So the days wore on. October passed away and November opened. It was such a November as has scarcely ever been seen even in Gumilcund. The burning heat of the summer and early autumn were over, and the glory and brightness of the Indian winter, the deep skies, the sunny days, the entrancing mornings and evenings had begun to be felt. The garden, with its overspreading foliage, its wildernesses of flowers, crimson and purple and orange; its arbours, covered with azure-blue convolvulus and lilac Bougainvillea, and its long avenues bordered with channels of flowing water, was in perfection. It was a happiness to explore it, a bliss to breathe its air. If anything could heal Grace, so they said to one another, it would surely be the beauty of this Indian winter. By the doctor's advice she spent her life in the open air. A wonderful couch and carriage in one had been designed, for her by the rajah, and skilfully executed by some of the clever Gumilcund mechanics. In this she was wheeled from place to place, making new and delightful discoveries every day. To those who watched her it would seem that, for days, her life was nothing more than a dream. But there were moments still when she was stirred up to a strong interest in life.
Such a moment was that when news came to Gumilcund of the final relief of the Lucknow Residency.
It arrived late in the evening. None of the ladies in the palace will ever forget that day. They were together in a little grove by the lake. They had been having tea out of the jewelled cups, which with other lovely things Tom had hunted out of his father's treasury to tempt Grace to eat and drink. After tea, Trixy, who, expecting news, had been in a state of irrepressible excitement for several days, seized upon the tiny boat, rocking in front of them, spun it out into the lake, and tried to quiet herself by pouring out some of her favourite songs. Those in the grove listened silently. They had been talking, trying to amuse one another and forget the intolerable ache of suspense. When Trixy's clear young voice came thrilling out on the evening air they all felt thankful for an excuse to be quiet.
A pretty group they made under the quivering light and shade of the acacias; Grace, on her long couch, her hands and face almost transparent now, but beautiful still, with a seraphic unearthly loveliness that can scarcely be put into words; and near her sweet Lady Elton, with Aglaia at her feet; then Kit, who had been a little sombre since Bertie left, leaning against his mother, half asleep, she with her arm round him, an expression of peace on her thin, worn face; in the centre of the group Lucy, robed in the white cashmere that was now her favourite wear, lying at full length on a tiger's skin, her pretty head supported on her folded arms, as she gazed with wide-open eyes into the waning glories of the evening sky; and at a little distance from Lucy, holding on her knee, in a state of complete eclipse, rosy baby Dick, whose mother had gone inside to prepare for the high ceremony of his evening toilet, the slight figure of Mrs. Lyster, her fingers playing absently with the baby's silken curls, as she looked out before her with gloomy eyes. It was Kit who brought life into the picture. He saw the rajah coming towards them, flourishing a letter in his hand. 'Post! Post!' he cried, rushing to meet him. 'Post!' echoed one and another; and in a moment all but Grace were on their feet.
Trixy heard the cry. For a second her brave heart almost failed her; then, calling all her resolution to her aid, she threw herself upon the oars, drew them through the water with the vigour of ten, and, in less time than it takes to tell, was on shore and racing Kit down the avenue. In the next instant she had seen Bertie's handwriting, had torn the letter open, had understood at a glance that the news was good, and was rushing back at full speed to the group by the lake.
When she reached them she was much too breathless to speak, but her face spoke for her. Lady Elton got up, and put her arms round her, for this brave, healthy young creature was swaying to and fro as if she would fall. That was enough for her. 'Don't, mother,' she whispered hoarsely, 'you will make me cry; and there's nothing to cry about.' Then Grace, who had seemed to be asleep a moment before, held out her arms, and Trixy fell into them with something like a sob. 'Let me go, my sweet little Grace,' she murmured. 'I don't even know what the silly boy has said yet.'
But by this time the rajah, who looked particularly young and handsome, was amongst them.
'I don't know what Captain Liston says, of course,' he said, looking round on them with a triumphant smile, 'but I have a message from Sir Colin himself. It was a hard fight; but they have done their work, and our Gumilcund guide-corps, as well as the men with the convoy, have done splendidly. It will be good news in the city. I expect we shall illuminate, and have all sorts of festivities to-morrow.'
'What fun!' said Lucy faintly; but she was looking towards Trixy with anxious eyes. That young person, who was once more the mistress of herself and the situation, had taken a seat under the swinging lamp, which Hoosanee had been considerate enough to hang up among the trees, and was unfolding Bertie's letter, parts of which she read aloud for the benefit of everyone.
It had been begun on the evening of the day when Sir Henry Havelock and the gallant Outram had shaken hands with Sir Colin Campbell. He had not been able, however, to despatch it at once, and he added a few lines on the following day. Several more important points had been gained; the rebels were completely demoralised, and flying in every direction; the line of retreat for the besieged had been organised, and the women and children and invalids were then being carried out to the Dilkoosha, where they were to rest for a night. Cawnpore, he believed, was to be their next halt. Lucy's father and mother were safe. He had seen her husband meeting them; they looked haggard and wasted; but already they were on the fair way to revival. Colonel Durant had won honour in the assault. He had himself had one glorious moment, about which he would entertain Trixy later. Sir Colin Campbell was one of the best men and finest soldiers it had ever been his lot to serve under. He would willingly lay down his life for him. In the meantime, though smarting in every joint from the exertions of the preceding day, he was thankful to say that he was sound in mind and limb. The Gumilcund men were trumps, every one of them. But of their gallant conduct the rajah would no doubt hear from other sources. To him, and the rest of the English society in the palace and Residency, he sent warmest greetings. The messages to herself, whose perusal occupied a few moments, Trixy did not think it necessary to give.