Tara: A Mahratta Tale

by Meadows Taylor

FOOTNOTE:

[5] Each village is obliged to furnish a guide to travellers on payment of a small gratuity, and these men relieve themselves at every village.

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[CHAPTER XII.]

Our friend the Lalla was soon at his ease with his new guide, whose injunctions to Motee, bidding him "take care," "mind a stone," "lift up his feet," and the like, encouraged the good beast, who now stepped out briskly, while the curious mixture of Oordoo and Mahratta, in which the small gossip and scandal of the neighbourhood was told him by Lukshmun, amused him much. The mile or so which intervened between the village and the temple was soon passed; and as they began to ascend the short rising ground towards the temple and the tree, the latter could be seen in all its wild picturesque detail, and was indeed a striking object.

The sun had now broken forth, and its beams shone slantingly through its rugged trunks and gnarled branches, resting brightly upon the glossy foliage sparkling with raindrops, and lighting up every excrescence and furrow of the knotty bark, casting broad shadows on the road below: while a slight parting shower, the large drops of which flashed brightly in the air as they descended, pattered upon the leaves, and spread out into the valley in a silver rain. As the travellers gained the summit, the clear sky beyond to the west not only caused the tree to stand out boldly and grandly against it, but the brightness of the sun dispelled the gloomy associations which the appearance of the place had suggested during the rain. A slight breeze, which had hardly been felt in the hollow, rippled the little pools on the roadway and on the plain beyond the tree, which, level and stony, continued, apparently many miles, in the direction they had to go.

Motee paused at the summit of the eminence, and the Lalla could not help stopping him to look back upon the road by which he had come. The bright yellow gleams of the sun shone broadly upon the two villages, and upon the rich green masses of their corn-fields. In the distance both looked pretty and comfortable: and their terraced houses, several white temples, and the dome of a small village mosque shone brightly in the sun. Behind these, and to the south, the plain over which the Lalla had come stretched away for many miles, showing the trees of a village here and there, with the occasional sparkle of a white house or temple among them; and behind all, the great black cloud of the day's rain, upon which there was a rainbow forming of great beauty, and against which a flight of white storks flashed like silver in the sun. Away to the south, the eye followed hollow and rise, undulation after undulation, till they were lost in a farther distance, which melted tenderly into the sky.

"It is a fair country, friend, after all," said the Lalla, "though it did not look well in the rain. That plain yonder is in the direction of Beejapoor, perhaps?"

"It is, sir," returned Lukshmun; "that high land, near the sky yonder, is beyond the Bheema river, and, if we were there, we should see the tomb of the great Sultan Mahmood, now finished. It is very grand, sir, and shines like silver when the sun is on it; and when I go there," continued the man, "I stand like a fool, looking at the King's palace, the Ark fort, the great gun, and the 'Ibrahim Roza'—that's the place where Ibrahim Adil Shah was buried, you know, sir——"

"Numascar Maharaj," cried a clear manly voice, now beside the Lalla's horse, which appeared to him to rise out of the earth, for he had not observed the approach of Gopal Singh and Rama from the temple.

"Who are these?" exclaimed the Lalla, starting and beginning to tremble—"who are these?" and the warning of the old Byragee now came upon him, with the distressing conviction that he ought to have regarded it; but it was too late. "Who are ye?" he asked anxiously.

"O, this is my brother Rama," said Lukshmun, assuringly, "and that is our Jemadar Gopal Singh; they only waited here while I went to Kinny."

"Be assured, noble sir," added the Jemadar, laughing, and in good Oordoo, with a slight southern accent, which seemed to assure the Lalla, "there is nothing to fear. Your worship is from Kullianee, perhaps."

"Yes, from Kullianee yesterday."

"Ah, yes, I remember; you were at Poorungeer's Mutt. I was just about leaving when you arrived, and the old man offered you escort of my party, but you preferred staying."

"I—I—I—had business," replied the Lalla, stammering, not exactly relishing Gopal Singh's bold looks, and yet unable to object to him. "I was tired and needed rest, and you could not wait."

"You had come from the royal court, I think they said, and were going to Beejapoor with letters for the King—proposals for peace, perhaps."

"So they said—who?" Of all things, the Lalla supposed his destination and business were at least secret; yet they appeared known, and to a perfect stranger, too, by the wayside. He did not feel able to reply, and was almost inclined to trust to Motee's speed, and break through the men; but Lukshmun, on receiving his matchlock from his brother, fixed the match, which had been hanging loose upon the cock, in a very precise manner, pressing the trigger to see if the match descended upon the pan. The others, too, looked carelessly to the priming of their guns, but to the Lalla's idea ominously, and as if he should understand the action. Lukshmun's face, too, appeared changed—it was not so pleasant as it had been.

"Come," said the Jemadar, "we have far to go to-night—what kept thee so long, Lukshmun?"

"O, the Patel at Kinny said we were to escort this worthy gentleman, as government orders had come about him from Allund; so I waited, as the rain had delayed him."

The Lalla felt reassured; his arrival was no doubt expected. "Ah, yes, sir," continued Gopal Singh, "you had better have come on with us three days ago, but it does not matter now. That is a fine horse of yours," he added, patting Motee's neck, "and from Hindustan, I think, as my lord is. We, too—that is, my family—are also from thence, Kanouj Khutrees; so is this good gun, too;" and he held out his own. "Yes; one can hit a man on horseback at full speed half as far as to the stream yonder."

It appeared to the Lalla as if the Jemadar was reading his thoughts as clearly as if he were telling them himself.

"And if we were in battle," he continued, "and any one were trying to get away from me, he would be shot between the shoulders before he could even reach the tree yonder."

"I—I—have no doubt of it, Jemadar Sahib," returned the Lalla,—"no doubt: and your speech is pleasant to hear after the rough language hereabouts."

"Come, come," cried Lukshmun, with seeming impatience, "if you want to pay compliments, noble sir, wait till we get to the end of our journey. Come!" and as he spoke he touched Motee's rein. "Come on, my son!" he said, and the horse followed.

As they passed the little temple in its loneliness under the shadow of the huge tree, it looked a place for evil deeds. A large horned owl on the highest branch, now awakening for his evening flight, hooted loudly above them, and was answered by another. It seemed an evil omen, and struck to the Lalla's heart.

"Ah! we cannot pass you, my friend," said Gopal Singh. "Look, Lalla Sahib, what my gun can do."

As he spoke, he raised the piece and fired. The aim was true and deadly, and the huge bird fell down heavily close to Motee's feet with a rushing sound, causing the horse to start back.

"I never miss," said the man, decidedly, and reloading his piece. "Now come on."

"Shabash! Well shot," said the Lalla; but his heart was throbbing fast, and it was a positive relief to him when the dark grove was behind them, and they emerged upon the bare, wild, open plain beyond.

"A lonely place that, Jemadar," remarked the Lalla, turning to the man who walked behind him; "and the old Byragee, where I slept, advised me not to go by it; he said Pahar Singh's men might be about. Who is this Pahar Singh?"

"Pahar Singh?" returned the Jemadar. "O, a worthy gentleman who is quiet enough when not plagued. He is the lord of the marches hereabouts—a valiant man, and a good soldier; and in these troubled times, Lallajee, has his friends and his enemies, like most of us: 'tis the way of the world."

After another mile, during which none of the party spoke, the Jemadar proposed to the Lalla to dispense with the guide. "Evening was drawing on," he said; "they knew the country, and the contents of the bundle could be carried on the saddle or divided among them;" and, indeed, it appeared necessary, as the guide, limping, declared he could go no farther, and had a thorn in his foot. The necessary arrangements were soon completed; and, between the Lalla's saddle-bags and his saddle, the contents of the bundle were soon disposed of; the guide received a small gratuity, and retraced his steps at a far more rapid pace than he had advanced.

"He has no more a thorn in his foot than I have, Lalla Sahib," said the Jemadar, laughing. "Look how he goes! but Bheema there is no worse than his fellows, and does not like the idea of a night journey without change. Now we shall get on better. Let the horse walk out, Lukshmun; only keep by him."

Lukshmun let go the rein, but he did not leave his place, and though the rate at which the horse now proceeded kept the men at a rapid walk, and occasionally, indeed, at a trot, they preserved the positions they had taken up without alteration, speaking little among themselves, except occasionally in Mahratta or Canarese, with both of which languages they appeared familiar.

The sun was setting in great glory. After the heavy clouds had passed away to the eastward, a clear blue sky succeeded for a while; but as a gentle breeze arose, it had brought up with it light, fleecy vapours, which, as the wind again died away at sunset, became motionless, and, gradually attracted to each other, formed piles of white clouds edged with deep grey. As the sun declined, white became orange and gold and crimson: while the sky itself, of an intense purple above, faded into green, yellow, and rosy tints, on which the golden clouds seemed to float in soft but brilliant masses: and, as it dipped below the horizon, a flood of light suddenly shot up, tinging the lower edges of all the lighter portions with vivid scarlet, and mingling with the deep orange and purple hues above, gorgeously.

"The gods have a festival upon Mount Méru to-night, Lallajee. Does the sun go down in that fashion in your country?" said the Jemadar, pointing to the sky and breaking a long silence. "We have made good work of it since the guide left us. Come, here is a little stream, and you need a change of posture; dismount and rest, while I offer my evening libations to the four elements."

"No, I will not dismount, Jemadar," returned the Lalla; "you will not be long, and by all means let your men get a drink of water too, and wash their feet. I will stay here."

"He is not to be trusted," said the Jemadar to his men in Canarese; "I see it in his eyes. If he stirs, shoot him, and both of you stay by him."

Rama had fastened one of the horse's tether-ropes about his waist, and he now proceeded to tie the end of it to the cheek-strap of the bridle in a methodical manner.

"What are you doing?" cried the Lalla, alarmed at the action; "loose it!"

"O, my lord will dismount," said Lukshmun, "and who is to hold the horse?"

"I am not going to move: loose it, I say!" cried the Lalla, impatiently.

But Rama sat down doggedly at a little distance, holding the rope, and began deliberately to munch a cake his brother had unfastened from his back, resting his gun across his knees.

"Loose it!" again cried the Lalla, "Jemadar, why have I been tied like a thief?"

The Jemadar had divested himself of his upper clothing and stepped into the stream; he was taking up water in his hands and pouring it to the four quarters of the earth. His clothes and arms were on the river bank.

"There is no use in disturbing him, Maharaj," said Lukshmun, quietly; "he is at his prayers, and can't hear. My brother, you see, doesn't understand you, and he only does what the Jemadar told him; so get off and walk about a little. Come, I will hold the stirrup for you."

"No; loose the rope!" cried the Lalla again, eagerly, and reaching over to do so himself.

"Ah, Maharaj! you must not do that; you see my brother will be angry. I advise you to be quiet," said Lukshmun, putting back the Lalla's hand, and pulling the knot of the rope firmer.

But the Lalla could not now contain himself; his alarm was gradually increasing. He thought he could break away from the men, and dash through the stream ere they could fire at him. Touching Motee with the bridle and his heel at the same time, he aroused him from the sluggish position he had assumed, and moved him a little so as to face Rama, who still sat eating; and the Lalla was quietly gathering up the reins preparatory to urging the horse forward, when the keen practised eyes of the men detected the intention. Excited by his rider, the horse gathered himself on his haunches and made a bound; but Lukshmun, leaping at the bridle, hung on to it, jerking it back so violently that the horse reared, while the Lalla, whose right arm had been seized by Rama, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground.

Hearing the cries of the men, Gopal Singh had run from the stream hastily, taking up his sword, and reached the spot as the Lalla fell.

"Get up!" he cried, seizing his arm; "what folly is this? By the gods, he has fainted! Thou hast not used thy knife, Rama?"

"Not I, Jemadar; but he fell heavily. What could I do? He would have been off, for the horse is a strong beast, and I could hardly hold him—only for the old trick. Get some water, Jemadar, he will drink from thee. I will hold him up. Stay, here is his lota."

While the Jemadar ran for water, Rama knelt down and raised the Lalla's head, who now opened his eyes. "Speak to him, Lukshmun; tell him to get up and be quiet," said Rama to his brother.

"Do you hear, Maharaj? you are to get up and be quiet. Rama says so," cried Lukshmun, "and he is not a child."

"Nor I, Lalla," said the Jemadar, returning with the water. "By Krishna, what made thee vex the hunchbacks? they were likely to be rough enough if provoked. Art thou hurt?"

"No, my lord—that is, valiant sir—only a little," replied the Lalla, moving his body about to ascertain the fact. "No; but my life!—O spare my life!—do not kill me."

"I am more hurt than he is, Jemadar," said Rama, rubbing his arm, "for he fell on me. Ah, you rascal!" he continued with a Mahratta oath, "only for the Jemadar there I had settled accounts with thee; get up!"

"I petition," said Lukshmun, who led up Motee, now calmed, "as the Lalla broke faith with us, that he walks; and Rama rides, as he is hurt."

"Ah, by your heads, no!" exclaimed the Lalla; "I never could walk a coss in my life; and my feet would never go over these stones and briars. Kill me, if ye will, but walk I cannot."

"Tie him up," suggested Rama, "if he can't walk; we must not trust him in the dark on that good horse."

