The recollection of the previous evening, in which so much was seen, and so much experienced, made it difficult to believe that it possessed any greater solidity than the pictures in some stereoscopic arrangement. But the great fact that a new and supreme joy reigned in her bosom—that she loved, and was beloved—proved convincing evidence of its reality. For the first time in her life she felt the supreme happiness—the unutterable joy of this unique exaltation that comes once, or perhaps twice, in a lifetime to every human being. When she had descended the magnificently carved staircase that led into the reception rooms, she was met by Swami himself, who conducted her into the breakfast-room where an inviting meal was awaiting her. The most nourishing dishes, where the palate and the digestion were equally considered being placed on the table by native servants, as soon as she had put in an appearance, to which she paid fair justice. She was in excellent spirits; notwithstanding the thought of the ordeal that lay before her; for nothing could damp, or depress them while under the influence of the present bliss, and future dignities promised her. Swami, too, looked supremely happy. A quiet, suppressed joy beamed in his deep, dreamy eyes, which shed its light over his expressive countenance. His voice too, had a special softness in its tone, that was peculiarly charming to Mercia’s sensitive ear. It was, in truth, the most delightful meal for these two beings that had been their lot to partake of; the lives of both having been hitherto solitary, laborious, and even ascetic to some extent. ‘Now, isn’t this delightful!’ laughed Mercia, gaily. ‘How nice everything tastes when one has good company! King Solomon knew what he was talking about when he uttered oracularly—“Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than the stalled ox,” et cetera; but in our case we score heavily, having the enjoyment of both commodities.’ ‘The proverb holds good all the same;’ replied Swami; ‘with thee, my Life, the dinner of herbs would be a banquet, for thy face is a continual feast for me; thy presence would sweeten the coarsest fare.’ ‘When I enter my kingdom, Swami—but there—I cannot realise my future glory—I feel that this is greatness thrust upon me! I cannot conceive why the people of India should think of me—me—a poor astronomer! I have no regal blood in my veins—no glorious ancestry to boast of. ‘It is true my mother accomplished some good for the women of India, devoting a great part of her life in the promotion of their welfare; but that can scarcely bring any weight to the balance in my favour, in such a case as this: the whole matter to my mind is inexplicable,’ said she reflectively.