Have Snow-queen saddled at once, and I will ride out to meet them. No,
my little Aglaia, I cannot take you. It is too late, and the air is
heavy after yesterday's storm. They must have been out in it, Chunder.
Help him to have everything ready, Aglaia. Supper and sleeping rooms,
and fresh garments. Thank heaven that I took your advice, my good
friend! You always advise me well. Is Snow-queen ready, Ganesh?'
'The syces are bringing her round, Excellency. But----'
'Then don't stop me. I will listen to what you have to say presently.'
With a light and swinging step, as of one from whose mind a heavy
burden has been taken, the young rajah walked along the corridor, and
ran down the marble steps that led to the inner court of the palace.
The night was as dark as pitch; but torch-bearers were running by the
side of the horse, which had been saddled and was now being brought at
a quick trot across the paved court.
In a moment Tom was in his saddle.
Chunder Singh, who had been speaking to Ganesh, sprang forward.
'Excellency,' he said, in English. 'Listen to one word before you go.'
'Let it be short, then, Chunder. Snow-queen is as impatient as I am.
See how she is trembling,' and, he added under his breath, '_she_ shall
ride you to-morrow, little beauty!'
Chunder Singh, meantime, was faltering out his dreary warning, begging
him not to set his hopes too high, but to prepare for disappointment.
Disappointment! He laughed out merrily. He would not even answer the
well-meant, but foolish, words. He shook his bridle-rein, and touched
Snow-queen with his heel, and in a moment she was carrying him at
a quick trot through the arched gateway and out into the beautiful
market-place, which to-night was empty of people. The runners, carrying
torches, ran before them. The night air, heavily scented with the
breath of moist foliage and faded blossoms, swept by. He was madly,
fiercely, happy. This dark night-world was as a Paradise, in which
his trembling heart was uplifted till it moved in a heaven of bliss
for which words have no name. All his fine schemes, all his lofty
aspirations, with the curious mysticism which had become almost a part
of his being--where were they? Gone, as the vapours of morning go when
the full radiance of the day has come.
Disappointment! What fool's tongue spoke that word of ill-omen?
Hoosanee had come back--Hoosanee, who knew, who had read, the secret of
his heart--and Hoosanee had brought back fugitives. That she was not
amongst them would be impossible.
So terrible, so overpowering, was his joy, that there were moments
of that frantic ride when he felt as if he could not bear it--as if
it would kill him. Once, to the great solace of his light-carriers,
who, stalwart and swift as they were, could scarcely keep up with
him, he drew rein for a moment, and pressed his hand to his heart,
whose wild, passionate throbs seemed to be choking out his life. A
few moments--a few moments--and then--ah! there they are--a little
covered cart, stealing slowly down the road--men carrying lanterns
beside it--the guide, his noble Hoosanee, walking at the bullocks'
heads! Now, what an idiot he has been not to order out carriages!
She--they--should not thus make their entry into his palace. But it
is dark now, thank heaven! and storms are threatening, and no one is
abroad. To-morrow, when they are rested and refreshed, and clothed in
fine raiment--to-morrow they will drive in state through his city.
But surely Hoosanee has seen him--why does he not hasten forward? And
he is hanging his head, like one ashamed--he who has done this great
and noble deed. What does it mean?
He spurs on. The cart stops, and Hoosanee approaches him, bowing low.
'Is all well--is all well, Hoosanee?' cries the poor fellow.
'Excellency, your servant has done what he could.'
'I know it; but--my good fellow, don't torture me. She is safe?'
'Sahib, she is in the hands of the All-Merciful.'
'Dead?'
'Excellency, in a few moments I will tell you all. There are three
English ladies and a little child in the cart. They are fainting with
hunger and weariness. Will not your Honour speak to them?'
For a moment Tom's head sank upon his breast. He could not. Then,
making a fierce effort to recover himself, he dismounted, threw his
reins to one of the syces and went up to the cart.
A wild white face, set round with an aureole of yellow hair, looked
out at him. It was Lucy's.
'Oh!' she wailed. 'Where are we, and why are we stopping? Is this the
end?'
'It will be the end of your troubles, I hope, dearest lady,' said Tom
very gently.
'An English voice,' cried another lady hysterically. 'Thank God!'
'An English voice, and an English heart,' said the young rajah. 'I
am taking you to my house, dear ladies. Command me as if I were your
brother.'
He tried to go on, but he could not. The words choked him, and his
heart was like to burst. Motioning to Hoosanee to take the cart on, he
fell back behind it. As he went he heard the ladies' voices. They were
speaking joyfully one to the other, congratulating themselves on their
escape. Hungrily he listened, hoping still against hope that he might
have misinterpreted Hoosanee. He heard two voices--then a third, much
weaker than the other two, and, now and again, piercing his heart to a
pity that almost slew him, the feeble wailing of a little child; but
that voice, for the least of whose vibrations he would have given his
life, he heard not. And so, with a dull heart that had yet to realise
the fullness of its woe, he plodded on.
The syce brought up Snow-queen, but he refused to mount her. The
mechanical movement, the contact with the dull earth, seemed fittest
for him; now and then it would be to him even as if he were walking in
a funeral procession--as if his youth, and all the hope and gladness of
his life, were being carried out to be buried under fathoms of earth.
In the palace Chunder Singh and Aglaia had been busy, and everything
was ready for the reception of the ladies. Ah! how delightful it was
to the tired wanderers--all the little luxuries to which they were
accustomed, the deep baths filled with warm scented waters, and the
daintily spread meal, and the soft couches on which presently they
would rest their weary limbs, above all, the tender, the reverential
welcome. There was a solemnity--a sadness--about it that touched them
curiously. But none of them knew what it had cost their entertainer to
step forward as he did, and to hand them out of the cart, and to speak
those kind words of sympathy and welcome.
'I am thankful to God,' he said earnestly, 'that you have found your
way to me. You are safe here, for we are prepared for any number of
enemies. Do me the favour of treating my house as if it was your own.'
'Oh, thank you! thank you!' they cried in one breath. But poor little
Lucy, when the hand of the rajah touched hers, broke into a torrent of
tears. 'Can nothing be done for Grace?' she wailed.
'Is she alive?' said the rajah.
'Yes! Yes! Oh! she was carried away, and we let her go--she, who had
done so much for us! I shall never forgive myself that I did not go
with her. Couldn't I go now--couldn't some one?'
'I will see Hoosanee. I will try,' said Tom chokingly. 'I think--but
forgive me, I can't talk now, and you must rest. My people----'
From the corridor above a child's laugh rang out. Kit's mother, who was
one of the little company, so reduced in strength now that she could
scarcely speak, gave a little stifled cry, staggered forward, and would
have fallen had not Tom caught her in time. 'How foolish I am!' she
murmured. 'I thought it was Kit.'
'Your child,' said Tom tenderly, as, thinking of his own mother, he
took her up in his strong young arms.
'Yes, my little Kit,' she moaned. 'They took him away. They were going
to kill him; but they saw his beautiful curls, and they thought he was
a girl. I beg your pardon for being so foolish. I think I can walk.'
But he saw that she was weaker than she thought, and he would not put
her down until she was in the hands of Aglaia and her ayah.
Then he left them all to rest, sent a message to the Resident to let
him know that they had arrived safely, and, at last, when he was sure
that everything which hospitality demanded had been done, he sent for
Hoosanee.