"A good thought," said the Jemadar; "give me his sheet from the saddle."

The Lalla guessed what had been said, and protested and resisted vehemently; but he was as a child in the hands of the men, and in a few moments his hands and arms were swathed to his body gently within the sheet, but so that he could not use them: and he was raised to his feet, trembling violently, while the bandage was fastened behind him.

"Ah, sir! do not shake so," said Lukshmun, smiling, and joining his own hands in mock supplication; "if you do, you will go to pieces, and there will be none of you left when we get to our uncle, Pahar Singh."

Pahar Singh! the Lalla's heart sank within him. But he had no time for remonstrance. He was lifted like a child into the saddle, the men resumed their arms and positions, and again set forward.

"Where are you going to take me, Jemadar?" asked the Lalla, trembling, as they crossed the stream. "Ah, be merciful to——"

"So you have got speech at last," returned Gopal Singh. "Listen, Lalla, if you had been quiet you should have ridden like a gentleman, now you go as a thief. Pahar Singh, my uncle, is lord of these marches, and knows what to do with you. One thing, however, I may tell you; if you make any further attempt to escape, I will shoot you. It is not your carcass that he wants, but what you have on it; the gold you got at Kullianee. Now, beware, for you know the worst."

Of what use was resistance, and the Lalla clung to life. They might take his gold. There remained, at least, the papers he possessed; and if he begged his way on foot to Beejapoor, what matter, so that he got there with them?

So they proceeded as rapidly as the ground would admit, still continuing to avoid all villages by paths through the fields, with which they seemed perfectly acquainted.

Before they reach their destination, which they will do in two or three hours more, we may describe the person to whom they are proceeding.

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[CHAPTER XIII.]

As at the banian tree, when Lukshmun was guide, and the Lalla had ridden up the rising ground, the sun had shone out brightly with a broad gleam through its giant trunks and branches, and over the villages and corn-fields beyond; so about the same time the light, glittering through the watery particles which filled the air, spread over a rich landscape, as viewed from a height above the pretty village of Itga, whence, by a rough stony path, a company of horsemen were now proceeding to the village itself.

There might have been twenty-five to thirty men, from the youth yet unbearded to the grizzled trooper, whose swarthy sunburnt face, and large whiskers and moustaches touched with grey, wiry frame, and easy lounging seat on his saddle—as he balanced his heavy Mahratta spear across his shoulders—showed the years of service he had done. There was no richness of costume among the party; on the contrary, the dresses were worn and weather-stained, and of a motley character. Some wore thickly quilted white or chintz doublets, strong enough to turn a sword-cut; or ordinary white cotton clothes, with back and breast pieces of thick padded cloth, or light shirts of chain-mail, with a piece of the same, or twisted wire, folded into their turbans; and a few wore steel morions, with turbans tied round them, and steel gauntlets which reached to the elbows, inlaid with gold and silver in delicate arabesque patterns.

The caparisons of their horses were as shabby as the dresses; but some had once been handsome, with embroidered reins and cruppers, and gay muslin martingals. All were now, however, soiled by the wet and mud of the day. It was clear that this party had ridden far, and the horses, though excellent and in high condition, were, from their drooping crests and sluggish action, evidently weary. Four of the men had been wounded in some skirmish, for it was with difficulty they sat their horses: and the bandages about them, covered with blood, showed the wounds to have been severe. But the sight of the village appeared to have revived the party; the horses were neighing and tossing their heads, and the men, shifting their places in the saddles, pointed eagerly to it, or, brandishing their spears, shouted one to another, cheering up the wounded men.

Among these horsemen, as also over the valley below, the sun's gleams shone brightly, casting long irregular shadows over the ground as they moved, and, glinting from spear-head, morion, and steel armour as the men swayed in their saddles, lighted up faces of varied character, all now joyous, but wearing an expression of habitual recklessness and lawless excitement.

Below them, at less than half a mile's distance, was the village itself. In the centre of it, or rather more to the right hand, was a high square castle, with round bastions at the corners, having loopholed parapets, which, where it had not been wetted by the rain, was of a warm grey, the colour of the mud or clay of which it had been built. It was in perfect repair, and the close smooth plastering of the walls and parapets showed that the weather was not allowed to injure it.

Inside the castle walls were the white terraced roofs of a dwelling-house, and in the bastions in the east and north corners several windows and other perforations in the curtain walls, which showed that rooms were connected with them; but it was clear, from the height of the parapets above the ground, which might be sixty feet, that most of the inside must be a solid mass of earth, as indeed it was as far as the courtyard, around which were the houses already noticed. On one high bastion, in which several small cannon were placed, was a flagstaff, and a large white flag, bordered with green, which floated out lazily upon the evening breeze, showing the device—a figure cut out in red cloth and sewn upon the white—of the monkey god Hunoomán, who might be supposed to be, as he was, the tutelary divinity of the castle.

To protect the gateway there was a double outwork with several narrow traverses and large flanking bastions, but otherwise no additional defence to the castle walls, which were quite inaccessible. Around their foot, separated only by an open courtyard, surrounded by a low wall with bastions at intervals, were the terraced houses of the place, thickly placed together, and filling up the space between the outer wall of the village and the castle itself. There was no doubt that the community living there was thriving, and better protected than those of the more open villages of the country. The houses, too, were of a superior and more substantial character, and gave assurance of habitual safety and wealth.

Outside all, ran a high wall, also of mud, with large round bastions at intervals, loopholed and mounted with jinjalls, and other wall-pieces, with two large gates, each defended by an outer work and traverse, and heavy bastions on each side; and there were several smaller wickets or posterns, each with a parapet wall before, and a tower beside it. The whole formed a very strong position, impregnable against any attack by marauding horse; and even in the event of a siege by a better organized force, it could have held out stoutly.

The ground for some distance round Itga formed a clear natural esplanade, over which it was impossible for anything to advance without being seen from the castle walls. This was now like a carpet of emerald green, on which fell the broad shadows of the tall trees near the gates and a grove round a small Hindu temple, and several large herds of cattle rested or browsed before entering the village walls for the night. Beyond the open ground the irrigated fields and gardens of the village commenced; and the bright yellow green of the sugar-cane, in large patches, catching the sun's rays, glowed among the darker colours of the grain crops and cotton, which spread up and down the valley as far as could be seen, and on both sides of the stream flowing in the centre.

Above the village the valley appeared to contract gradually, and the stream to disappear behind a projecting bluff. Below, it opened out considerably; and could be seen for several miles, showing other villages in the distance, with their ghurries, or castles, of the same character as that of Itga, but smaller, rising above the trees; while, here and there, the white dome of a mosque, or steeple of Hindu temple, with portions of the stream, sparkled in the evening sun.

A fair scene now when, over the rich crops and gardens, and spreading over the tender distance, the bright evening light threw a mellow radiance, resting with brilliant effect upon the projections and bastions of the castle, upon the terraces of the houses, the heavy gateways, the people passing to and fro, and the bright-coloured cattle upon the village green. A fair scene, truly, and in strong contrast with the character of the place, which, to say the truth, was evil enough in some respects.

The owner of this village, and of several adjoining villages, was the Pahar Singh, whom, casually, we have already had occasion to mention. Nominally a frontier officer of the Beejapoor State, "Hazaree," or commander of a thousand men, and holding the estate in maintenance of a troop of horse and a number of foot soldiers, which, though somewhat less, passed for a thousand in the royal musters of Beejapoor,—Pahar Singh had by no means followed his father's example of steady devotion to his duty, or confined his men to the purpose for which they were intended. During his father's lifetime he had engaged with the most dissolute and lawless of his father's retainers in border raids and forays without number, and had not unfrequently defied the troops of the State, bringing his father's good name into very questionable repute.

After the old man's death, wilder times ensued, when a bold stroke, here and there, decided a man's fortune; and proportionately as he was powerful or otherwise locally, his influence, both at court and in the provinces, extended. Pahar Singh had struck many such, with which, however, we have no concern. Following the example of the Beydur chief of Sugger, he had imposed a system of black-mail all over the frontier near his estate, which, if not regularly paid, was enforced roughly enough; while, on his part, his clients were protected from violence by other parties. The system, in fact, extended to the capital itself, and merchants and rich travellers paid Pahar Singh's dues as the best means of escaping outrage if they had to travel across his marches.

To others but his own people, Pahar Singh was a merciless savage, for the most part; and even his own relations, and those who knew him best, could hardly account for the variation of temper which could watch torture for the extortion of money—perhaps an agonized death—at one moment, and at the next listen to a tale of distress, or need, or sickness, and relieve it himself, or send it to his wife Rookminee, with a message which insured prompt attention from that kind lady.

It is perhaps unnecessary to go far back into history for illustrations of character like that of "the Hazaree." Such still exists among the native states of India, and even among our own subjects, restrained by the power of the paramount Government, if not by the spirit of the times—but still restrained—from lives as reckless and lawless, from savagery as deep and as unrelenting, as was that of Pahar Singh. With such characters, evil passions have taken the form of sensuality in its varied phases, which, as mostly concerning the individual himself, blunts the exercise of all finer feelings, but does not occasion the misery to others which would be the result of unfettered and misguided action.

The party we have mentioned had descended the small pass from the tableland above, and had pressed merrily on to the village gate, where they were met by friends, and welcomed by many a rough but kind greeting, and by a discharge of wall-pieces from the bastions, and shots from the castle, answered by the matchlocks of the party. Having entered the deep arched gateway, they were now emerging irregularly from its shadow into the main street, down which the sun streamed brightly. The terraced houses were covered with women and children waving cloths, or whatever they could catch up. The shopkeepers, for the most part, descended from their seats and exchanged respectful greetings with the leader; and as the small troop passed up towards the open space below the castle, still firing shots, it was plain that every one had forgotten the fatigue of the march in his safe return.

The horsemen remained mounted after the halt, and several stout serving-men took the heavy bags of money which each in succession loosed from his saddle-bow, and carried them into the castle. This done, the leader dismounted, and the chief "Karkoon," or scribe, delivered a short but pleasant message from the chief, and dismissed the rest; and the men, wheeling round, discharged an irregular volley from their matchlocks, and, passing back round the foot of the outer bastion of the court, separated, each to his own house.

"He will not delay you long," said Amrut Rao, the Hazaree's chief Karkoon, or scribe, to the leader; "but you are not to go, he says, without seeing him."

"What temper is he in?" asked the person addressed.

"Not good—but no fear for you. He is angry at Gopal Singh's absence, that is all; so be careful, Maun Singh, and do not cross him to-day. Come, he has looked for you these many hours."

Maun Singh, an active, intelligent man, with a bright soldierly bearing, was a cousin of the chief, and a valuable and trusty leader of partisan expeditions. This foray had been remarkable for its success. A convoy of treasure, belonging to the neighbouring kingdom of Golconda, had been attacked on its way to the capital, its escort defeated, and the money for the most part secured and brought in. The largest portion of the force was returning by a different road; this, consisting of picked men and horses, had pressed on home with the booty.

Maun Singh entered the gate with his companions, and ascended an inclined plane leading to a court above, which, the outer one of the interior of the castle, was that to which men were alone allowed access. On two sides were open verandahs, consisting of double rows of wooden arches, supported upon carved pillars, the floor of the inner one being raised a little above that of the outer. On the east side, a large chamber of some pretension, ended in an oriel window, fitted with delicately carved shutters, which admitted light and air. This chamber was three arches in depth, and the wood-work of the pillars was carved in bold designs of flowers and leaves, the ends of the beams being fancifully cut into dragons' heads, the lines of which were carried gracefully into the general patterns of flowers and leaves. This was the chamber, or hall, of audience.

On the fourth side of the court was a stable, and a door which led to servants' rooms and offices, and there were folding-doors in the verandahs on both sides communicating with women's apartments, and stairs leading to the roofs of the buildings which formed the parapets for defence of the castle.

As he entered the court, Maun Singh greeted, and was saluted in turn by, those around; and a party of scribes, engaged in accounts at the entrance of the hall, rose at his approach. Passing these, he went on to his relative, who was sitting reclined against a large pillow in a recess of the window, and who half rose as he returned his salutation, but not courteously.

Pahar Singh was always remarkable—no one could look on him unmoved. He had a strong-featured hard face, prominent aquiline nose, deep-set black eyes, not so large, as penetrating in character, and covered by bushy eyelashes. The eyes were restless and unsettled in character, and, by this, and the general expression of his countenance, he was nicknamed the falcon. None of the hair on his face was shaved, and the whole was tied up in a knot and wound round his head in a thick heavy mass, while the thin grey and sandy-coloured beard and moustaches, divided in the centre, were usually passed over each ear, but could, if he pleased, be worn flowing down to the waist. The forehead was high and covered with deep wrinkles, and upon it the veins from the root of the nose stood out roughly and with a knotted appearance, apparently the result of habitual excitement. The mouth had hard cruel lines about it, and the sinewy throat tended to increase the rugged character of the whole countenance.

In age he appeared past forty. Naked to the waist, his figure was wiry, and showed great power, particularly in his arms. Pahar Singh's strength was proverbial in the country; and the large exercising clubs, standing in a corner, which he used several times during the day, could be wielded by none but himself.

