"Mr. Sen," he cried, "the wedding must and shall take place to-night. The service shall be exactly as you wish. I'll be there to see that it is not interfered with. Come quickly. We've not a
moment to lose. There is another auspicious hour at 3 a.m. Let it be then."
As he spoke he handed my father a written agreement confirming his words, and told him that the Lieutenant-Governor had telegraphed: "Let the marriage be performed according to the rites as settled in Calcutta."
Mr. Dalton almost dragged my father to the waiting carriage, and followed by some of our friends they made their way with difficulty through the crowded streets.
Then as in a fairy tale the scene changed. The stillness was broken by music. The darkness was flooded with light. The whole town was illuminated in an instant; the band played, the conch shells sounded, fireworks were sent up. All was joyous and brilliant.
Our wedding was celebrated in an enormous tent: the crowd remarked that I looked very nice in a pale blue sari with raised gold flowers worked upon it and a bright red satin veil with masses of gold, the creation of a French dressmaker. But I felt very nervous when, seated on a piece of wood, I was carried between lines of soldiers, the Maharajah following close behind.
He was like a wonderful picture, one mass of
