“I shall have to go through it, Dick,” he said. “The Rajah means well.”
“Of course he does. He’ll only say a few civil things, and then go.”
An hour after there was a challenge at the gate, and the visitor arrived, dismounted, and was shown into the room which the officers had devoted to receptions. There he entered, followed by an attendant bearing something wrapped in a shawl.
This the man laid upon the table at a sign from the chief, salaamed low, and retired; while, as soon as they were alone, the Rajah shook hands warmly, and, in as English a manner as he could affect, congratulated Wyatt.
“I am very glad, Captain Wyatt,” he said in conclusion, “and I want you to accept the little present I have brought in honour of the occasion.”
“Oh, there was no need for that, sir,” said Wyatt roughly.
“But I think there is, and I hope you will not refuse it.—Mr Darrell, will you unroll it and give it to your friend for me?”
“Of course, sir,” replied the lad; and his heart beat with something like envy as he unrolled a beautiful Lahore shawl and took out a magnificent, carved tulwar, whose hilt was of silver inlaid with delicate traceries of gold, while the scabbard was deadened silver, ringed with gold and ornamented with emeralds.
“Oh!” cried Wyatt, “this is far too rich an ornament for me, sir. I beg you will not press me to keep it.”
“But I do press it,” said the Rajah warmly. “It is no ornament. Take it and draw the blade.”