"I received your letter, Maun Singh," he said, before that person was seated. "Why did you delay? Why did you let that boy leave you? By Gunga, if the boy dies, or comes to hurt, your life shall answer for it."

"Pahar Singh," replied the other, who always addressed his cousin by name if he were angry, and who had less fear of him than any one else, "I have done good work. There are more than twenty thousand rupees yonder, and I have only lost one man."

"True, true, brother," cried the chief, waving his hand; "there is no blame for that, only for the boy. What took him to Kullianee?"

"I sent him to Poorungeer, the banker, with the bills, to see if any were negotiable. There he heard of something; and when all was quiet at Muntalla, he departed at night without my knowledge. He only left word that he had gone after some good business, and was not to be followed."

"Wrong, Maun Singh. Thou wert wrong not to watch him—not to send men after him. If he dies, O Maun Singh, O brother, it were better thou wert never born!" and the chief smote his pillow angrily with his clenched fist.

"His fate is not in my hand, Pahar Singh," retorted the other; "and——"

"Do you answer me? do you answer me?" cried the chief, savagely grasping the pillow, the veins of his forehead swelling and his nostrils dilating as he spoke.

Amrut Rao knew the sign, and interposed. "Is this money to be counted?" he said, pointing to the bags; "if so, give me the key of the treasury, and let the Jemadar go home. He is tired, and you will like to see the coin. It shall be counted before you."

"Good! Go, Maun Singh. I shall be quieter when you return," replied the chief. "Ah, yes! we were once the same, brother. We could not be stopped either," he said more gently, "if we had anything to do."

"The hunchbacks are with him, and they are all on foot, brother," returned Maun Singh: "fear not; but if thou art restless, give me some fresh men and a fresh horse, and we will ride round the villages."

"No; go home—go home. No; let him hunt his own game," returned the chief.

"But about the money? Déo Rao wants to get home now, for he is starving," interposed the Karkoon.

"Let him go then!" exclaimed the chief tartly.

"No, he can't go till it is counted," retorted Amrut Rao.

"It need not be counted."

"It must be counted, Maharaj! If there is a rupee wrong we shall never hear the last of it. The bags have never been opened—who knows what is in them?"

"It may be gold, Amrut Rao. Come, who knows? yes, who knows? Come," exclaimed Pahar Singh excitedly.

Few could take the liberties in speech with the chief that were permitted to Amrut Rao, and even he was not always successful; but now the Suraffs, or money-changers, sent for had arrived, and Pahar Singh watched the opening of every bag with an almost childish curiosity. All anxiety for his nephew had departed before the sight of money. Yet Gopal Singh was the life and stay of the house; precious as Pahar Singh's heir, and more so as the husband of his daughter, who was as yet a child.

"Good coin, good coin!" cried the chief exultingly, as the contents of the bags passed through the experienced hands of the examiners without one being rejected. "Good coin! O Amrut Rao, I vow all the light weights to feed Brahmuns. Dost thou hear?"

"I am afraid their bellies will be empty enough," returned the Karkoon, laughing. "No, Maharaj! do better: send five hundred to Vyas Shastree to offer at the shrine of Sri Máta if Gopal Singh returns safe to-night. You cannot disappoint her and be secure."

"Well spoken! well spoken! Yes, put the money aside; yes, put all the light-weight coin and make it up; thou shalt have it—if—he comes. Holy Gunga! what is that?" he exclaimed, suddenly, as a separate bag rolled out of one then being emptied. "Gold, by all the gods! Give it me; I will count it myself."

---

[CHAPTER XIV.]

We must, however, return to our travellers, whose progress since night set in had been anything but agreeable, considering the state of the road; for though the light-footed men traversed it easily, poor Motee, weary enough, stopped fairly where the mud was deepest, and quivered in every limb in the intervals of stony ground. Indeed, he would have given up long ago but for Lukshmun, whose cheery voice and hand, now soothing, now encouraging, now remonstrating, urged him to put forth his whole power; and as if the promises of a good stable, the sweetest fodder, the best grain, which were repeated with every endearing variation that Mahratta and Canarese, oddly intermixed with scraps of Oordoo ballads, could supply, seemed to be understood by the gallant beast as he toiled on. His master, since he had been swathed up in the sheet, and had found it impossible to help himself, had fallen into what might be called a passive frame of mind. Nothing was clear to him, neither where he was, nor with whom or where he was going.

As before, villages were avoided, and it was evident that his guides knew the country perfectly—threading lanes, then emerging into open fields, again crossing waste ground, but still preserving, as nearly as possible, the same direction, as the Lalla could see by the moon which, struggling through masses of watery clouds that had risen since sunset, threw a misty and indistinct light upon the path and what lay in its immediate vicinity. Now and then they approached so near a village that the watch-dogs within its walls bayed and howled, and they could hear the hum of voices, or see lights high up in the ghurry, or the watch-towers at the gates; but they did not stop. All the Lalla asked occasionally was, "How far yet?" and received but one answer—"Coss bur." The trees of village after village, and the dark square forms of their ghurries, or castles, stood out against the moon in succession, and each one he hoped might be the last; but still they went on, through the same apparently endless succession of muddy lanes, and over open fields and waste lands,—faster if the ground were firm, slower if it were muddy.

Finding it of no use to speak to his companions, the Lalla's mind reverted naturally to his own condition, and was as busy now, though after a more dreamy fashion, than in the morning, when riches and honours seemed within his grasp. For after some misgivings he had argued himself into a belief of a positively agreeable reception by Pahar Singh. He would not at once admit his errand to the Beejapoor court, but reserve it for a confidential communication; and he would be able to tell Pahar Singh about their own country. Yes—the Lalla had framed, and was framing, many irresistibly polite speeches in his mind, recalling verses to quote from Persian poets, and the replies to his remarks would necessarily be in a similar strain. What else could be expected of one of his own countrymen? and he would make allowances for some omissions in strict etiquette and courtesy. Then what excellent cookery he should enjoy—what luxurious rest!

Alas! these were but the delusions of hunger, thirst, and weariness, and were but shortlived; for in their place would suddenly arise a ghastly anticipation of violence—a dungeon and chains—ending in a lingering or sudden death. Or, again, the loss of all his papers and his money—both as yet safe. Or, perhaps, of being again taken to the royal camp, and sold to the Emperor, a hasty doom following—an elephant's foot, or that executioner, always present, whom he so well remembered.

There was no denying that such thoughts would recur more vividly than the others, causing the Lalla to writhe in his bonds, and to break out into a cold sweat from head to foot, in, as it were, the very bitterness of death. This past, he would sink once more into apathy and weariness, while Motee groaned, trudged, and splashed, or Lukshmun cheered or warned him; and the two others, in their old places, their lighted matches glowing in the darkness, never varied in position or in pace.

It might have been the close of the first watch of the night, perhaps more, when the Lalla became sensible of a change in the demeanour of the men. They talked more among themselves, and laughed heartily. Gopal Singh even told him to be of good heart. The road, too, was more open and less muddy. Before him was a rising ground, and upon it a tree distinctly visible against the moon, to which they pointed, and stepped out at a better pace. As they neared the tree they halted for a moment, shook out their dresses, resettled their turbans, and rubbed up their moustaches. Yes, they were most likely near the end of their journey, but the Lalla dare not ask; his tongue was cleaving to his mouth with that peculiarly exhaustive thirst which is the effect of weariness and terror combined; and when all three men blew their matches, and shook fresh priming into the pans of their guns, the Lalla shut his eyes and expected death.

"Come, Lallajee," said Gopal Singh, in a cheery voice, "don't go to sleep, good man, we are near home now; no more 'coss burs,' you know. Ah, by-and-by, you will know what a Canarese coss is. Mind the horse as we go downhill," he continued to Lukshmun. "I must have that beast; he has done his work right well to-day."

Almost as the last word was spoken, they reached the brow of the ascent, and looked down upon Itga from the place we have already described. It appeared gloomy enough to the Lalla. The castle, or ghurry, stood out, a black mass, against the setting moon, and the men and horses were barely distinguishable in the faint light, while the towers at the gate, and round the outer walls, seemed to be exaggerated in height and dimensions. From the window over the castle gateway, a light twinkled brightly in the dark mass of the walls, and there was one also on a bastion of the gate, and a few here and there in the village. Around the fields and trees were in the deepest gloom, the upper portion of the trees, where the moon's rays caught the topmost branches only, being visible, and a sparkle here and there in the little river, as it brawled over the rocks and stones in its bed, its hoarse murmur being distinctly audible as though it were in flood.

"Cheer up, Lallajee! be comforted; our master never keeps any one in suspense very long," remarked Lukshmun pleasantly. "When he says ch-ck, ch-ck, as I do to Motee here, we know exactly what to do."

"Be quiet, for a prating fool, as thou art!" cried Gopal Singh, "and look after the horse. I would not have his knees broken for a thousand rupees. Sit square, O Lalla! lean back, good man, and ease him as you go down. Do not be afraid."

But for this assurance the Lalla had fainted. "Ah, Jemadar," he exclaimed, "by your mother, I am too poor to notice—a stranger in a strange land. I trust to you—pity me and be merciful, for the sake of my children."

"Bichara! poor fellow, he has children—so have I," interrupted Lukshmun; "and that makes it worse sometimes."

"Be silent, as you love your life," said the Jemadar, firing a shot over the Lalla's head, which caused him to start violently, and was followed by another each from the two men in succession; "be silent, and mind your seat downhill. If Maun Singh has not arrived," he continued to the men, "there will have been trouble enough by this time."

"They have passed not long ago, Jemadar," said Rama; "look, here are the horses' footprints."

"That is good; and they see us now," continued Gopal Singh.

As he spoke, a vivid white flash, from the highest bastion turret of the castle, increased in brightness, as a large Bengal light was burned for an answering signal. The attitude of the signal-man, as he held an iron cresset high above his head, could be distinctly seen; and while the dazzling blaze continued, castle, and town, and village—even the open ground beyond, and the trees and temple upon it—were revealed in silvery brilliance. Then, as the first died out, another light took its place, and burned out, leaving the gloom more intense than before. Under any other circumstances, the effect would have been as surprising to the Lalla as it was really beautiful, but, under the circumstances, the sudden apparition of the castle, with its defences and outworks, struck an additional chill to his heart, and as the last gleam of the bright light went out, it seemed a type of the extinguishing of his own hopes.

---

[CHAPTER XV.]

Pahar Singh had been long watching from the window we have before mentioned. There were three descents from the plain above to the village, all within his view; and there were men on each of the bastions also, watching in all directions. He was very restless and moody; not even the gold found in several bags which he had taken to his private apartments—not even the large amount of booty, which had so few light coins in it—could dispel the gloom. He had ordered all about him to be silent, and even Amrut Rao had obeyed him as yet; and his little daughter, who was allowed to sit in the hall when no strangers were present, had nestled to his side, but was afraid to speak.

Ararat Rao knew, however, by experience, that the more his master was allowed to brood over anything in this manner, the harder it was to rally him; and as the account of the money had been made up, he took the paper, trimmed the lamp, and stood in an attitude to read, unchecked by the actual distortion of the chief's face in a repressed fury, at which even his daughter concealed herself, and cowered into a corner, and which soon broke out in violent oaths and abuse.

Amrut Rao bent to the storm, and did not reply. After an interval he read slowly:—

"Twenty-seven thousand two hundred and ninety-three rupees; and the five bags of ashruffees which you took inside—how many were in them?"

"What is that to you? do you want to steal them? By the gods! you are over-familiar to-night, Amrut Rao. Did I not bid ye all be silent, and dare you disobey? you—dare you?" cried the chief, raising himself, while the foam gathered upon his lips, and the veins swelled on his forehead. "Dare you?"

"My lord," replied Amrut Rao, joining his hands, "abuse of a Brahmun, out of a noble mouth, is sin—unfitting to hear. Be reasonable. This is the best booty which we have seen for many a day. If we knew the total of the ashruffees we could add it, and you could sign the day-book, and clear away all the bags. It is getting late."

"Let it be. No, I will not sign the paper," cried Pahar Singh, petulantly. "What need have I with wealth? he will not come now. I will go to Kasee, Jugunath, and Raméshwur; I will give up the world; I have committed much sin, and will have no more of it. I will—— Ha, by the gods! there is a shot on the road," he continued, as the sharp ring of Gopal Singh's matchlock broke the silence without: "another, and another! and a horse's neigh, too; and there were but the three. Can it be they, Maun Singh? speak! by your soul, speak: why are you silent?"

"Let the cloud pass from your spirit, brother: it is they, sure enough. I would swear to Gopal's gun by its ring anywhere."

"Burn a light from the upper bastion—two! it may cheer them down the pass. Quick!" cried the chief; "answer their signal. O Maun Singh! if I said anything bad, forgive me, brother; but I was distraught with care for that boy. Yes, they will see that," as the first blue light glittered over the village. "Burn another, Ranoba—a large one!" he called from the window to the men above; "we may even see them. By the gods! yes, Maun Singh, there they are: the three, and a man on horseback muffled up—a large grey horse—who can it be? Get hot water ready, and enough for all to eat. Bring a goat to kill before him. Tell thy mother, O daughter, to see to this; tell her they are come. How many short rupees were there, Amrut Rao?"

