They went to the palace together. Everything seemed as usual in the outer and inner courts. Passing through an arched passage, they went into the garden at the back of the palace. Since Aglaia had come, the rajah was often to be found there in the early morning, either pacing one of the shaded alleys, with the child beside him, or sharing a breakfast of fruit and milk with her in the darkened and artificially cooled summer-house. And, indeed, they had scarcely entered the rajah's favourite walk before they saw the little figure of Aglaia, quaint and lovely in a gauzy Indian dress. She was walking more sedately than usual, for a creature still smaller than herself--a wizened, white-faced baby, dressed in strange nondescript garments--was toddling by her side. 'Isn't he a darling?' she said to Chunder Singh, whom she always addressed in English. 'He's just had his breakfast, and I've brought him out to see Daddy Tom.' 'And have you seen him yet, Missy?' said Chunder Singh, gravely. 'Why,' said Aglaia, looking up at her Indian friend, 'what a funny face you have this morning, Mr. Chunder! Aren't you glad to see little Dick? That's his name. He mustn't walk far, for his mother says his legs have got cramped. Just think! He was ten days in a cart. Is 'oo tired, little pet?' she said lispingly to the baby. 'Shall Aglaia----' 'No, no, Missy-sahib,' cried the ayah, running up. 'Too small, you! Ayah, give poor baba.' But the poor baba, who was a person, in an ordinary way, of irrepressible activity, refused to be taken up. He seated himself on the grass, struck out with his little fists, and looked up at them with a delicious smile of baby contentment. Then Aglaia assailed him with kisses, and Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, who, for all their grave looks, were men of most tender disposition, smiled at one another and passed on. It was quite evident that Aglaia had no thoughts even for Daddy Tom that morning. She was wholly absorbed in little Dick. The rajah was not in his summer-house, and the attendant in that charming retreat, who was the daily purveyor of his Highness's little breakfast, had not as yet received any orders from him. Retracing their steps to the palace, which the rajah did not seem to have quitted that morning, the two elderly men looked a little blue. They made their way straight to Tom's sleeping apartment. Chunder Singh knocked, but he received no answer. He knocked again, and, after waiting for about a quarter of an hour, tried the handle cautiously. He found that it was bolted on the inside, and turned a relieved face to Lutfullah. 'He must be within,' he said. 'No one else would presume to draw the bolt. No doubt he was awake all night, and fell asleep towards the morning. We must have patience.'