He remembered his boyish choice of a profession. If he could not be amongst those who, by their thought and genius, build up the destinies of men and nations, he would, he said, build houses for them to dwell in, and temples where they could worship. He had entered upon the lower task; suddenly and unexpectedly he had been called to the higher. What did it mean? Had he really the constructive power, of which, in his boyish ignorance, he had boasted? And if so—ah! if so—how was he to use it?

As these thoughts succeeded one another through his mind, they took gradually a wider range. Beyond his own narrow individuality, beyond the little city and the busy crowd, they wandered, till, as in a vision, he seemed to see the truth at which as yet he had but dimly guessed. He did not stand alone. He was one in a chain. Purposes, strongly linked together, had been passed on from hand to hand, each in turn strengthening them with its own formative will, till at last in their cumulative force they should be powerful enough to move the world. He saw now that it was not for her own sake, nor even for the sakes of those who dwelt within her walls, that Gumilcund had grown up from the desert and taken a place amongst the cities of the world. She was to be an example—a living type of what might be, on a large scale and everywhere, when wealth and science and the white heat of enthusiasm—that heat in which self perishes—are brought together and allowed unchecked to exercise their influence upon the life and destiny of nations. They—his predecessors—had been able to do no more than give the sign. The prejudices of their friends of the West, and the circumstances of their own lives, narrowed down to the small issues of an Asiatic society, had tied their hands. To him—a child of the West in a truer sense than they could ever have been—belonged the larger life. Had he the strength and wisdom to use it as he should? He would at least try. And then his thoughts flew to Grace—his white dove—his darling. She had the wisdom that he lacked. She had more than wisdom. She had heroism, and the passion of self-renunciation and deep spiritual insight, which, however we may imagine of ourselves, are better understood and more widely appreciated in the East than in the West. Grace! But would she—could she—help him? His mind strayed back over the past few days, blissful for all their suffering, and his lips parted in a smile of hope. She had said she loved him. The sweet confession, true, he knew, as she was true, was still ringing in his ears. Would she, then, do what his mother could not? Would she give up country and race and come to him? Would she live here in Gumilcund, letting the beautiful radiance of her woman's life shine through and overcome the mists of custom, and the harsh and cruel caste-prejudices, which have separated Hinduism from the rest of the world and made of its votaries a people apart? That was the question which the next few days must decide.

There rose a vision before him, as he thought. He seemed to see in imagination how his hand, in passing on the sacred trust, might impress a new form upon it. His predecessors had founded a State and built a city. He might mould a society. His thoughts, having reached this stage, were becoming incoherent and wild, when Hoosanee, who had heard him stirring, came in with his morning meal. Hoosanee looked superb. He was dressed in snowy white, while a turban of pale gold, in the front of which glittered a small diamond star, given to him long ago by Byrajee Pirtha Raj, surrounded his dusky brows and fell in voluminous folds to his waist.

'Why, Hoosanee,' said Tom, raising himself on his elbow, 'how gorgeous you are this morning! You look much more of a prince than I do.'

'My master must remember that he is not in the jungle,' said Hoosanee, his dark face flushing with pleasure.

'And the gay dress is the sign of the joyful heart,' said Tom. 'Well! I think you are right. Have you any news for me?'

'Yes, Excellency. I have seen my sister, Sumbaten, and the little baba, Aglaia. Grace Sahib slept well last night, and she is sleeping still.'

'Thank heaven!' said Tom fervently. 'I hope they will not awake her. And the other ladies, Hoosanee——'

'There is one who would have speech of your Excellency. I met her in the house in the garden, where the mem sahibs take choto hasari. She asked me many questions. The last time we saw her, Sahib,' said Hoosanee, a smile overspreading his face, 'it was the work of the rajah's servant to put questions to her.'

'Ah! poor Mrs. Lyster! And admirably you did it!' said Tom, laughing. 'I wonder, by the bye, if she thinks you artful still.'