"My lord, it was as I said: the Brahmuns' bellies would be empty if we trusted to short rupees; all we could find were nine doubtful ones."

"Then, count out fifty more—stay, a hundred: will that feed them?"

"You have not told me how much gold there was, Maharaj," continued the Karkoon pertinaciously, not noticing the gift.

"Now, a plague on thee for an obstinate fool, Amrut Rao," replied the chief, laughing; "did I not tell thee not to speak about it?"

"The total of the silver is twenty-seven thousand two hundred and ninety-three rupees," returned the Karkoon; "and the gold must be added to complete the account before we retire."

"Well, then, there were five bags, and fifty Akburi mohurs in each: will that content you? or must you see them?"

"Why couldn't you tell me this at first?" continued Amrut Rao, writing in the account, which he spread on his left hand; "there, at twenty rupees each, another five thousand, that makes thirty-two thousand two hundred and ninety-three rupees. My lord ordered fifty rupees for the dole to-morrow; it might as well be the odd ninety-three."

"Ay, take that, and the two hundred over to boot, good fellow, if thou wilt. Here, some of you, stop him, stop my son, and kill a goat before him at the gate; see that lights are waved over him, and the evil eye is taken off him. Quick! there are the torches flashing in the bazar."

"I have deducted the sum, Maharaj," said the Karkoon deliberately; "now look at the total, and put your seal to it. Thirty-two thou——"

"By Krishna! thou wouldst leave me no peace, Amrut Rao," replied the chief; "here is the seal; seal the memorandum, and begone. Yet stay; thou art a good fellow after all; so take a handsome doopatta, or a pair of dhotees, out of that coin for thyself."

"Not out of the Brahmuns' bellies," retorted the Karkoon; "thank you. I shall have plenty of gifts by-and-by. Here is your seal."

The chief might have answered angrily, had his attention not been diverted at the moment. "Ah, here they are," he cried, looking from the window; "they have brought the man's horse up to the steps, and are taking him off—bound, too! Ai Purméshwar! but there must be much to hear. Why do they delay?"

In truth they had not delayed; for several torch-bearers, stationed at the gate, hearing the shots on the hill, had run forward in the direction of the pass, while the retainers and others from the bazar, crowded up to bid the young man welcome; for the anxiety in the castle had spread over the village. So Gopal Singh and his party entered the gates among many eager faces, lighted up by torches tossing above them, and were welcomed by noisy shouts as the men clustered round them. Then a bevy of village women awaited them, some bearing brass dishes filled with mustard-seed, and small lighted lamps, which were waved over him; others with jars of water, which were poured out before him; and, as others joined them, there was quite a procession up to the end of the second traverse.

Farther on, at the gate of the castle, stood a body of the household servants and retainers, one having a naked sword, and a goat before him bleating loudly. As Gopal Singh advanced, the sword flashed in the air, and the headless carcase struggled convulsively as the blood spouted over the sill and step, and trickled down towards the Lalla, who, lifted from his horse, shuddered as he was set down among it.

Again the ceremony of having lights waved over him by some of the women-servants was repeated; and Gopal Singh, bidding Lukshmun and the others search the Lalla carefully and keep what was found, ascended to the court, and was met in a warm embrace by his uncle, and led to the window, where, being seated, all present, including Maun Singh, advanced to salute him in turn.

"What did I say, brother?" cried Maun Singh joyfully. "I knew he would not disappoint us. Yet thou shouldst not have gone alone, Gopal."

"Nay, but I had the hunchbacks with me, and more would have spoiled my small hunt, which, if not so grand as thine, uncle, may yet be important," replied the young man.

"Ah, the boy, the boy!" exclaimed the chief, stroking the young man's face, and kissing the tips of his own fingers; "have I not brought him up since he was the height of my knee? And I thought him lost—Ai Bhugwân, Bhugwân! Ai Purméshwar! He is safe and well—safe and well, O Sri Máta! My heart swells. What did I say for the Brahmuns? Never mind now. Go, bathe and eat, my son, and we will see to everything afterwards."

"Not before that matter is settled, father—that is, about the man I brought with me."

"Yes, I had forgotten—certainly. Light the large lamps," cried the chief to the attendants at the lower end of the room; "let us see what manner of man he is. Who is he, Gopal?"

"That we have to find out, father. They thought him a spy of the Emperor's, and he came from Aurungabad, by Bheer, to Kullianee, to the Gosai's. He changed some bills for gold, and he has got it. I offered escort, but was refused; so I went from Muntalla to the Burr tree at Kinny, for we heard he was going to sleep in the Mutt at Surroori. They were sending him on privately, father."

"Shabash! well done, son. A spy? Well, if we are true to the King's salt, he goes no farther; and he was being sent privately! Ah, the old foxes! Here he is—what a sight!" cried the chief, breaking into uncontrollable laughter. "Who art thou? What have they done to thee? Speak."

In truth the poor Lalla was a show. The order to search him had been literally complied with, and while two stout fellows held his arms wide apart, he was helpless to struggle. Rama and Lukshmun, who would allow no one to touch him, had dived into every pocket, and felt every possible place of concealment, even to the Lalla's hair, which was loosened and hung about his shoulders. His turban had been removed and shaken out, while one end was now fastened to his right arm. The bag of gold, tied round his waist, his bundle of precious papers, his sword, dagger, and waist-shawl, had all been taken from him and made into a bundle, and the articles were deliberately counted by the hunchback as they were deposited, one by one, in the centre of the shawl spread out for the purpose. It was quite in vain that the Lalla entreated, besought, struggled, or resisted by turns; the place, the rough men around him, all forbade hope of pity, and he submitted. Finally, Lukshmun dragging him by the end of his turban, Rama pushing him behind, and several of the others assisting, the Lalla was brought into the presence of the chief, where he sank down, stupidly staring about him.

Where were all the fine speeches he had contrived, which should have carried the chief's heart at once? All the couplets, too, from the Bôstan that he was to have quoted?—All gone. His head was bare, his clothes untied and hanging loosely about him; his boots removed: and his appearance of utter helplessness, and the hopeless, piteous expression of despair in his face, might have excited compassion in any but the hardened men by whom he was surrounded and confronted.

"Who art thou, knave? Speak," cried the chief, sternly, again raising his voice and checking his laughter. "Who art thou?"

"There now, make a salaam to the 'Lion of the Jungle'" (as the chief was called among his people), said Lukshmun, raising the right hand of the Lalla to his head, which dropped helplessly. "Ah, I see he is ashamed, poor man, of his naked head. There, Lallajee," and he wound the turban round his head hastily, giving it a ludicrous cock to one side, increasing, if possible, the grotesque expression of the features—"there now, get up and make your Tusleemât, else my lord may be angry; and he is not exactly safe when he is," he added in a whisper. "Get up, and don't be afraid."

But the Lalla's terror was too great, his mouth too dry to speak. "Amān, amān!—Mercy, mercy!" was all he could gasp.

"Who art thou, knave?" cried Pahar Singh again. "Whence art thou come? Give a good account of thyself. Let go of him, rascals!" he continued to the men who held him; "begone all of ye."

"Maharaj," cried Lukshmun beseechingly to the chief, "here are the Lalla's things; who will take them? Look, Rao Sahib," he continued, to Amrut Rao, "here they are: count them. I have done with them—for the Lion is getting savage—let me go. Beware, O Lalla! take my advice, and tell all about yourself, else I shall have to kill you somehow. You don't know the Maharaj as I do."

This advice, and the diversion effected by the hunchback, afforded the Lalla a little time for the recovery of his senses; but who could have recognized the bland, accomplished Toolsee Das, in the abject figure before them? Hastily pressing the turban straight upon his brows, the Lalla arose, and, as well as he could, made the ordinary Tusleemât.

"Shabash!" cried the chief. "Well done, that was never learned in the jungle. Now speak truly, and at once, who art thou?"

"Noble sir," returned the Lalla, "I claim your protection. There has been a mistake about my treatment. My property has been taken, and I have been misused——"

"I misuse thee, knave?" cried Pahar Singh, his brow darkening; "who art thou to bandy words with Pahar Singh? I have never seen thee before."

"Beware, Lallajee," said Gopal Singh; "did I not warn thee? Say who thou art at once, or I will not answer for thee. Do not eat dirt."

"Peace, boy!" interrupted the chief angrily; "the fellow looks like a knave—a thief—his is no honest face. Speak; or, by the gods, there will be scant ceremony with thee!"

"My lord, my lord!" cried the Lalla piteously; "mercy, I am no thief; I am a poor Khayet of Delhi, travelling to Beejapoor, on business of my own—a stranger—a poor stranger."

"What business, Lalla?"

"My lord, we are merchants, and have dealings with people there for clothes and jewels. There is a dispute about the accounts, and I have come to settle them," said the Lalla glibly enough. It was one of the stories he had made up by the way.

"Who are the merchants?" asked the chief.

"The Gosais of the Mutt at Kullianee, where I was yesterday; they sent me on," replied the Lalla.

"O, hear!" cried Gopal Singh; "they knew nothing about thee, except that thou hadst a bill on them for a thousand rupees, and the money was given thee in gold. Is not this true? Did I not hear it myself?"

"Thou art no merchant, dog," exclaimed Pahar Singh. "Did ever merchant make an obeisance like that? Ah, we are true testers of gold here; the true and the false are soon found out. Who art thou? speak truly, and fear not."

"By the shrine at Muttra, by the Holy Mother, I am what I say, a poor Khayet, a Mutsuddee only. O noble sirs," continued the Lalla, "give me my property, and let me go. I will seek shelter in the bazar: let me go, for the love of your children."

"I beg to petition," interposed Lukshmun, joining his hands, "that, as I brought him, my share of the gold be given me before he goes. I took care of him on the road—did I not, master?"

"Silence!" roared the chief; "any one who speaks shall be flogged. Who art thou, O liar? Mutsuddee thou art, but whose? Thy speech betrays thee—beware!"

"I have told you, noble sir. Thakoor Das, Preym Das is the name of the firm; my name is Toolsee Das—Lalla Toolsee Das, your slave to command. Ask at Kullianee, and the house will be known there. I—I—am a poor man—a stranger; who knows me?" said the Lalla, now whimpering.

"A fool, a liar art thou, throwing away life," returned Gopal Singh. "This is the second time I have warned thee. We know thou art from the royal camp, and a spy to Beejapoor. Speak, else——"

"And the doom of a spy is death; and thou art a liar too, and a coward to boot. Look at him now, Gopala," said his uncle, interrupting and pointing to the man; "look at his coward face."

The Lalla was trembling violently. His knees shook, and his teeth chattered audibly as he shivered. He could not speak, but looked vacantly from one to another. "I am c-o-o-ld—c-o-o-o-ld," he said faintly; "the wet, sirs, and the long travel. Amān, amān! I am only a merchant, let me go."

"Thou art cold! then we will warm thee," cried the chief grimly. "Yet, speak, O Lalla, ere I give the order. We would not hurt thee without cause—otherwise——"

"Ai Narayun! Ai Rámchunder! believe me, I am no spy. I swear by God I am no spy," he replied earnestly.

"Bind him!" cried the chief furiously. "A liar and a spy. Make torches of his fingers! we will soon hear the truth."

---

[CHAPTER XVI.]

Ere he knew what to do or say, the Lalla was a second time bound with his own shawl; and Lukshmun, tearing a rag into strips, and soaking them in the oil of the lamp, was tying them coolly upon the ends of his fingers, one by one. "I told you, Lallajee," he said, "we are rough people here, and you should be careful. When I light these you will not like the pain, and if you bear that, he will do something worse. When he says 'ch-ck, ch-ck,' you know——"

"Silence, knave! thou art over-familiar," cried Maun Singh; "beware!"

"Nay, but if I can save him from the torches, uncle," returned the hunchback, with a grotesque grin, "he will perhaps be grateful, and give his wealth to me."

"Is it ready?" asked the chief.

"Quite ready, my lord," answered Lukshmun, taking one of the lighted wicks from the large lamp between his finger and thumb, "For your life, speak, good fellow," he said earnestly and under his breath to the Lalla, "and save yourself this torture. One word more from him, and I dare not disobey; few bear it—speak!"

"O, my lord! my lord!" shrieked the Lalla, now comprehending what was intended, and throwing himself prostrate on the ground, "do not burn me alive. I will speak the truth. Why should I tell lies?"

"Very well," returned the chief, on whose lips the ominous foam speckles were now visible. "Very well, get up; it is thine own business. Thou hast not heard of our Dekhan customs, perhaps, else I had not wasted words on thee. Speak, who sent thee? Alumgeer? He cannot help thee now."

"He would have no mercy on me if he knew—if he had me in his power," murmured the Lalla. "Loose me, my lord, I am faint, and cannot speak; yet I will speak the truth. And should all these hear? My lord knows best. Loose me, and have these rags taken from my fingers."

"When thou hast told the truth, Lalla; not till then," said Pahar Singh, slowly. "Dost thou hear? Away, all of ye!" he cried to the attendants, who had crowded round the Lalla. "Keep the torch alight. Now, Lalla," he continued, as the man stood alone below the dais, "speak. Once more, and this is my last warning; if I hear any more lies I will end that coward life of thine."

