'Yes; yes; come along! Aglaia has more sense than all of us put together,' said Lucy.
'Oh! but is all right? How shall I bear it? How shall I bear it?' cried Mrs. Durant.
'It will soon be over. Have courage for a few more moments! Ah! if I had only your hope!' said Mrs. Lyster.
'I beg your pardon, dear,' murmured Mrs. Durant. 'I had forgotten.'
They went together into the hall, where they found everything in readiness for them. Beautifully-shaded lamps, which diffused a warm glow over the apartment, were lighted; the water in the fountain in the midst of the hall, and in the channels that ran through it, was stirring briskly; and on the daïs at the upper end, which was decorated with Persian rugs and embroidered curtains from famous Indian looms, their usual evening meal was spread out. With its delicately-wrought pavement, its sculptured pillars, its flowers and ferns and gaily-plumaged birds, it was a room to make the mouth of the modern æsthete water. But the English ladies were accustomed to its beauty, and to-night they had no thoughts for it. They were given up to listening, to watching for that which was to come. Moments passed into minutes, and never surely were minutes so tardy in their flight. Louder, meanwhile, and louder grew the tumult below. Lucy threatened to veil herself and run outside, but the others held her back. Sumbaten would rush out, stay away a few moments, and come back with a sensational piece of news. They listened with white faces, all but Aglaia, whose eyes were dancing, and whose face was bright with colour.
At last, when their patience was nearly at an end, they heard the gates of the palace open. Then the sound of many voices came floating through the courts and passages and staircases that separated their apartments from the outer enclosure, and Sumbaten came rushing in to cry out that the rajah had come in.
And now little Lucy set her teeth together, and Mrs. Durant gave a low moan. 'Look out,' she whispered to Mrs. Lyster. 'I dare not.' But in the next instant she was flying across the hall, with a wild cry of joy, 'Kit! Kit! I hear him!'
She had heard him—the little silver voice that she had thought never upon earth to hear again had rung out clearly above all those others. 'Kit! Kit!' It was all over then—the anguish, the suspense, the horror of great darkness. Kit, her own golden-haired Kit, was safe. But another cry, a cry shrill and joyous, echoes through the palace court. He is in front, of course—the enterprising little hero; all these people are so slow and so stately that he cannot wait for them. He has penetrated to the foot of the great staircase that leads up to the ladies' court and hall. There he catches a glimpse of his mother's pale face irradiated with joy. 'Mother!' he cries.
'Kit, my little Kit, my darling!' She has him in her arms. She is kissing him, fondling him, breathing sweet nothings over him as if he were a baby. It is all very pleasant, of course, but to a hero of Kit's standing just a little humiliating.
'Thank you, mother dear,' he says. 'I'm awfully glad too! But look here!' drawing himself gently away. 'Couldn't you kiss me presently? I don't mind it, you know. I like it. But there are such a lot of people here just now, and we're blocking up the way.' Put down upon his feet, he smoothed his ruffled plumes, and looked round him with dignity. 'Ah!' seeing Lucy close by, 'here's some one else I know. How do you do, Lucy?'