They left Hussein Buksh, the second bearer, one of Chunder Singh's own nominees, at the door, desiring him to let them know the moment the rajah stirred, and went down themselves into the garden. There they found the three English ladies who had arrived the night before gathered together in a little group round the children. They wore, with a curious awkwardness, lovely Indian dresses, some of which, as being the best he could procure, Tom had laid in store to meet such an emergency as this. Their faces were very pale, and the haggard anxiety, the horror, remembered or expected, which gave so piteous an expression to our countrywomen in these dreadful days, had not left their faces; but the quiet night and the peaceful awakening had refreshed them, and they were already very different from the wretched, bedraggled-looking creatures who had driven through Gumilcund on the previous evening. Chunder Singh and Lutfullah saluted the ladies reverently. Lucy, who was talking to Aglaia, a little apart from the others, eyed them with some curiosity. 'The major-domo of the palace,' she whispered, 'and one of the chief citizens. How funny it all is! Something like the middle ages.' The mother of the white-faced baby was, in the meantime, answering Chunder Singh's inquiries, and expressing her satisfaction in having reached so pleasant a haven of rest. 'Does the major-domo understand English?' asked Lucy. Aglaia nodded. 'Oh! yes. He's a nice man. I like him,' said the child. 'Then I must speak to him,' said Lucy. With her white face and golden hair, and large, childish-looking eyes, Lucy looked quaint and very pretty that morning. She had been given her choice amongst a number of dresses, and she had picked out a tunic of cherry-coloured silk and a snow-white saree of the finest muslin, deeply trimmed with gold embroideries. To put on these pretty fresh garments after her copious bath of warm scented water had given poor Lucy a sense of satisfaction, which, when she came to think of it seriously, seemed curiously inappropriate, if not wicked. But she could not help herself; she was happier than she had been, and the pretty dress, which suited her to perfection, had something to say to her happiness. Pressing forward she addressed Chunder Singh: 'Oh!' she cried, 'where is the rajah, the person, I mean, who received us last night? He is the rajah, isn't he?' 'Yes, madam. It was our rajah--the ruler of Gumilcund--who had the honour of welcoming you to his palace last night,' said Chunder Singh, nearly paralysing the childish little creature with his dignity. She fixed her limpid eyes upon him doubtingly; then recovering herself with an effort: 'Oh, yes,' she said, 'I was told so. Could you tell him please--the rajah, I mean--his Excellency--is that the way to speak to the great people here, Aglaia--?' Chunder Singh was waiting respectfully for the conclusion of her sentence.