CHAPTER XI
The next morning when Mercia awoke and found herself in this luxurious bedchamber, surrounded by every comfort that modern invention could bestow; for every article of utility represented some rare work of art; and every imaginable want was supplied by the most ingenious arrangements; it seemed to her that she had gone through a series of delightful scenes in a dream of wonderful vividness.
The recollection of the previous evening, in which so much was seen, and so much experienced, made it difficult to believe that it possessed any greater solidity than the pictures in some stereoscopic arrangement. But the great fact that a new and supreme joy reigned in her bosom—that she loved, and was beloved—proved convincing evidence of its reality. For the first time in her life she felt the supreme happiness—the unutterable joy of this unique exaltation that comes once, or perhaps twice, in a lifetime to every human being.
When she had descended the magnificently carved staircase that led into the reception rooms, she was met by Swami himself, who conducted her into the breakfast-room where an inviting meal was awaiting her. The most nourishing dishes, where the palate and the digestion were equally considered being placed on the table by native servants, as soon as she had put in an appearance, to which she paid fair justice.
She was in excellent spirits; notwithstanding the thought of the ordeal that lay before her; for nothing could damp, or depress them while under the influence of the present bliss, and future dignities promised her.
Swami, too, looked supremely happy. A quiet, suppressed joy beamed in his deep, dreamy eyes, which shed its light over his expressive countenance. His voice too, had a special softness in its tone, that was peculiarly charming to Mercia’s sensitive ear.
It was, in truth, the most delightful meal for these two beings that had been their lot to partake of; the lives of both having been hitherto solitary, laborious, and even ascetic to some extent.
‘Now, isn’t this delightful!’ laughed Mercia, gaily. ‘How nice everything tastes when one has good company! King Solomon knew what he was talking about when he uttered oracularly—“Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than the stalled ox,” et cetera; but in our case we score heavily, having the enjoyment of both commodities.’
‘The proverb holds good all the same;’ replied Swami; ‘with thee, my Life, the dinner of herbs would be a banquet, for thy face is a continual feast for me; thy presence would sweeten the coarsest fare.’
‘When I enter my kingdom, Swami—but there—I cannot realise my future glory—I feel that this is greatness thrust upon me! I cannot conceive why the people of India should think of me—me—a poor astronomer! I have no regal blood in my veins—no glorious ancestry to boast of.
‘It is true my mother accomplished some good for the women of India, devoting a great part of her life in the promotion of their welfare; but that can scarcely bring any weight to the balance in my favour, in such a case as this: the whole matter to my mind is inexplicable,’ said she reflectively.
Swami smiled, as he watched the puzzled look upon her face, for of course it was all clear enough to him why the people of India had picked her out as the representative of their country’s eminence and glory; after a pause, he thought it no harm to tell her somewhat of the situation.
‘There are but two topics talked of just now, not only throughout this Empire but the whole world. They form subject for conversation everywhere. The Court; the spirit café, the theatre, the club, the dinner-table; the street corner, the race-course, wherever men congregate, or women either, the chief food for talk is The Great Test Tournament, and the impeachment for high treason, of Mercia, the Astronomer Royal, and her two friends—Geometrus, the Assistant Astronomer, and Sadbag the Politician.
‘It is well known how the case stands, for Sadbag gave it to the whole world immediately before his imprisonment. Everyone believes in thine innocence, and the Emperor’s guilt. They say he ought to be indicted for perjury—but from his position that is impossible. There are even now hundreds of letters in thy counsel’s keeping expressive of the sympathy of every country. France offers thee a similar position in her Empire as that thou hast resigned here, Russia does the same, even before they know the issue of the trial; but when thine innocence is proved beyond dispute, every country will vie with each other in showing thee honour; the only method open to them of displaying their contempt of Felicitas’ unworthy conduct. A two-fold motive will inspire India to top them all in glorifying thee. One is sincere admiration for thy character and attainments, the other is the punishment of their country’s tyrant, by the promotion of one he sought to ruin; for it was Felicitas’ influence which made the World’s Tribunal Trial of no account for India.
‘For this reason they do not bless him—they curse him by electing thee—his enemy—an enemy of his own making—for of all men thou shouldst despise him utterly.’
‘I do heartily despise him—he’s the meanest cur I know,’ remarked Mercia excitedly; ‘he is capable of saying anything to save his own skin: he had scarcely finished protesting how much he loved me, when to suit the situation he turned round and made a false charge against me, and my two friends who were witnesses of my innocence.’
‘That matches my experience of him to a tee,’ returned Swami, who was growing quite communicative with Mercia. ‘He came yesterday to have his fortune told; he wished to learn the issue of the trial, hoping all would go well with him. I showed him the principal phases of the trial, projected on the psychic-plate beneath the stereoscopic crystal, the sight of which made him boil with anger—he was vexed beyond description, and for my pains in bringing out these splendid psychodevelopments I only got his growlings to the effect that he wished he had never troubled himself at all to seek my aid. “Thou wouldst have me curse, when I can only bless,” said I, and gave him good counsel, at which he fumed impatiently. But of all vacillating hounds, I think he takes the cake. One moment love, or rather desire, then fear, envy, revenge, swayed him by turns: he changed about like a weathercock moved by every wind.
‘However, fear was uppermost in his mind, all through, and reached its climax when he beheld the pictures, so finally he decided to take his flight to Berlin where he intends remaining until the trial be well over, and all its attendant gossip grown stale, as he hopes.
‘But the 1st of May will bring him back; he cannot miss the Great Test Tournament which quickly follows to-day’s event. Both will end disastrously for him, and none will say “he’s sorry.”’
‘I’m sorry I can’t feel sorry either,’ remarked Mercia laughingly. ‘But Swami, I must away now, and explain to my counsel this new aspect of affairs. He must be prepared for the changes that have taken place last night—the Emperor’s withdrawal of the suit; his flight, and my discharge from prison. It is necessary that he be made acquainted with these altered conditions, and shape his course accordingly.’
‘My carriage is in readiness for thee, Mercia, at any moment thou art ready to depart. Shall I accompany thee, or no?’
‘I would prefer seeing him alone, dear Swami, I am not prepared to make my lawyer my confessor, as would be almost necessary if I were in thy company at such a time. But I count upon thy presence near me at the trial, for few are my friends. I have led the life of a recluse almost, so great has been my devotion to my work, and this is how that ingrate has rewarded me. Farewell, dearest, for one hour only—in that time I will see thee at the court.’ And Mercia stepping into the well-appointed carriage belonging to Swami was driven away to the barrister’s.