"Beware!" added Gopal Singh, "I would not be as thou art with that lying tongue of thine—ugh! no, not for lakhs. Remember that he, my uncle, never relents."

"I would rather speak to ye alone," said the Lalla.

"We three are as one. Yet stay," added the chief. "Go thou, Amrut Rao, let him have his own chance for life—but remain without."

"Do any of ye know the seal of the Wuzeer of Beejapoor," said the Lalla, when they were alone, "or do ye know the writing of Sivaji, the Mahratta Rajah?" He spoke with great difficulty, for his mouth was parched and clammy, and his lips white.

"Nay, but Sivaji cannot write, Lalla. This is some fool's story. Beware, too, how thou takest the name of my lord the Wuzeer," said the chief sternly.

"My lord, my lord, with death before me and one chance for life, I cannot lie," returned the Lalla, sadly shaking his head. "My hands are tied; but if one of you will open that bag, there will be truth enough found in it to save me. There, Jemadar," he continued, as Gopal Singh opened the bag, "in the side pocket are two Persian letters, fastened up; look at them first; look at the seals. If I am wrong I am wrong—I am helpless, do as ye like with me; I am helpless."

"It is the Wuzeer's seal, his private seal, uncle," said Gopal Singh excitedly. "Of this there is no doubt; look at it yourself."

"Ai Ram! Ai Seeta Ram! what have we here? It is the seal truly," said Pahar Singh, looking at the impressions on both letters, and rocking himself to and fro.

"Do any of ye read Persian?" asked the Lalla; "if so, read for yourselves. I need not speak; they will speak for me."

"I will try, uncle," said Gopal Singh; "give me the letters. By Krishna, father!" he continued, breaking the silence, and after his eye had glanced over a few lines, "I would rather go into the thickest fight than read treachery like this. Narayun, keep us!"

"Ay, may the gods be merciful, Gopala! But what is it?—what is it?" said the chief eagerly.

"He would sell our kingdom of Beejapoor to the Padshah of Delhi, uncle——"

"People said so—people said so," said Pahar Singh, interrupting; "but I did not believe it. What more, my son?"

"Nay, the style is too courtly for me to make much of it, but both the letters are to the same effect. Where didst thou get these letters, Lalla?"

"Noble gentlemen, if ye are true to your King's salt," exclaimed the Lalla, seeing that he had made an impression on his hearers, "then I deserve naught but good at your hands. I am in the royal service; I saw the papers; I read what danger threatened Ali Adil Shah; I took them; I escaped from the camp with them, to carry them to him, and I am here. O, noble sirs, put me not to loss and shame!"

On the next few words hung the Lalla's life. It were easy to kill him and secure the papers. The Wuzeer had sent several urgent messages to Pahar Singh lately. He had a matter of moment, attended with great profit, to communicate. Was it about these letters? The Wuzeer would give lakhs for them. The very threat of disclosure to the King would extort any terms. Again, if he denied them—and what more easy than to counterfeit his seal, or use it upon forged papers? If he took this course, they would be in a false position: false to the King and to the Wuzeer,—and the King's threats had of late been very menacing. So, as they deliberated, the Lalla's life hung in the balance, now ascending, now descending, in the eager consultation which the three men carried on in Canarese. The Lalla looked from one to another in piteous supplication, not daring to speak, his mouth parched, and trembling in every limb; for he felt this quick discussion, and the increasingly savage glances of the chief towards him, to be for life or for death.

"And this from Sivaji?" asked Gopal Singh, at length. "What of it, Lalla?"

"It was with the others, and there are some more of older date in the bag," he replied, "and of the Wuzeer's also. Sivaji's letters had to be translated to the Emperor: I had to copy the translations, and thus I came to know their contents. Noble sirs, I am telling no lies; look at the seal. They said in the Dufter it was Sivaji Bhóslay's. I do not know it myself."

"Keep the others close, and show this to Amrut Rao," said the chief. "Here," he continued, as the Karkoon, being called, advanced, "look at this; what dost thou make of it?"

The Karkoon looked at the seal and started. "May I open it?" he said.

"Yes, read it to us," said the chief.

He read it over slowly twice.

"Well, what is it?" asked his master.

"What Moro Trimmul wrote from Tooljapoor—what they asked you, my lord, to join in; and here is your name with five thousand men in figures after it, and the Wuzeer's with a lakh."

"Is it genuine, think you? that is what we want to know," said Gopal Singh.

"Certainly," replied the Karkoon; "there is the private mark on the seal, and the signature 'Hé Venunti'—'this supplication'—is all the Maharaj can write. No one could forge that, it is too crooked. How did that man get it?"

"He stole it, Amrut Rao," said the chief; "and we are discussing whether he ought to live or to die. What dost thou think?"

"As a traitor to the salt he has eaten, he ought to die, master," said the Karkoon, looking at the Lalla, who felt that his fate was in the Brahmun's hands,—"but——"

"That is just what I said! he is not fit to live," interrupted the chief. "Let him die. Ho!"

"But"—continued the Karkoon in Canarese, persistently interrupting the chief, and waving back Lukshmun, Rama, and others, who were advancing—"if I may speak. He says he wants to take them to Beejapoor. Let him have his own way. A bargain may be made with Ali Adil Shah through his secretary the Meerza—not by him" (and he pointed to the Lalla), "but by us. The letters will not alter the matter one jot, and my lord can act as he pleases afterwards. We can send people with the Lalla."

"Excellently spoken, Amrut Rao; ye have all better brains than I have. Then the papers are valuable?" said Pahar Singh.

"Yes, my lord, if properly vouched for; and the man who stole them can give a better account of them than we can. The King might give any money—a lakh of rupees—for them. He already more than suspects the Wuzeer and Sivaji Bhóslay of being in league with the Emperor, and would rejoice to get such proofs of their treachery."

"Hark ye, Lalla," cried the chief, changing the language to Oordoo, which he spoke well, "what didst thou expect to get for these papers? What is the price of them?"

"My lord," he replied, simpering and putting up his joined hands, "they may be worth lakhs—so the Gosais at Kullianee told me—anything I liked to ask. They will negotiate the matter with the secretary and the King for me; and if my lord would only condescend to assist, I—I—would give—yes, he might be sure of a share."

"I of a share!—of a bribe! Art thou feeding me with a bribe? O base dog, and son of a dog! Pig! I a share? O Lalla, thou art surely mad, and fated to eat dirt. Enough of this! Ho, without!—Lukshmun!—hunchbacks!—away with him; give him the handkerchief in the outer court. Quick!" roared Pahar Singh, relapsing into fury.

"Uncle! father! not now," cried Gopal Singh, entreatingly, and touching his feet; then rising and stepping forward with joined hands, "calm thyself. Not to-day, when I am safe; not to-day, when I promised him life! Give his life to me for this day; after that, as thou wilt."

"It is valuable, my lord," added Amrut Rao. "These papers cannot tell their own story. Where could we say we got them? He must go with them to authenticate them. Gopal Singh and I can go to the city with him, and, after all, he deserves well of Ali Adil Shah, though he has been a traitor to his own King. Give him to us, my lord; we may get good out of him."

"No," said the chief, after a moment's pause, "no, Rao Sahib, I will go myself. I will see the end of this matter. Thou shalt come with me, Maun Singh; and we can work through thy brother, Amrut Rao. A lakh, saidst thou, O Lalla? Well, I will give thee a share if thou art true. And now I give thy life to thee—buksheesh!—a free gift—a new life, O Lalla. See that thou make good use of it, for what I give I can recall. Go: they will see to thy food and comfort, and thou wilt eat in a Rajpoot's house of the race of the Sun."

The Lalla would have said something about his gold and his horse; the words were in his mouth, and it was well, perhaps, he could not speak. The revulsion was too great for him, from life to apparently imminent death, and again from death to life. Weary with travel and faint with hunger, he had sunk down insensible, and they carried him away into the court.

"The King has been seeking my life, friends, for some time past," said the chief musingly. "Perhaps it would be well to use these papers—that is—— Yes," he continued, "I have eaten his salt—I and my father—and we eat it now. My heart revolts at this treachery, and we can be faithful with many another. Let us rouse the boy. There should be good stuff in Mahmood Adil Shah's son, and I will try it. As for the Wuzeer, I know what he would have me do, but I will not say it, else should we have been left quiet so long, and the army so near us? Stay ye here, Gopal and Amrut Rao. If he send for me, go to him at Nuldroog; 'tis but a ride. Go and take his money, then come to me at the city. I shall be in the old place; and bring the hunchbacks with you, there may be work for them."

The Lalla recovered as they carried him gently into the open air, and bathed his face with water.

"Ah!" said Lukshmun, who was the most active of his attendants, and was unbinding the shawl, "see what care I take of thee, O Lalla; better your fingers are sound than roasted; better your neck straight than twisted; better have to eat good food here—it is so good—than have thy mouth filled with mud and water in the river yonder——"

"My gold, my gold!" gasped the Lalla, interrupting him, "who has got it? at least get that for me."

"He has got it," replied the hunchback, pointing with his thumb backwards. "Better he, than I or my brother; we should only spend it—he won't. Thy star is bright to-night, Lallajee. When thou art set free do not forget us, that's all. Come."

They conducted him to a small chamber within, where two decently-clad women awaited them—slaves or servants—and informed the Lalla that a bath had been prepared for him, and food would be served to him in the eating-room.

We are assured, therefore, that the Lalla was left in good hands. There was perhaps a shade too much garlic in the cookery, he thought; but he was not particular, and appetite returned with absence of fear. When he had finished, he was summoned to the chief, and it was not without apprehension that he went; but he was now received kindly, though with a rough sort of civility, and motioned to sit near Gopal Singh. So assured, the Lalla's habitual confidence soon returned, and he took his part, with much ability, in the discussion that followed, in which his information in regard to the Emperor's designs was most valuable.

How the consultation ended will hereafter appear in another locality, to which we must now transport our readers.

---

[CHAPTER XVII.]

The Azân, or evening call to prayers, had just ceased throughout Beejapoor. From mosque to mosque, and minaret to minaret, the sonorous and musical voices of the Muezzins had proclaimed the evening invitation to worship. It was still light, though the vivid hues of sunset were fading fast, and the warm red and orange tints, which had rested upon the minarets, domes, and gilded pinnacles of the palaces, mosques, and mausoleums of the superb city, were giving place to a sober grey. Here and there a star already twinkled in the heavens, and a few rosy clouds, on which the sun's rays rested lingeringly, floated away eastwards before a gentle breeze, that rustled among the tall palm trees. For a time the busy hum of the populous city seemed to be hushed, and the stillness and seclusion of the spot we have to describe, prompted those feelings of devotion which the time required.

It was one of those small yet elegant mosques, which are found scattered everywhere about the ruins that now exist, surrounded by enclosures that were once gardens, in which broken fountains and dry watercourses now only suggest visions of their former elegance and comfort, and where low brushwood and tangled grass have displaced the fragrant flowers and useful fruit trees of former days. Here and there a jessamine, now wild, trails over ruined walls and once trim garden terraces, or a long-lived hardy lime tree struggles for existence in the unwatered soil.

At the period of our tale, however, the building was in its full freshness and beauty. A single arch, of low Saracenic form, led into a square room vaulted by delicate groins, leading from the corners to the base of a cupola above. The floor was formed of chequers of black and white marble, highly polished; and the sides of the room, deeply indented by arched niches, were finished with stucco, which rivalled the marble in polish and purity of colour. Around the largest niche, at the end opposite to the entrance, and the arch in which the pulpit stood, were borders of delicate arabesque foliage, into which texts from the Kôrán, in coloured enamel letters, were skilfully and elegantly interwoven; while above the pulpit itself, in gold letters on a black ground, was the Arabic text, "La Alla, il Alla, Mahomed russool Alla;" "There is no God but one God, and Mahomed is the prophet of God." Two plain cotton carpets, striped red and white, had been placed before the pulpit, to be used by those who might come to the evening prayer.

Outside, the front of the mosque was composed of the dark-coloured basalt used in all the buildings of the city, beautifully finished as to the fitting of the stones, on which bold cornices and rosettes had been executed round the entrance arch, and about the projecting portion which supported the small minarets. Immediately above the archway, broad stone eaves crossed the face of the building, resting upon deep and richly carved brackets of black basalt, surmounted by a bold cornice, over which were fleurs-de-lis, forming the upper ornament. Under the projecting eaves, and on the crest of the entrance arch, were bright flowers in coloured enamel, bordered by frames of delicate white stucco work, which relieved the rich but monotonous tint of the stone, without disturbing the chaste effect of the whole. In the centre of the terrace, before the mosque, was a small fountain, for the purpose of ablution, which threw up a tiny thread of water to some height in the air, descending in a shower of light spray, and producing a faint, plashing sound, very grateful to the ear.

Above the mosque, and mingling with its slender minarets and thin gilded spires, a few cocoa-nut trees waved their graceful pendant leaves; and with them the heavy foliage of the fragrant moulserry, and the broad leaf of the plantain, with its tender yet vivid green, formed an harmonious contrast. Nearer the terrace was a group of orange trees, some weighed down by clusters of golden fruit, others covered with blossom, which, with the tuberoses around the fountain, and the evening jessamine now opening, gave forth to the cool evening air a fragrance almost overpowering. By day, the sun hardly ever reached the mosque, and it always appeared invitingly cool and quiet; but at this evening hour, shadow was rapidly deepening into gloom, adding a solemn effect which enhanced the beauty of this secluded spot.

