By this time the three other girls were stirring, and Trixy, who wished to be the first to hear the good news, went out into the compound.
It was scarcely day, for the sun had not leapt above the hard rim of the horizon; but there was a bright diffused light in the sky, and the night-breeze was sinking to rest. This was the hour when, in the dear old days of peace and freedom, they used to return from their morning ride, she and Bertie, as often as not, riding together, and Maud and Lucy, each with her own attendant, laughing and talking in front of them. They never talked seriously. That was not their way. Grace was the only serious one of the family. Banter, and chaff, and jokes, whose very feebleness made them laugh, formed the staple of their talk. Then would come the gay little breakfast in their lovely verandah, crimson and purple and azure-blue flowers peeping in at them between the pillars, and the foliage of their glorious fig-tree making a screen against the sun. As in a dream Trixy saw it all—her gentle mother and Mildred, who was too timid to ride, waiting for them, and the guests who would drop in—the gallant young colonel of General Elton's favourite regiment, who had paid with his life for his reckless confidence in his men, and the judge of the High Court, with his delightful inimitable stories of Hindu and Eurasian pleaders: he had gone too, dying at his post like a gallant gentleman: and his daughter, pretty Ellice Meredith, whom they all loved, although she could not do much more than quote 'papa'; Ellice, who had died of fright and anguish when she heard the awful news—these and many others, some with them, and some taken away; but all changed. 'I wonder,' said poor little Trixy to herself, 'if we shall ever, ever have the heart to laugh again.'
She did not feel much like laughing then; but, in the next moment, to her own great surprise, she found herself laughing heartily. The figure which provoked this explosion—it was that of a tall man wrapped in a white garment, having his forehead streaked with red and white clay, and carrying a staff in his hand—joined in her laugh, and then said, with some touch of disappointment, 'I didn't think you would know me at once.'
'Didn't you, Bertie?' cried the girl. 'Well, I'm sorry I disappointed you; but I'm ridiculously keen-sighted everyone says, and then I know you so well. Try some one else.'
'I have tried the General. He was quite at sea; thought I had come in with some wicked intention.'
'But what is it for?' asked Trixy.
'I am going out with the faquir.'
'Oh!' she gasped. 'Why?'
'Didn't we agree that some one ought to go?' he said.
'Yes; but——' She paused to check down her tears.