'And yet,' filled in his companion, 'she can be bright enough sometimes. Yes; that is just what I told you before, she has her hours. And' (mysteriously) 'I will tell you a curious thing. That Brahmin, with the wild face and unpronounceable name, does her more good than anyone else. He came in yesterday, just before dinner. I was in the hall with her, and I stayed because I was curious; but of course I was not quick enough at Hindoostani to pick up all they said. You remember how calm she looked in the evening. We all remarked it. But it was so before. She is easier, brighter altogether, when she has been having one of her long wild talks with that wild man.'
'Why wild, Mrs. Lyster?'
'Why, because, so far as I can make out, they seem to be scaling heights and plunging into depths of which we poor mortals have no idea. But I will tell you one thing that struck me, his manner to her. We—well! he doesn't take any notice of us. I don't believe he sees us. He treats her with a reverence that, coming from a man like him, is one of the most touching things I have ever met with in all my experience. It is just as if' (in an awed tone) 'he was talking to one on the other side.'
'Don't, don't!' cried Tom piteously. He was trembling even to the lips, which were ashy pale; but he made a feeble effort to smile. 'You come of an imaginative race, Mrs. Lyster,' he said. 'I understand that, of course. But for heaven's sake, let us have prose, not poetry! It would be too dreadful to let her slip through our fingers now! Can nothing be done?'
'We shall know more when her mother comes,' said Mrs. Lyster. And that was all.
The young rajah went to his work that morning with a heart so full that it seemed to him as if bands of steel, growing harder and tighter every moment, were winding themselves about him, and pressing out his life. Like a mournful voice—an echo of something he had heard before, Mrs. Lyster's words repeated themselves in his brain. 'On the other side.' What if there was some strange, mystical truth in them? What if in that trance the pure, strong spirit had winged its flight to the heavenly sphere—had found its home there—and now was only kept to its earthly tabernacle by their love, and tears, and prayers? It was a terrible thought. Again and again he tried to put it away from him, but it returned unceasingly, through that long and miserable day, taking the strangest forms, as it swept through his mind. In the evening, when he went up to the hall, he half expected to hear that Grace was worse. But she was in her place, and though she was as pale and fragile as usual, she greeted him with a smile of unusual brightness.
Dinner over, he sat down by her couch. 'Grace, dearest,' he said, 'I wish you would tell me what you and Vishnugupta talk about when you are together. I am, in some sort, a protégé of his, and yet, do you know, I have never been able to draw him out, as you do?'
Grace looked up at him, an expression of childlike wonder in her eyes. 'Draw him out!' she echoed. 'I don't think I quite understand.'
'Well, then, make him talk.'
'Ah!' she said, smiling. 'But, indeed, it is quite the contrary. He has made me talk.'