Janet took the letter with reverent tenderness. Lady Chillington's
trembling fingers pointed out the lines she was to read. Janet read as
under:--

"P.S.--I have reserved my most important bit of news till the last,
as lady correspondents are said to do. Observe, I write 'are said
to do,' because in this matter I have very little personal
experience of my own to go upon. You, dear mum, are my solitary
lady correspondent, and postscripts are a luxury in which you
rarely indulge. But to proceed, as the novelists say. Some two
years ago it was my good fortune to rescue a little yellow-skinned
princekin from the clutches of a very fine young tiger (my feet are
on his hide at this present writing), who was carrying him off as a
tit-bit for his supper. He was terribly mauled, you may be sure,
but his people followed my advice in their mode of doctoring him,
and he gradually got round again. The lad's father is a Rajah,
immensely rich, and a direct descendant of that ancient Mogul
dynasty which once ruled this country with a rod of iron. The Rajah
has daughters innumerable, but only this one son. His gratitude for
what I had done was unbounded. A few weeks ago he gave me a most
astounding proof of it. By a secret and trusty messenger he sent
me--But no, dear mum, I will not tell you what the Rajah sent me.
This letter might chance to fall into other hands than yours
(Indian letters do _sometimes_ miscarry), and the secret is one
which had better be kept in the family--at least for the present.
So, mother mine, your curiosity must rest unsatisfied for a little
while to come. I hope to be with you before many months are over,
and then you shall know everything.