He pressed Sir Harold’s hand, catching his breath with a peculiar sobbing, and hurried out.
His servants had returned, but Karrah had escaped. The major indulged in some peculiar profanity, as he listened to this report, and then withdrew to his wife’s cool room, and told her Sir Harold’s story.
The baronet, meanwhile, took a bath and went to bed. He slept for hours, awakening after noon. He shaved and trimmed his beard, dressed himself in the suit of clothes he had formerly worn, and which were now much too large for him, and came forth into the central hall of the dwelling. Major Archer was lounging here, and came forward hastily, with both hands outstretched, and with a beaming face.
“You look more like yourself, Sir Harold!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Archer is out on the veranda, and is full of impatience to see you.”
He linked his arm in the baronet’s and conducted him out to the veranda, presenting him to Mrs. Archer, who greeted him with a certain awe and kindliness, as one would welcome a hero.
The little Archers were playing about under the charge of an ayah, and they also came forward timidly to welcome their father’s guest.
Tiffin—the India luncheon—was served on the veranda, and after it was over, and the young people had dispersed, Sir Harold said to his host:
“When does the next steamer leave for England?”
“Three days hence. You will have time to catch the mail if you write to-day,” said Major Archer.
“Write! Why, I shall go in her, Major!”