'See what, Trixy?'
'That is for you to say, not me,' she said, dropping a little curtsey. 'But I am better now; and so, I hope, are you. Tell me about Tom. Does the faquir come from him?'
'I think so. The man brought a letter for your father or mother. It is only a scrap of paper. He carried it in a quill, which he says he could have swallowed if he had been searched. Will you take it in?'
'They were both asleep when I came out,' said Trixy, 'so I think I may venture to read it.'
She opened the little roll, read the words it contained, and gave a joyful exclamation. They were as follows:—
'I have just come back from Jhansi, with fugitives. Nowgong has risen, but there has been no violence; and my men are on the track of your daughter Grace. I hope she will be brought in to-morrow.
'Thomas Gregory,
'Rajah of Gumilcund.'
'There was another letter for our General,' said Bertie, when Trixy had read these words to him. 'It contained an urgent request that some trustworthy and intelligent person should be sent to him. He suggested this disguise, and I got myself up in it with the help of the faquir.'
'When will you start?' said Trixy, who was trying to speak firmly.
'The faquir thinks we had better wait until dusk. After we are outside it will be all right, for our supposed sacred character will ensure us respect. But no one must see us leaving the station.'
'Then come in and breakfast with us, and we shall see if the others recognise you.'