With a light and swinging step, as of one from whose mind a heavy burden has been taken, the young rajah walked along the corridor, and ran down the marble steps that led to the inner court of the palace. The night was as dark as pitch; but torch-bearers were running by the side of the horse, which had been saddled and was now being brought at a quick trot across the paved court.
In a moment Tom was in his saddle.
Chunder Singh, who had been speaking to Ganesh, sprang forward. 'Excellency,' he said, in English. 'Listen to one word before you go.'
'Let it be short, then, Chunder. Snow-queen is as impatient as I am. See how she is trembling,' and, he added under his breath, 'she shall ride you to-morrow, little beauty!'
Chunder Singh, meantime, was faltering out his dreary warning, begging him not to set his hopes too high, but to prepare for disappointment.
Disappointment! He laughed out merrily. He would not even answer the well-meant, but foolish, words. He shook his bridle-rein, and touched Snow-queen with his heel, and in a moment she was carrying him at a quick trot through the arched gateway and out into the beautiful market-place, which to-night was empty of people. The runners, carrying torches, ran before them. The night air, heavily scented with the breath of moist foliage and faded blossoms, swept by. He was madly, fiercely, happy. This dark night-world was as a Paradise, in which his trembling heart was uplifted till it moved in a heaven of bliss for which words have no name. All his fine schemes, all his lofty aspirations, with the curious mysticism which had become almost a part of his being—where were they? Gone, as the vapours of morning go when the full radiance of the day has come.
Disappointment! What fool's tongue spoke that word of ill-omen? Hoosanee had come back—Hoosanee, who knew, who had read, the secret of his heart—and Hoosanee had brought back fugitives. That she was not amongst them would be impossible.
So terrible, so overpowering, was his joy, that there were moments of that frantic ride when he felt as if he could not bear it—as if it would kill him. Once, to the great solace of his light-carriers, who, stalwart and swift as they were, could scarcely keep up with him, he drew rein for a moment, and pressed his hand to his heart, whose wild, passionate throbs seemed to be choking out his life. A few moments—a few moments—and then—ah! there they are—a little covered cart, stealing slowly down the road—men carrying lanterns beside it—the guide, his noble Hoosanee, walking at the bullocks' heads! Now, what an idiot he has been not to order out carriages! She—they—should not thus make their entry into his palace. But it is dark now, thank heaven! and storms are threatening, and no one is abroad. To-morrow, when they are rested and refreshed, and clothed in fine raiment—to-morrow they will drive in state through his city.
But surely Hoosanee has seen him—why does he not hasten forward? And he is hanging his head, like one ashamed—he who has done this great and noble deed. What does it mean?
He spurs on. The cart stops, and Hoosanee approaches him, bowing low.