Two persons stood by the fountain. They had just performed their ablutions, as the last quivering chant of the Muezzin, "La illa, il Ulla," issuing from the tall minaret of one of the neighbouring mosques, floated to them on the soft breeze: yet they appeared to hesitate ere they entered the mosque for the evening prayer. One of them was an elderly woman, clad as befitted the position of the favourite nurse and confidential female servant of a wealthy house, in a blue cotton petticoat of thick but fine texture, over which, and around her body and head, was a white muslin scarf. Her features were homely, yet good-natured, and she evidently regarded her companion,—who merits a fuller description,—with pride mingled with deep affection.

And, in truth, there were few fairer maidens in Beejapoor, even among the wealthy and high-born nobles, than Zyna, the only daughter of Afzool Khan. Her features might be called irregular, according to any European standard, but they were soft and inexpressibly charming; and in her large lustrous eyes, of the deepest brown, there lurked a world of deep feeling which the excitement of life would call into action. About her rounded chin and small mouth, whose full and bow-shaped lips had somewhat of a voluptuous expression, there played a thousand charms, which, though they might not disclose themselves or be observed while her features were at rest, yet, as her first timid reserve gave place to the excitement of conversation or passing incident, exercised a strange but irresistible fascination over those about her.

She was very fair for her country. Her mother's bright Georgian complexion was but little deepened in her daughter's richer and browner cast of colour; the skin appeared to possess that transparent softness which gave a bewitching charm to the delicate yet decided features; and her cheeks and neck flushed, under any excitement, with a warmth which told of her southern and more excitable temperament. Whenever she spoke, the upper lip was raised higher than usual, disclosing a rosy mouth, with teeth which glistened like pearls, even and small; and from the absence of any ornament in the nostril, it was evident that, as yet, no marriage rite had been performed. Her age might be fourteen, or even less; but her figure, from its rounded proportions and grace, would have induced a presumption that she was older.

Yet it would have been only a passing thought. One look at that innocent, almost childish face—where, though full of bright intelligence, the world had as yet fixed no stamp of care to check the natural joyousness of her spirit—would have dispelled it instantly; and if the habitual brightness was sometimes dimmed, it was but as the breath upon a mirror—the passing shadow of some gentle disappointment, which enhanced the beauty as it passed away.

There was no mark of rank or wealth about her, except in the solid gold anklets of heavy chainwork she wore, which fitted closely over her high bare instep: a ring of gold hanging loosely about her neck, and a rosary of large pearls usually worn there, but which were now passing rapidly, and apparently mechanically, through her fingers, as if the thoughts that urged them were somewhat agitated. There was, too, a slight knitting of the brow while she idly, and perhaps somewhat impatiently, dabbled with one naked foot in the water which was welling over the rim of the fountain, sending circles of small wavelets over its otherwise unruffled surface, as she looked eagerly to the entrance-door of the garden as if in expectation of some one. As she stood thus upon a step, her foot resting upon the raised rim of the fountain—the vivid scarlet of her satin petticoat, and the white of the fine muslin scarf which, wound about her person, and passed over her head—were reflected in its trembling waters; and, with the mosque and dark trees behind her, and the figure of the old nurse sitting on the step at her feet, a picture was formed such as no man could have looked on without emotion, and admiration of a being so eminently lovely.

"You are my witness, Goolab," she said at length, looking down on the nurse, "that he said he would come to evening prayer, and that I have waited thus long. The time is passing fast, and you know this is the second night he has disappointed me. O, that he may not be careless to God's service! He used not to be so. But I am not angry with him, nurse," she continued, looking down to the attendant; and as she spoke, every trace of displeasure, if it had ever existed, disappeared at once before her habitual good humour and sweet smile; "he never disappointed me, that he had not some very good reason for staying away—and yet——"

"Nay, my soul," returned the woman, "the Azân is but just said, and there is yet ample time for prayer; the carpets have not been half spread in the Jumma Mosque yet. Why should you be impatient? But listen, was I not right? My young lord comes, so think him faithless no longer."

As she spoke the door of the garden court opened, and with a cry of joy Zyna sprang to meet her brother, as with rapid steps he traversed the garden, and ascended the low terrace before the mosque.

Still of tender age, Fazil Khan was already a remarkable figure. The down of youth had not yet hardened upon his lip and chin; but his tall athletic frame, and erect and confident carriage, proved him to have been engaged in the actions, if not the strife, of the world. His animated features strongly resembled his sister's, but with a sterner and bolder cast of expression, while his colour was much darker. A large grey eye, with remarkably long lashes, which he had from his mother, increased their grave, thoughtful, yet tender, and perhaps almost mournful, expression; the same sweet smile as Zyna's played about his mouth as he returned her joyous welcome, while his glistening eye and excited manner proved that something unusual had occurred, not only to delay him, but to cause an emotion he could not well repress.

"Ah, thou art a sad truant, Fazil," said Zyna, as, after their first greeting, he laid aside his sword and shield, loosened his waist-band, and prepared to perform his ablutions; "armed, too, more heavily than usual, while thy face tells me thou hast met with some recent adventure. Thou hast not been in danger.... Fazil, my brother!"

"Danger!" echoed the youth; "if to walk the streets of Beejapoor amidst contending factions, where one can hardly tell a friend from an enemy, be danger, why then, dear sister, I have had my share even now. But, trust me, there is no real danger to me. Come then to prayer, for the Azân is said, and the light already fails us."

So saying, they ascended the mosque steps together. Their carpets were already spread, and they at once engaged in the service of the evening, well known to the youth, but in the performance of which, his sister was as yet only his gentle and docile pupil.

It would seem that their appearance, as they descended the steps of the mosque together after the prayer was finished, and came out again upon the terrace by the fountain, had more than ordinarily attracted the nurse's attention, for she advanced, and passing her hands rapidly over them from head to foot, pressed her knuckles against her temples; and as they cracked loudly, ejaculated a fervent wish for a thousand years' life and prosperity to each. Such acts are common to the privileged native servants of India, and old Goolab had been their faithful attendant since they were born, and had carefully watched their growth. Both loved her warmly, and there was nothing either would have grudged, to soothe the declining years of their old favourite.

"Enough, enough, Goolab," cried Fazil, as, after several repetitions of the ceremony we have just mentioned, she stroked his chin with her fingers, and kissed their tips; "what evil do you think has come to me that you take it on yourself?"

"Alas, I know not!" said the nurse, sighing; and as she spoke her eyes filled with tears; "but my lord said there had been danger, and I would not have it so. And what evil glances may not have been cast on my beautiful child all through the streets to-day?"

The youth made a slight gesture of impatience, but it was lost on the fond old woman. Checking the feeling which had prompted it, he cried cheerfully, "No, no, Goolab, believe me, I meant no more than ordinary danger; are we not always in it? And who can tell the hour of his death?" he added after a pause, and looking reverently upwards; "or whether it is to come by a bullet or a sword-cut, long wasting fever or sudden sickness; nay, here as we stand! When the message comes we cannot stay."

"Hush, say not so, brother," said Zyna, gently laying her hand upon his mouth; "talk not so of death."

"Nay, my rose, he says but the truth," added Goolab; "and who knew it better, than the pure saint your mother, who sleeps yonder? Well, it was God's will, and who shall gainsay it? Meah is right, my pet, but death should not be sent to the like of you; only to the old servant who is ripe for the harvest——"

"We linger," said Fazil to his sister, interrupting her; "and the darkness is fast spreading. I have much to do ere midnight, and I must go to prepare for it. I will meet thee at the evening meal before I start——Yet once more to take leave of thee, O mother!" he said to himself; "there may be danger to-night, and if it should be——Come, Zyna," he resumed, "a few flowers for the tomb, and I must go. Get a light, Goolab—the lamp may as well be lighted now."

"I had placed them before you came, Fazil; but come; again may she look down on her children together," said his sister.

So saying, she gathered a few jessamine and moulserry flowers and, with her brother following, passed to the end of the garden court, where, among some others, stood a high tomb of polished black stone, with a pillar at the back in which was a niche for lamps that were lighted every evening.

Reverently and tenderly were the fresh flowers laid at the head and feet of the tomb by both. One could see no morbid motive in the act, and there were no tears or vain regret. Their creed, imbued as it is with fatalism, had taught them submission, and the offering up of flowers every evening after the Azân, as the lamps were lighted, had become a simple duty, never committed to others. If those two loving and simple hearts believed that their mother's spirit was thus rejoiced, it will account to us for that constant remembrance of the dead which is so affecting, and generally so sincere, among the Mahomedan families of India.

"Come," said Fazil, "we must not delay; though indeed, O sweet mother! I could stay long with thee to-night," he added, touching the foot of the grave gently, and raising his hand to his head. "I kiss thy feet, O mother! may thy blessing rest upon me. Be not far from us, O beloved! Come, Goolab, give me the lamp, and I will place it myself to-night."

"What ails the boy?" said the nurse to herself, as Fazil advanced with the lamp, lighted the others, and placed it in the niche with the customary prayer. "What ails him to-night? Truly there is danger, and he has done all those things himself that he may meet her——If it be the will of Alla, who can gainsay it? but not so, O Protector!" she muttered; "not so. I vow Fatehas at the mosque next Friday if he is spared," she said inwardly, weeping.

Fazil's errand was done, and as he turned he saw the old nurse wiping her eyes. "Ah, weeping, Goolab?" he said. "No, no, that is of no use now."

"No, Meah, truly of no use," she replied; "but memory is often too much for me when I think upon her. Yet I will not weep—of what use would it be?"

"None, old nurse, none; come, get me my dinner, for I have much to do ere midnight."

"Will our father join us?" asked Zyna.

"I think not; I left him engaged with affairs of importance with the King's secretary in the Durbar, and he did not speak of return. I will wait a little for him, but should I not see him, thou must tell him, Zyna, that I am gone on the King's business. But hurry the dinner; I go only to give a few orders, and I will be with thee presently."

So saying he left them, and quitted the garden by another door which led to the outer court, where the guard-houses allotted to the retainers of his father's house were situated. Goolab followed to bar the door after him, which was kept closed on the inside, and, returning to Zyna, said, "Did he tell thee what he was going to do, my life?"

"No," said Zyna sadly; "he would not tell me, nurse, and I dared not ask him. He said he would explain all by-and-by, and he will. I know he will," she added, clapping her hands; "he always trusts me."

"I only hope he is in none of these plots that they say are going on," returned the nurse.

"What plots, Goolab?" asked Zyna with apprehension.

"O, I know not," replied the old woman, with a puzzled air, and passing her hand across her eyes; "only people in the bazar say so; and the Bangle woman, after she had put on your new set the other day, said something about the Mahrattas and Sivaji Bhóslay."

"O, the Kafirs!" cried Zyna, laughing; "I have no fear for them, if that is all. I was afraid of worse. But come, or we shall keep him waiting."

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[CHAPTER XVIII.]

Entering another small court, in which there was a stone porch formed of pillars connected by arches, supporting a dome in the shape of half an octagon, projecting from a side-wall, which served as a private place of audience—Fazil passed through a farther door into one of the large exterior courts of the mansion, which contained an open hall composed of a triple row of pointed arches covering a large space. Generally, it was filled with the better classes of horse-soldiers; Silladars, or cavaliers who rode their own horses and sat there when not on duty; also by the officers and men of the young Khan's own guard: and occasionally was used by his father when were held great ceremonies, festivals, or rejoicings in the house.

On the three other sides of the court were arches or cloisters, slightly raised from the ground, in which lounged or slept soldiers of all classes, on duty or otherwise, generally collected into groups, playing at chess, or pacheese, or cards, singing, or telling stories. Just then, however, most were idle; for the lamps, which stood in niches in the centre of each arch, had not been lighted. The large hall was nearly empty; but in one corner a group of Karkoons, or clerks, sat with a large brass lamp in the midst of them, occupied with accounts, and making fair copies of letters to be despatched by that night's post.

All the men assembled here were strictly the retainers of the house; for the guard of troops belonging to the King had another post in a different court, and were comparatively few in number. Afzool Khan's household force, or Päègah, as it was called, was supported out of royal estates, granted or assigned for the purpose. It belonged strictly to the royal service, but the men looked to their own lord for employment and maintenance, followed him to the field, and were for the most part hereditary retainers, with no claim upon, or expectation from, royal favour. Such was the condition and constitution of the greater portion of native armies at the period of our tale, and such it continues to be in native states where troops are maintained.

Fazil Khan was the idol of his men, both Moslems and Hindus. His martial exercises had begun early, and he had proved an apt scholar. Any of the men who particularly excelled in the use of a particular weapon had, in turn, the young noble for his pupil; and in all field accomplishments necessary to the soldier and gentleman of those days, the young Khan was well skilled. No doubt these, and his daily systematic exercises, had developed a frame always strongly knit; and his broad deep chest, round muscular arms, and thin flanks, amply testified strength and activity.

