On the whole he had been
successful. A Napoleon of finance, he never burned his bridges. If any
of his campaigns failed, as they sometimes did, he had always a safe
retreat left open; and if his bridge proved only strong enough to
carry himself over, and gave way under his flying followers--well, it
was a misfortune which could have been averted if every one had taken
as much care of himself as he had done. When well beyond pursuit, he
would hold out a helping hand to the survivors, and received therefor
as much gratitude as on the other occasions he received abuse. Which
filled him with good-natured amusement, the one being as undeserved as
the other.
His last enterprise, the Marut Campaign, thanks to a happy
constellation of circumstances, promised an unusual degree of success,
and his enthusiasm on the subject was not the less real because he
kept hidden his usual reserve for unforeseen possibilities. According
to the Rajah's invitation, he repaired early on the second day after
their momentous conversation to the palace. He was received there by
an old servant, who told him that Nehal Singh had gone out riding
before sunrise, but was expected to return shortly.
"The Rajah Sahib remembers my coming?" Travers asked.
"Yes, Sahib. The Rajah Sahib commanded that the palace should be at
the Sahib's disposal while he waits."
The idea suited Travers excellently. He shook himself free from the
obsequious native, who showed very clearly that he would have
preferred to have kept on a watchful attendance, and began a languid,
indifferent examination of the labyrinth-like passages and deserted
halls.
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