'It will not be sometimes—it will be always, when you get better,' said Tom earnestly.
But there was a pang at his heart, for all his cheerful words. For the first time, since he saw her lying insensible in the hermit's hut in the jungle, a feeling of despair swept over his young soul.
He would not—he could not—give place to it. Turning away, lest she should read it in his eyes, he met a look of sympathy from Mrs. Lyster. She was far too wise to put it into words, and he found, somewhat to his relief, that he must arouse himself, for there was more to be done.
The Resident had sent word that, with his visitors, he would call upon the ladies that evening, and Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, and several other distinguished Indians, who in the rajah's absence had been diligent in inquiries and offers of assistance, had asked permission to wait upon them also.
It had been decided that the reception should be held in the little pillared hall, which had been hung with garlands and banners for the occasion. Lucy and Mrs. Durant thought it was about time to go down. Grace was asked what she would do. Seeing Tom's wistful eyes fixed upon her, she said that she would like to be present, if she might be quiet. She had a curious dread of being alone in those days. But when she tried to rise, she found that she was too weak. Tears of vexation filled her eyes, but before they had time to fall, the rajah and Bâl Narîn, and Hoosanee and Ganesh had sprung to her couch, and it was lifted up with all its flowing draperies, as if it had been a featherweight, and carried down the steps; Grace smiling through her tears and begging them not to hurt themselves—to be sure to put her down if she was too heavy—an entreaty that made the stout Indians laugh.
'Put me a little out of everyone's way,' she had said to Tom. So he found an arbour-like corner for her, beautifully shaded with palms and tree-ferns, whence she could see everything that went on in the brilliantly-lighted hall, without being much seen herself. There he put the couch down. The Indians retired, and he stooped over her. 'Is that right, Grace?'
'Perfectly right. I shall enjoy myself looking and listening. And now, Tom, you must leave me. The Resident and the others will be here directly.'
'I suppose I must,' he said regretfully. 'I will come back again in a few moments, to see how you are.'
And so Grace lay quietly in her corner, and the anguish in her heart—the phantom that was continually rising up to mock her—was at rest for a few moments, while, like images in a dream, the busy little crowd that soon filled the hall, came and went.
The Resident and the two English officers, and Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, were brought up to speak to her. They spoke feelingly, congratulating her on her escape. She found a few simple words with which to answer them; but she could not say much, and the rajah took care that she should not be made to talk more than she liked.