There was another anxiety pressing upon them. Through all these days no word had been heard of Grace. Whether the troops at Nowgong had been faithful, or whether they had risen, no one at Meerut knew. To poor Lady Elton, watching by her husband, and looking at the pale faces of her girls, as they came and went sorrowfully, doing what they could to help her, it would seem sometimes as if Grace was the dearest of all.
She was her first-born. It was her little plaintive voice, and the touch of her baby-hands, that had awakened in her heart the rapturous joys of motherhood. From beautiful girlhood she had blossomed under her eyes into a womanhood that was no less lovely. Always gentle, always good—too good, the mother said to herself now, with a contraction of heart that almost made her swoon. And it was not only the dread of losing her. If she had lain where her father lay, if they had known that in a short time she would breathe her sweet life away, bitter as the pang would have been, she might have borne it. It was this horror worse than death—this uncertainty—that slew her. It numbed her senses, till she wondered at her own indifference. It shattered her faith, so that, forgetting the others—the young creatures who depended upon her—she cried out piteously to a cruel God to slay her, and then wept and bemoaned herself over her own wickedness and hardness of heart.
Sometimes those about her saw a wild look in her eyes, as if she would do some desperate deed. Yaseen Khan, the faithful bearer, who could read her face as if it were an open book, saw it, and, late one night, when he and she were alone watching, he crept to Trixy's bedside and awoke her. 'Mem Sahib is ill,' he said, brokenly. 'Let Missy Sahib come and see.'
In a moment Trixy was on her feet. They all slept in those days so as to be ready for any alarm. 'What is it, Yaseen?' she said.
He led the way to the General's bedside, and Trixy saw her mother, whom she had left sitting beside him quietly in dressing-gown and slippers, putting on her boots and throwing a shawl about her shoulders. She looked up when the girl approached her. 'I am glad you have come, dear,' she said very quietly. 'Father is asleep; I think he will do now, so I am going to look for Grace. You will help Yaseen to take care of him while I am away.'
'But, darling,' said Trixy, flinging her strong young arms about her mother, and making her sit down, 'you can't now. It is the middle of the night.'
'That is why,' whispered poor Lady Elton; 'don't you see, you little goose, that they won't let me go in the daytime? Now, like a good child, loose me. There will be plenty of time for kisses when Grace comes back.'
'Mother darling, you are dreaming. Will you leave us all, father and the rest of us? And you couldn't find her alone. Mother, listen to me. God help us!' cried the poor child, 'she doesn't understand. Yaseen, help me! She will die if she goes out.'
'She will die! she will die!' echoed the poor fellow. 'Missy Sahib, it is of no use.'
'It is of use, and she shall not die. Yaseen, you are an idiot,' cried Trixy. 'Call Maud Sahib, and run as fast as you can for the doctor.'