'Dearest Lady Elton, I would not keep you for the world. It has been too good and kind of you to stay so long,' said Tom.
'Hush! Hush!' said Lady Elton reproachfully. 'Is that the way sons speak to their mothers? But, seriously, the General says that if things go on as they are doing now, he will take us home in April or May. You ought to come with us.'
'And leave Gumilcund?'
'Oh! not for always of course. Spend the summer at home, and go back in the winter. The change will do you good, both in your body and mind.'
'I don't think I care much to go to England now,' said Tom. He was gazing out at the garden, the azure-blue lake, and the purple outline of the hills behind them, and thinking sorrowfully of his old dreams.
'But that is just it,' pleaded Lady Elton. 'You should make yourself care. I know how people slip into not-caring, dear. It is the worst of complaints. It takes all the hope and heart out of you. Think of us—of your mother—of England——'
'Yes: I will think,' he answered gently, and that was all she could persuade him to say then.
General Elton spoke to him more strongly. He had not seen him since his visit to Meerut, in the bright and joyous days that preceded the mutiny, and he was shocked by the change in his appearance. 'My dear boy,' he said, 'if you value your health—if you value your reason—if you wish to continue the useful career which you have begun so nobly, you must give yourself rest and change. Tell me frankly, is there anything to prevent your taking a holiday?'
'I don't think so,' answered Tom. 'The crisis is over, and things have been set going. They will work very well without me. It is not a question of being spared.'
'No; it is want of will. Now, my dear fellow, in your mother's name, as well as in that of others, I must scold you.'