On horseback with the Mahratta spear or matchlock, it was no hyperbole to say that, at full gallop, he could pick up a tent-peg driven into the ground with the former, or shatter one at a fair distance with a bullet from the other. Such martial accomplishments never fail to gain the respect and attachment of an inferior soldiery; and when to these were added a disposition open and cheerful, somewhat hasty perhaps at times, but in reality generous and affectionate,—a hearty frank manner, which few could resist, and a countenance, not strictly handsome, but which expressed all this and even more,—it will not be thought strange, that the young Khan should have become a universal favourite with his retainers, and the especial darling and idol of a few.

Chief, perhaps, among the latter, was Bulwunt Rao Bhóslay, who held rank in the Päègah as Duffadar, or leader of a small "duffa," or subdivision of men. He was a Mahratta of good, nay, originally noble family—a Silladar, or cavalier who maintained not only his own horse but five others, with which, mounted by dependants of his own, he had originally visited the capital and joined the service of Afzool Khan.

Him, had the young Khan selected as his especial instructor in the use of the sword; for at the annual festivals and games before the King's palace, Bulwunt Rao's feats of slicing betel-nut on the ground, cutting a lime in two on the palm of a man's hand, or a ripe guava on his head, were unrivalled; and their yearly repetition was looked for by the people with great interest, and always rewarded by hearty acclamations.

Bulwunt Rao was worthy of his young lord's confidence. Daring and resolute, he had already led Fazil Khan into the midst of some sharp cavalry affairs with the Moghuls, and brought him forth safe, while he himself had been wounded several times in protecting him from sword-cuts. Wily, yet full of energy, if there were any necessity for action, open and frank in his manner, he had early won his young lord's affectionate regard, which he very heartily returned, while he rejoiced, with all a soldier's pride, to see him growing up as manly and true of heart as his boyhood had promised.

Fazil's arrival among those assembled—so suddenly, and at an hour when he usually withdrew to the zenana and his studies—caused no little excitement among the men, and they eagerly crowded round him for the news which he might have to tell them.

"What tidings hast thou for us, Meah Sahib?" cried a fine bearded fellow of his own tribe of Pathans, also a favourite. "May thy prestige increase! but there should be something by thy look,—a march against those zenana dogs of Moghuls, or a fray over the border against Golconda."

"A hunt of Moghuls!" echoed several. "What better sport, Meah? There are some pickings of Delhi gold to be got in their waist-bands and pockets."

"And what has my lord for his servants to perform?" asked Bulwunt Rao, now advancing with his usual easy yet deferential manner. "Speak but the word, and we are in our saddles directly. Shall I order the Nagara to be beaten, and cry to horse!"

"Not so, Bulwunt," said the young man, taking him aside; "what I have to say is for your ear alone. Come into the private court and listen."

"For me alone, Meah?" returned Bulwunt Rao, laughing. "What brawl have you fallen into? whom have you slain to-day, sir?"

"Let us all follow if ye are going out," cried several others; "don't leave us behind."

"We have had nothing to do for a month," added one.

"And our swords have lost their edges, Meah," shouted several.

"Peace, all of ye," exclaimed the young Khan; "let no one follow us. This is no fighting matter. Am I wont to plunge into street brawls, Bulwunt Rao?"

"We were none of us with you, my lord, to-day," cried several, "and it is not safe for you to be alone in the streets in these times."

"I had others of the King's, and was quite safe," returned Fazil; "but come, Bulwunt, if you are fit to listen to me; I only fear that ganja pipe of yours is at fault, and your brain is hardly clear. If not, I had as well hold my tongue; yet I had rather trust you, old friend," he continued seriously, "than any other."

Fazil's altered tone and manner had their effect upon his companion. "Wait for a moment, Meah," he said, "I will join you instantly;" and so saying, he ran quickly back to the spot where he had left his carpet, seized a brass vessel of cool water, poured some into his hand and dashed it upon his face, then swallowed several rapid and deep gulps, and returned. "Now, I am fit to listen to the words of the holy Krishna himself if he were on earth; therefore speak on, Meah Sahib, and behold your servant ready to think for you, or to fight for you, as you please!"

"Ay, there is some soberness about you now, Bulwunt," said the young man; "less redness about the eyes, and they are looking straight out of your head, instead of rolling about in it. Now, can I trust you not to prate of this matter before the people yonder, or over the ganja pipe——"

"Nay, Meah, be merciful, and pardon me for once," said Bulwunt, closing his hands and putting them up to his forehead; "the ganja has grown on me, but not to the discredit of my faithfulness, Meah; and when I smoke I never talk. Now, say on, I will be silent as death."

Fazil proceeded some paces through the court without replying to his retainer, and tried the garden door, but it was fastened inside. "We must be content here," he said. "Go, shut the door, we shall at least be safe from interruption."

"In the name of all the gods, Meah," said Bulwunt Rao, as he returned and sat down on the step of the porch beside Fazil, "what hast thou to say to me? Why all this need of caution? Has the Wuzeer revolted, or what?"

"Silence," returned Fazil, "hear me. In one word, you are a Mahratta—is Tannajee Maloosray known to you?"

The question seemed for an instant to stun the faculties of the hearer. He passed his hand dreamily across his forehead and eyes, and, pausing, seemed to gasp. Fazil thought it might be a sudden dizziness—the consequence of the strong narcotic he had been smoking—and was about to ask him, when Bulwunt Rao spoke.

"Tannajee Maloosray! Meah? Do I know Maloosray? Ay, truly, Khan; as the wild dog and the wolf, as the wild boar and the tiger know each other, so do I know Tannajee Maloosray. The destroyer of my house, the usurper of my possessions, the plunderer of my ancestral wealth. Yes, there is a feud between us which can be washed out only by blood. Listen, Meah," continued Bulwunt Rao, and he got up and walked rapidly to and fro: "hast thou time to hear a short story about Tannajee?"

"Yes, speak on. I am listening."

"I was a youth," continued Bulwunt, "younger than you are by several years, when Maloosray aimed his blow at my family. My father was dead; had he lived, Tannajee dared not have done it. My uncle, Govind Rao, was a timid man, looking only to the farms and to money-making while he lived. At last he died also. But he left another brother, Ramdeo, whom we loved much, and he took care of us all. My younger brother, Seeta Ram—why speak of him, Meah? he would have been as beautiful as thou art—and some of the women and myself, all lived together in the old house. They came at midnight, Tannajee and a band of his Mawullees. I do not remember much, Meah; but look here;" and he took off his turban and showed a deep scar on his shaved head. "That is what I fell from, under a blow of his sword. I don't think," he continued dreamily, "that I have been quite right in my brain since, but it does not matter.

"Next morning there were seven stark corpses in the house, and great pools of blood. My uncle, my grandmother, two servants—how can I say it?—yes, my mother and my little brother, and my mother's sister, who was a widow. One blow of a sword had killed my brother and my mother. He was in her arms, and had clung to her. Enough; who could have done this but Maloosray? There is not a sword in all Maharástra which could have struck such a blow as that was—but Maloosray's.

"When I recovered consciousness in the morning, the women that remained, and some servants, were wailing over the dead, but they were barely alive from terror. Neighbours however came in, and some of our tenants and servants, and the place was cleaned up. In the evening there were seven piles made near the river for the seven corpses, and they were burned. My wound had been sewn up by the barber, and I was carried to perform the last ceremonies, and I then swore upon their ashes to revenge them, and I will yet do it. Now, by thy father's salt, tell me what thou knowest of that villain Maloosray, and how his name comes into thy mouth?"

"And was nothing done for justice, Bulwunt? Was justice dead in that country?" asked Fazil, deeply interested.

"Justice!" echoed Bulwunt Rao, "justice! Ah, Meah, what can the poor do for justice? All the wealth of the house had been plundered. Maloosray had brought a hundred of his brethren in that Duróra, and he had promised them the plunder. His object was my life, but the gods spared it, and I came here to serve the King, till—till Tannajee is dead, or till I kill him, Meah! That is the only justice I want: that, and the land he took from me. I thought to tell thee all some day, and now I have said it; but, by thy soul, tell me how Maloosray's name is known to thee, and why?"

"Should you know him again, Bulwunt, if you saw him?" asked Fazil.

"Know him, Meah—among a thousand—among a thousand. It is years since we met; but, before that quarrel with my father about the land, he came to us often, for he was my mother's relative. He hunted large game on our hills, when I went with him, and I was a great favourite of his. Most of the sword-play I know, he taught me. Know him? Yes. That night I, a stripling, crossed swords with him. I had wounded one of his men, and he heard the cry. He had been seeking for me. What could I do, Meah, a weak boy, among a crowd of screaming women? Yet I crossed swords with him; and there are few alive who would dare to do so. Forget him? No, I should know him among a thousand. His eyes, Meah, his eyes! Hast thou seen them?"

"Nay, I have not seen them yet, Bulwunt; but I think I know where he is to be found," returned Fazil.

"Here, Meah? in Beejapoor? Tannajee Maloosray in the city?"

"Yes, here. You are always rambling about the city at night, and know all the mudud khanas; canst thou guide me to one Rama's shop—Rama of Ashtee? It is in the great kullal's bazar, and near a Hindu temple."

"I know it, Meah; I know it well. Rama sells the best ganja in Beejapoor. Yes, I can take you there, but not in those clothes."

"Not now. Let the night wear on a little; they will not be there till just before midnight," replied Fazil; "and we have to watch the temple, too. Is there one near Rama's, with trees about it? Some people meet there first, and then go to Rama's."

"Yes, Meah, there is the temple of Dévi, in the plain beyond, among the tamarind trees; a lonely place it is, and Byragees put up there. Yes, I know it."

"Then I am right," continued Fazil, "for I saw it myself to-day. Now, as Maloosray is desperate, should we not take some picked men with us? There is Raheem Khan, and——"

"Men?—to take Maloosray?" cried Bulwunt. "O Meah, you are simple to think it. Maloosray will have twenty, aye fifty, spies out, and old Rama is chief of them. One soldier a coss off, and Tannajee would be warned. But why go, Meah?" he continued, after a pause. "I will take my own men and bring him. O," cried Bulwunt, speaking through his teeth and to himself, "for one good chance and a fair field with him now!"

"No, Bulwunt, I must go; it is the King's business," returned Fazil; "besides Persian may be spoken, and you do not understand it."

"Persian, my lord? then this is a Moghul affair?"

"I cannot say, friend," returned Fazil; "all I have discovered is, that Maloosray will be in the temple, or in the mudud khana, and a 'Lalla.' There is no good, I am sure, at the bottom of it, and we must find out what it is. We know the Moghul emissaries are busy, and it is important to check their plots."

"And Sivaji Bhóslay's also, Meah, they bode no good; for my people write to me that he and Tannajee have leagued together, and——; in short, they write foolish things, sir."

"Bhóslay? that is your family name, Bulwunt," said Fazil, musing.

"Yes," he replied, "and we are of the same house; but he is rich and I am poor. And now people tell wonderful things of him; how the Mother—that is, Bhowani, speaks in him sometimes, and he prophesies great events. One thing is certain, Meah, Sivaji Bhóslay is no friend to Beejapoor, nor to any Mussulman; and if Maloosray has come here for him, it is with some object which is worth the risk to discover."

"Then they are friends?" asked Fazil.

"Ay, Meah, as thou and I, and nearer still. Maloosray believes Sivaji to be an incarnation of the gods, and would give his life for him. So, too, many another; and the people have begun to write ballads about him, which are sung in Beejapoor even sometimes, and they set one's blood dancing. No wonder the people of the wild valleys love them; wild places, Meah, which ye know little of as yet."

"Yes, it is worth the risk to find out what is doing. One thread of those dark intrigues in my hand and I am not my father's son if I do not discover more," replied Fazil; "but you said we should be disguised."

The Mahratta thought for a moment. "What sayest thou, Meah, to becoming a Hindu for the time? I could paint the marks on thy forehead. Nay," he continued, as he saw the young man shrink from the idea, "they will only be very temporary 'abominations,' as the old Khan calls them, and water will remove them when we return."

"Good," returned Fazil. "I will suffer 'the abominations' in the cause of the Shah and the faith. And, now, begone. I will come to thee here, after the evening meal, and we can dress unobserved. But swear on my neck, Bulwunt, no more ganja to-night."

"No, no, Meah," returned the man, laughing, and touching his young lord's neck and feet; "I swear I will not touch it. We both need cool heads for this work, and I will not fail you."

"Then go," added Fazil. "I will send Goolab to you when I am ready."

---

[CHAPTER XIX.]

Fazil was as good as his word to his fair sister, and having seen Bulwunt depart, gained the door which led to the private apartments, and proceeded to that in which he knew he should find her.

The room was upon the first story, which, by means of deep stone brackets, had been constructed so as to project somewhat over the rooms beneath. It contained, indeed for the most part consisted of, three large oriel windows, overhanging the line of the walls, so that they commanded a view up and down the main street, which led to Toorweh and the royal palaces. These windows were large enough for several persons to sit in and enjoy the air; and the floor of the centre one, which was the largest, was raised a step above that of the room, so as to form a dais, on which a thickly-quilted cotton mattress, covered with clean white muslin, was laid every day, and furnished with large pillows, so that those sitting there could recline luxuriously, if they pleased. Between the stone mullions of the windows, carved screens or shutters of wood had been inserted, which were fixtures, except a portion in the centre which opened on hinges. Without them were heavy wooden shutters, lined with iron, with openings to fire from should it be needed.

