ssed through the searching
test of a bitter loss. Together, they could speak of her--gone from
them; yet alive in their hearts for evermore. Seen or unseen, she was
the link that kept them all united, the pivot on which their lives still
turned. There had been none with whom he could talk of her since she
went....

Over his writing-table hung the original Antibes portrait--life-size;
Nevil's payment for the high privilege of painting her; a privilege how
reluctantly accorded none but himself had ever known. And behold his
reward: her ever-visible presence--the girl-child who had been
altogether his own.

Hoofs at last--and the remembered voice; deeper, more commanding; the
embroidered curtain pushed aside. Then--Roy himself, broader, browner;
his father's smile in his eyes; and, permeating all, the spirit of his
mother, clearly discernible to the man who had given it life.

He was on his feet now, an imposing figure, in loose white raiment and
purple choga. In India, he wisely discarded English dress, deeming it as
unsuitable to the country as English political machinery. Silent, he
held out his arms and folded Roy in a close embrace: then--still
silent--stood away and considered him afresh. Their mutual emotion
affected them sensibly, like the presence of a third person, making them
shy of each other, shy of themselves.

It was Sir Lakshman who spoke first. "Roy, son of my Heart's Delight, I
have waited many years for this day. It was the hidden wish of her
heart. And her spirit, though withdrawn, still works in our lives. It is
only so with those who love greatly, without base mixture of jealousy or
greed. They pass on--yet they remain; untouched by death, like the
lotus, that blooms in the water, but opens beyond its reach."

Words and tone so stirred Roy that sudden tears filled his eyes. And
through the mist of his grief, dawned a vision of his mother's face.
Blurred and tremulous, it hovered before him with a startling illusion
of life; then--he knew....

Without a word, he went over to the picture and stood before it, drowned
fathoms deep....

A slight movement behind roused him; and with an effort he turned away.
"I've not seen a big one since--since my last time at home," he said
simply. "I've only two small ones out here."

The carven face was not impassive now. "After all, Dilkusha,[10] what
matter pictures when you have--herself?"

Roy started. "It's true. I _have_--herself. How could you know?"