But what remained for me? I had to suffer the long days and the misery of the hours when sleep forsook me and grief kept a watch by my pillow. I had to live and think that to live is sometimes the worst torture that can be inflicted on mankind. How often have I proved to myself the truth of those lines:
“’Tis hard to smile when one would weep,
To speak when one would silent be:
To wake when one would wish to sleep,
And wake in agony.”
Now was repeated the sad ceremonial of two years ago, when my husband’s body was committed to the flames. Only two years and the Ideal Ruler and the Child of Promise had both vanished from our eyes. Surely we shall never understand the workings of Divine Providence. All that our sad souls can do is to trust in the infinite wisdom of God.
The blank his loss has left in my life will always be there, but he must have gone to do a greater work, and the thought of this is the only thing that gives me comfort.
Countless were the telegrams and letters of sympathy I received, and the kindness of all my friends touched me very much. The late Duchess of Connaught sent word from Bagshot: “We all deeply sympathise with you in your great loss. We look back with pleasure to the time when Rajey used to stay with us.”
We sent the ashes of our beloved back to Cooch Behar, and they rest beside those of his father in the marble mausoleum which has been built in the rose garden. This old garden is a peaceful spot. Long ago the Maharajah learned his lessons in the ruined summer-house which still stands on the borders of the lake, where in bygone times the Maharanis used to bathe, and many legends are connected with the place. The scented stillness is now unbroken save for the music of the birds, and the mournful whisperings of the trees when the wind speaks to them of the sleepers.