She had more power over her mother than Trixy, and between her and the doctor Lady Elton was persuaded to take a composing draught and to lie down. Trixy in the meantime drew her friend Bertie aside. 'Something must be done,' she said, 'or my poor mother will go mad. Can't you help us?' 'God knows,' he answered earnestly, 'that I would if I could. I asked to be allowed to take out cavalry and scour the country. I feel certain that I should have brought back news at least. But I am forbidden. Lives, they say, are too precious to be wasted in profitless enterprises. If I had no command I would go out alone.' 'That would be much too dangerous,' said Trixy, shuddering. 'We must think of something else. How would it do for one of us to go out disguised?' 'One of _you_!' said Bertie with a sad smile. 'Well, _me_, if you will have it. I could dress up as a native woman, and I know their way of talking. Listen while I mimic ayah.' 'But, my dear girl, don't you know that the poor native servants are as much hated as ourselves? Numbers of them have been killed already. Besides, what would you do?' 'I might at least find out where Grace is, and then, perhaps, you would take out soldiers to rescue her.' 'An impossible plan,' said the young fellow. 'But----' 'Well, Bertie, go on for heaven's sake! Have you thought of anything?' 'I have made no plan, if that is what you mean. I was only thinking--have you heard, by the bye, where the young fellow is who visited you here two months ago? You called him Tom.' 'Curiously enough I was just thinking of him,' said Trixy. 'He has large estates somewhere in Central India, left him by a cousin or some one of that sort, who was an Indian rajah. Maud and I felt sure that he would become an Indian too. He was very much changed when we saw him. In England long ago he used to be fond of Grace. What made you think of him now?' 'I have just had rather a curious piece of news. I meant to find out all I could about it, and tell you later. They say that a new sort of character has sprung up in these parts--an English rajah. The story is so romantic that I can scarcely believe it. The state he has come over to govern is an ideal place, a kind of little Paradise, so at least they tell me, where for the last two or three generations the most admirable laws have been in force. The late rajah seems to have been half a philosopher and half a saint. He bequeathed his rule to a young man brought up in England, recommending him to his people by a curious fiction. He said, it appears, that in the person of this young man, who seems to be strikingly like him, he would himself return to the earth. If it was a stroke of policy, it was clever and bold, for his people believed him. The story goes that they received their new rajah with acclamations.'