[CHAPTER XXIX]
THE WELCOME OF A SORROWFUL SPIRIT
The rajah had returned from seeing off his troops, and he and Chunder Singh were shut up together in close conclave. For the first time since fate had so strangely thrown them together they had been having a serious difference of opinion. The subject that divided them was the written message which the rajah had received from Dost Ali Khan, and which ran as follows:
'To-morrow the Englishwoman you seek will be in my hands. Come to me for her. Ganesh will show you the way.'
After serious thought, Tom had come to the conclusion that it would be wise at once to obey this summons—a conclusion justified no doubt by the knowledge that rest and peace of mind would be perfectly impossible to him until he had tested its truth. Chunder Singh, on the other hand, who suspected a trap—he knew that Dost Ali Khan was anxious to separate Gumilcund from the English alliance—wished him not to act precipitately, but to endeavour, before putting himself in the power of so desperate a rebel, to find out what had actually been done by Hoosanee for the Nowgong fugitives.
The discussion waxed warm, and both men grew irritated. Tom insisted on starting at once. Chunder Singh used the most cogent arguments to stop him. Tom tore the arguments to shreds and tatters. Chunder Singh produced others, of an even more telling character, which, in their turn, were demolished by the ardent youth. At last Chunder Singh showed mutinous symptoms. He couched his resistance, indeed, in the most decorous language, being as prodigal as usual of submissive words and high-sounding titles, but beneath the velvet glove the iron hand was hidden. The rajah was made to understand that, having accepted the raj, he belonged to the people over whom he ruled, and that they would protect him, even against himself, if such a step was necessary. His late expedition had caused much murmuring. Having received him back in safety from the very jaws of death, the people did not feel disposed to allow him to risk his life again. He, Chunder Singh, would, in such case, be called to account. He besought his master, for all these reasons, to be patient, hinting pretty broadly that impatience would serve no good purpose, since he would not be allowed to thrust his head into any robber's den, even for the sake of a charming young lady.
This was expressed with so much deference, and brought out in such a roundabout manner, that it was some time before its actual significance dawned upon Tom. When he did understand his wrath was extreme. Forgetting, for a moment, the Oriental manners, in which he had taken such pains to perfect himself, he stormed at his Indian counsellor in the good old English fashion. What did the fellow take him for—a fool, or an idiot? Did he really suppose that he would allow himself to be dictated to? He strongly advised him to keep for the future to his own department, and to understand that, as far as his personal action was concerned, he intended to keep a free hand. He would exercise his own judgment with regard to his movements, and come and go at his own pleasure, without deigning to consult any of them. To all this Chunder Singh listened with an unmoved countenance. His face was a mask, behind which his irritated young master tried in vain to look. If he was surprised, if he was angry, if he was determined, it was not possible to say. They had reached this point—an uncomfortable sort of deadlock—when Tom heard light, flying footsteps in the corridor, and, looking out, saw his little friend, Aglaia, running breathless towards his room.
'What is it, darling?' he said. 'Do you want me?'
She ran into his arms. 'Ganesh says they are coming,' she cried, 'and ayah wants me to go to bed. Mayn't I stay up to see them?'
'Who are coming, dear? What does Ganesh say?'