Then came the turn of Mrs. Durant and the gallant Kit. Colonel Durant had been able to provide an escort for his wife and son to Calcutta, whence he wished them to proceed directly to England. He wrote to Tom as to an Eastern prince, thanking him earnestly for his protection and help, and asking if he could be of any use to him with the Government. Tom wrote that the consciousness of having been of service to English people was a more than sufficient reward for all he had done. If, however, he might be allowed not to lose sight of Kit, who was a charming little fellow, and his particular friend, he would take it as a kindness.
Kit was exceedingly reluctant to go. He did not see, he said, why they could not stay with the rajah. Gumilcund, he was sure, was quite as good as London, and Bâl Narîn taught him all he wanted to know. But Kit had to leave, his protest notwithstanding.
The Nepaulese shikari, who had continued to be Kit's devoted attendant, left Gumilcund at the same time as his chota Sahib, with whom he meant to travel as far as Calcutta. Bâl Narîn, so far as means were concerned, was now a gentleman at large, Tom having settled upon him a sufficient income to enable him to live in comfort and without toil for the rest of his days. It was his intention now to see the world. Besides Lady Elton, whom the General was urging to return to Meerut, preparatorily to a start for England, which he meditated shortly, there were now in the palace only Lucy, Mrs. Lyster, and Aglaia.
Lucy's husband, who was on active service, could easily have made arrangements for her to go to the hills; but she begged to remain at Gumilcund, and, as there was no particular reason why she should move, Captain Robertson accepted with gratitude the rajah's proposal that she should make her home in his city until his own active service was over. Being Bertie Liston's comrade, he knew more about the Rajah of Gumilcund than Colonel Durant.
Mrs. Lyster, whose husband and baby were gone, had no ties in India. The dear ones at home were drawing her; but they were provided for, and there was no need for hurry. When plans were talked over, she agreed gladly to remain in Gumilcund, looking after the little Aglaia until they could both be sent home. Of Aglaia's present departure there was no question. Her mother and father had gone. Her friends in England believed doubtless that she had died with them. In time to come, Tom promised himself to look them up; but, for the moment, she belonged to her deliverer.
As for Lady Elton, she simply declined to leave Gumilcund until Tom could be said to be in his usual health. She owed this, she wrote to his mother, to himself, to Grace. The General might come to her and Trixy. They could not go to him.
The wild work in the neighbourhood of Meerut, which had earned the Khakee Ressalah their laurels, was by this time over. The courts were open; the country was comparatively quiet; the robber-tribes having taken warning by one or two notable executions, had taken what was left of them elsewhere, and the peasants were coming back slowly to rebuild their little villages of mud huts, and to cultivate their fields. The General, who had nothing to do in this work of organisation, finding for the second time his occupation gone, gathered a few volunteers round him and set off for Gumilcund, which he reached, without the least difficulty, one evening in February.
The young rajah was convalescent, but not off the invalid list. The visitor, recognised at once as an Englishman of distinction, was shown into the ante-room of Tom's sleeping apartment, where, having been left by his kind nurses for the night, he was reclining in a nest of cushions. He sprang up, and held out both his hands.
'General!' he cried. 'You!'
'Yes, my boy,' said the old man brokenly. 'I have come to look you up, you see, as I couldn't persuade you to come to Meerut. Sit down! Sit down! You have been ill?'