“Have you been successful, my son?” exclaimed the old man eagerly, as Reginald approached. “Tell me quickly; for a dimness has come over my eyes, and I feel a strange sinking of the heart, which forebodes I know not what.”
Reginald exhibited the wished-for casket.
“It is the same, my son,” he exclaimed; “and contains, I trust, the valuable documents your father committed to my care. Let me see them; I shall know them at once.”
Reginald was about to try and open the casket, when he saw a peculiar expression pass over the countenance of the rajah, who staggered and sank back on the divan near which he was standing. The old man gazed at him with a look of affection, and tried to speak; but in vain. He drew his breath every instant with more and more labour; and then came one more sigh, and he seemed to be sleeping calmly. Reginald threw himself by his side and took his hand. It failed to return his grasp. He gazed at the old man’s countenance, unable to persuade himself that he was really dead; but he became aware of the fact by the loud cries of the women, who, with fans in their hands, had been in readiness to cool his fevered brow as he lay on the couch.
“Oh, I wish that the English doctor had arrived before,” thought Reginald. “He might have saved his life.”
At that moment he was aroused by the voice of Burnett, who, approaching, exclaimed, “I trust the rajah is not worse. Dr Graham has ridden hard to come to him.”
“I have arrived too late,” said the doctor, as he took the old man’s hand, and looked into his countenance. “But not too late to form an opinion of the disease which has carried him off. He has been poisoned; and a further examination will confirm what I say.”
Reginald was horrified; but the doctor asserted that he was right.
“Let me advise your highness to be careful of what food you partake and what beverages you drink. The same hand which mixed the potion for your grandfather may be ready to administer a similar one to you,” added the doctor.