And on garden, jungle, and temple alike the
scorching midday sun blazed down with pitiless impartiality.
For an hour the Rajah had remained watching the unchanging scene, scarcely
for an instant shifting his own position. One hand rested on his hip, the
other held back the curtain and supported him in a half-leaning attitude
of dreamy indolence. Against the intensified darkness of the room behind
him his features stood out with the distinctness of a finely cut cameo. A
man of about twenty-five years, he yet seemed younger, thanks, perhaps, to
his expression, which was extraordinarily untroubled.
Thought, poetic and philosophic, but never tempestuous, sat in the dark,
well-shaped eyes and high, intellectual forehead. Humor, sorrow, care,
anxiety and doubt, the children of a strenuous life, had left his face
singularly unscarred with their characteristic lines. For the rest, beyond
that he was unusually fair, he represented in bearing and in feature a
Hindu prince of high caste and noble lineage. Between him and the old man
upon the divan there was no apparent resemblance. The latter was
considerably darker, and lacked both the refinement of feature and dignity
of expression which distinguished the younger man. Nevertheless, when he
spoke it was in the tone of familiarity, almost of paternal authority.
"Art thou not weary, my son?" he asked abruptly. "For an hour thou hast
neither moved nor spoken.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41