“I have never sung since I left England,” she said, greatly moved.
Heideck had listened to the music with rapture. After the fearful scenes of recent times the melodies affected him so deeply that his eyes filled with tears. It was not only the music that affected him, but Edith’s soul, which spoke through it.
“What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Kennedy?” he asked the old gentleman. “Shall you remain in Simla and keep Mrs. Irwin with you?”
“I have thought it over,” he replied. “I shall not stay here. I shall go to Calcutta, if I can. It is my duty to be at my post there.”
“But how do you intend to travel? The railways still in existence have been seized for the exclusive use of the army. Remember that you would have to pass both armies, the Russian and the English. You would have to go from Kalka to Ambala, and thence to Delhi.”
“If I could get a passport, I could travel post to Delhi, where I should be with the English army. Can you get me a passport?”
“I will try. Possibly Prince Tchajawadse may be persuaded to let me have one. I will point out to him that you are civilian officials.”
. . . . . . .
Prince Tchajawadse most emphatically refused to make out the passport for Mr. Kennedy and his family.
“I am very sorry, my friend,” said he, “but it is simply impossible. The Judge-Advocate-General is a very high official; I cannot allow him to go to the English headquarters and give information as to what is going on here. The authorities would justly put a very bad construction upon such ill-timed amiability, and I should not like to obliterate the good impression which the success of the expedition to Simla has made upon my superiors by an unpardonable act of folly on my own part.”