There they waited for a long time. The sun rose high in the heavens, and, outside the summer-house, the air was like that of a heated oven; but here there were punkahs swinging slowly, and darkened windows, and splashing water, so that they scarcely felt the heat. Meantime attendants came and went, bringing them books and music and food and drink, and toys and pictures for the children; but, ask as they would, there came no message from the rajah.
'I cannot stand it,' cried Lucy at last. 'I had rather not be so comfortable. I will go out and see what it all means.'
'Go out into that sun! Don't behave like a mad girl! Do you wish to bring more trouble upon us? You think only of yourself,' said Kit's mother reproachfully.
And so, being, as I have said, a childish little creature, and accustomed to rebuke, Lucy sat on with red eyes and trembling fingers, trying to amuse herself and feel comfortable; but possessed, all the time, with a sense of sorrow and remorse that nearly crushed her.
At last, when the heat of the day was over, and the sky behind the trees that sheltered their retreat was all ablaze with gold and crimson, she saw Chunder Singh coming slowly towards them. His face was covered, and his head had dropped upon his breast, and in the dark eyes that looked out from the folds of his chuddah there was a strange glitter. Lucy had been running out to meet him; but when she saw those blazing eyes she withdrew.
'Something has happened,' she whispered to Aglaia. 'You know him better than we do, child. Ask him what it is!'
Then Aglaia ran out, and Lucy, who was trembling from head to foot, heard her little baby voice.
'Do bring Daddy-Tom,' she said. 'He hasn't been to see us all the day.'
'Missy,' said Chunder Singh, in grave, sad tones, 'ask Miss Sahib and the Mem Sahibs where his Excellency is.'
He was at the door of the summer-house, and as he spoke these ominous words, he looked round upon them searchingly.