The other windows did not project so far, and were in fact single arches, filled deep with carved latticework, closed during the day, but open in the evening to admit the fresh air. Beside each was a large Persian carpet and a pillow. The floor of the apartment had also a thin carpet of quilted cotton cloth, covered with white muslin; and the perfect neatness of the whole, the walls being pure white without ornament, gave evidence of very vigilant superintendence by the Khan's present wife, perhaps by Zyna herself. One lamp burned in a corner, and, being agitated by the wind, which blew freely through the apartment, gave a flickering light, which left much of the space in actual gloom.

Zyna had been there some time, and the sweet freshness of the evening air had tempted her to throw open the lattice window to admit it more freely, as she sat in the balcony or oriel window already mentioned. Looking out upon what was passing below her, she did not observe her brother's entrance, and almost started as he spoke.

"I did not hear thee, brother," she said, rising and making way for him. "Come and sit here, it is so fresh after the rain. What kept thee so late? We hear the Durbar was very full to-day, and that there are more rumours of war. O, I pray not, brother?"

"True, sister, there are such rumours," he replied; "but nothing new. The Wuzeer is at Nuldroog with the army. The Emperor's forces lie about Dowlutabad, so there is no change. But I was not in Durbar. I was looking after some other matters. Come and sit here, Zyna, and I will tell thee. See," he continued, as she seated herself by him, "the city looks calm and beautiful, does it not? Yet, who can tell the wild acts now in progress there, and the wild plots which disgrace it?"

In truth it was a fair scene. The house or palace of Afzool Khan stood somewhat apart from other buildings, upon a slight eminence, and the room they were in overlooked a large portion of the city to the south, west, and north. Between the combined twilight and light of a moon about half-full, the outlines of the city generally, and of some of the most remarkable buildings, could be seen distinctly, and formed a picture of great beauty. To the north, the large dome of the mausoleum of Mahmood Adil Shah stood out boldly against the clear grey sky, as well as the high dark masses of the King's palaces in the citadel, and of that of the "Seven Stories" in particular, in the windows of which lights already twinkled here and there, and disappeared.

A little on the left of the palace was the massive cavalier of the "Oopree Boorje," with the King's flagstaff on its summit; below, the dark lines of the fortifications, with lights gleaming from each guard-room upon the bastions. Thence the eye travelled round the city, resting here and there upon massive domes and slender minarets, shining tenderly in the moon's rays, which also fell softly upon the outlines of terraced houses and palaces, and upon the dark masses of foliage of their gardens. Over the most populous parts of the city also nearer to them, the evening smoke hovered like a thin mist, catching reflection of the thousand lights and fires beneath: and a hum of voices arose from thence:—otherwise, all was still around them, and the broad street leading to Toorweh nearly deserted. Night was fast falling, and a bright star here and there already sparkled in the sky.

"Yes, it is a fair scene, sister," he continued, as she drew closer to him. "Yet, even now, men are plotting villany and treachery. There is no peace in it."

"No peace, brother!" she said, echoing his words; "cannot others be as we are—enjoying what Alla sends them without strife? Why should it not be so?"

"Why, Zyna? because of ambition, which, with the hot thirst it begets, dries up men's hearts; because of avarice, driving them to barter kingdoms and honour for gold; because of fraud, and deceit, and lies, and profligacy. Alas, girl, where ends the catalogue? Even now I fear the evil thoughts and treacherous plots of our fair city."

Zyna shuddered, and nestled closer to her brother. "Why is thy speech so sad to-night, Fazil?" she said timidly; "does aught threaten us or our friends?"

"Listen, sister, and judge," he returned. "I cannot help these fancies. Ah, Zyna! if I had one like thee to be with me always—to be more to me even than thou art—perhaps the world, fair as it lies there, would have few charms for me."

"She would be forgotten before a bright sword or a gallant horse, brother," replied Zyna, in a tone of raillery.

"Not so, by the Prophet!—by your head and eyes; no, Zyna," cried her brother earnestly. "Let such an one come, and thou wilt see what she would be to me."

"Would it were so, brother! and yet I know of no one—not one as yet—whom thou couldst love like me. None of the maidens of this city are worthy of thee; no, not one, Fazil."

"Ah! nothing less than one of the blessed houris of Paradise would content thee for me," returned the young man, laughing; "but one like thyself would quite content me, sister. Perhaps even now thou hast been thinking I have some love-secret to tell thee, for I have not accounted for my delay these two evenings, but love there is none, dearest. No—none at all," as she shook her head and laughed incredulously,—"none. A graver matter, truly, if I am right. Listen, Zyna, I have told thee of Kowas Khan before—my friend, the Wuzeer's son——"

"What of him?" she returned, so abruptly that her tone of alarm startled her brother. "Yes," she continued, correcting herself, "surely—often—dear brother, hast thou not told me of his bravery when the Moghuls besieged the city? but do not mention him, else I will go away."

"Nay, go not, Zyna. I will not tease thee," he replied, "yet why should I not speak of him? Is he not a hero—a very Roostum? Is he not beautiful?—a youth for a maiden to love, or a man to make his friend! But enough of this," for he perceived the confusion his last words had occasioned: "to say the truth, I am anxious for the whole family, and there is much cause to fear; the Wuzeer is not keeping his faith with the King. But for that, indeed——"

"Hush, brother!" said Zyna, again blushing, for she knew that she had been sought in marriage by the Wuzeer for his son; "may God forbid evil to him or any of them; and men have as yet spoken well of him. Why should he be suspected?"

"Alas, who can say?" replied her brother sadly. "Who can tell to what crimes pride and ambition may not urge a man? Truly, sister, it will not be marvellous if the Wuzeer, seeing the danger of the Moghuls on the one hand, of Sivaji Bhóslay on the other, and knowing better than we do the divisions among our own nobles, should forget his faith, and try to strike in for himself. 'Twas thus, so writes the historian of honoured memory, Mahomed Kasim Ferishta, that our own kingly house rose into existence, and the Nizam Shahy and Kootub Shahy dynasties also; what wonder, then, that Khan Mahomed—the rich, the honoured, the powerful—should be tempted to follow examples so successful and so prosperous?"

"What! and forget his King, who has raised him from—from——" she could not add slavery; "forget honours, titles, lands, wealth? O brother!"

"Ah, Zyna," returned Fazil, sighing, "believe me, there are few minds so noble, and so humble too, as to despise power in little things; how much less a position so exalted as that of monarch of these noble realms. Men have already forgotten 'Rehân' the slave, in 'Khan Mahomed,' the Wuzeer of Beejapoor. We know what he was, we see what he is, and we can think what he might be. If he is playing for the highest stake, it is a game in which his life is of no account."

"I would I had not known of this, brother, from thy lips," said Zyna sadly. "True, it seems to have a terrible distinctness: and his son?"

"Nay, by your head and eyes, he is pure, Zyna. My own dear friend," he exclaimed, "I would answer for him with my life. As for the rest, 'tis but suspicion as yet. Whatever the matter I know of may lead to, I am resolved to see the last of it. Listen.

"Last evening I was coming from the Durbar, and, dismissing the men who were with me, I rode to some open ground to exercise my horse. It is not far from the King's palace at Toorweh: and to get there I proceeded through the outskirts of the city, which lead to the quarter of the lower orders of the people. I had not ridden far when I met the palankeen of the King's secretary, attended by some horsemen. It seemed strange to meet him there, because, when I left the audience hall, he seemed immersed in business. So I rode up towards it with the intention of saluting him again, when he shut the door as it were carelessly, but, as I thought, with an evident desire not to be seen: this stimulated my curiosity. I had no pretence for following him, only there happened to be an acquaintance, who was in command of his escort, and who called me. I joined him, unobserved by the Meerza, and accompanied him under pretence of friendly chat. By-and-by, as the better part of the town grew more distant, I asked him banteringly what had brought so great a person as the King's Meerza into so mean a quarter, and whether I might see the end of the adventure; and looking about him—to be sure the rest of the escort were out of hearing—he told me that, after leaving the court, the Meerza had first gone to a respectable Hindu house in another quarter and remained there some time; and when he came out he was attended to the door by a Hindu soldier, who bade him depart, and told him not to forget the shop of Rama of Ashtee, in the 'kullal's' quarter, and Tannajee Maloosray. Thence a man was sent as guide to another house, and he showed him to me then running with the bearers before the palankeen. 'So I can only suppose it is some work of the King's,' added my friend, 'with which we cavaliers have nothing to do.' I thought otherwise, for Tannajee's name is famous; and we rode on.

"After some time the guide stopped at the door of a decent house, which I think was a Jungum's Mutt. The Meerza did not get out of his palankeen, and a man came to the doorway and began to speak in Persian, after having looked round suspiciously at all of us. I shall not forget the man, Zyna, for he had piercing grey eyes and a hooked nose. I suppose he thought no one could understand him, for he did not speak low. Still, as his head was partly inside the door of the secretary's palankeen, I could not hear all, and could only approach, indeed, on pretence of my horse being restless. I heard, however, the man's direction to the secretary, a Hindu temple of Bhowani, in the plain on the east of the fort, where papers were to be shown at midnight, and the Wuzeer's name was mentioned. Thither I will go, 'Inshalla!' to-night. I can disguise myself, and my speech is Mahratta or Canarese, as I please, and Bulwunt Rao goes with me."

"Go not, my precious brother," said Zyna, interrupting him; "there must be danger among these plotters. Remember what thou art to us all, Fazil."

"If my love were not what it is for Khan Mahomed's son," he replied, "I would not hazard this matter; but we, thy father and myself, owe the Wuzeer many favours, and I should hold myself false did I hesitate to peril something in their cause. Even thou, Zyna, hast not forgotten how Kowas Khan and our brave Bulwunt Rao fought over me when I had been stricken down in the Friday's fight with the Moghuls, and but for them I had perished. Yes, sister, I must go."

"Go? whither, son?" said Afzool Khan, whose entrance had not been observed by either; "whither wouldst thou go, and for what?"

"Father!" uttered both at the same moment, and, rising, saluted him reverently.

"Be seated, my children," he said; "I too will join you. Your mother hath not been here?"

The allusion made was to their father's second wife, whom he had married after the mother of his children died, and who received from them all the honour and respect, if not the tender love, of their real mother. Her name was Lurlee, to which her title of Khánum being added, she was known among her friends and dependants as Lurlee Khánum; and she will appear presently in her proper person.

"No, father," replied Zyna, "she was going to cook something for you, and had something to do with her tables; and said that there was something going to happen, for that Mars and the moon, or stay—really I don't know, father, how it was—I forget."

"Ah," returned her father, smiling, "bicharee—poor thing!—those stars are a sad trouble to her. But what art thou going to do, son?"

"Tell him all you have told me, brother," said Zyna.

Fazil recapitulated what he had told his sister, and finding his father interested, again stated his intention of following up the secret, whatever it might be.

"Go, my son," said the old Khan, "I cannot gainsay thee in this matter. If we can protect Khan Mahomed or keep evil from his house, or if any of these vile plots can be traced to those concerned in them, a few sharp examples may deter others. But why not take some of the Päègah? those are dangerous quarters by night."

"Impossible, father, they are too wary; and Bulwunt Rao says there will be spies and scouts watching everywhere. So we are better alone, and with your leave, father, I go to prepare myself."

Afzool Khan opened the casement, and looked out. He partly leaned out of the window, and appeared to be gazing abstractedly over the city. The young moon was now low in the sky, and the stars shone out more brilliantly than before; but clouds were gathering fast in the south-west, which, from the lightning flashing about their tops, boded a storm. As yet, however, the gentle light of the moon pervaded all, glinting from the bright gilded pinnacles of domes and minarets, and resting tenderly upon the white terraces, walls, and projecting oriels of houses near him—upon the tapering minarets of his own private mosque, and the heavy but graceful foliage that hung about them.

"It is a type of what is coming," thought the Khan—"here the moonlight only partially dispelling the gloom, which will increase; there heavy night-clouds already threatening. Even so with our fair kingdom: the tempest of sorrow may break over us. We cannot stop it, but we may at least endure the trial, and be true to our salt."

He was long silent, and the beads which he had removed from his wrist were passing rapidly through his fingers, while his lips moved as though in prayer. Zyna dared not speak, yet he looked at her lovingly as his lips still moved, and passing his arm round her, drew her to him. Perhaps with that embrace more tender thoughts came into his heart, some memories that were sad yet grateful.

"There will be no danger, Zyna," he said assuringly, as he felt her trembling, and guessed her thoughts; "Fazil and Bulwunt Rao are both wary. The moon, too, is setting, and it will be dark, perhaps raining. He comes, daughter," continued the Khan, as Fazil's foot was heard on the stairs; "let us look at him."

As he spoke, Fazil entered the room and made the Hindu salutation of reverence to his father. "Should I be known as your son, father?" he asked.

"Nemmo Narrayen Baba," cried Afzool Khan, laughing, and returning the salutation in the same style. "If thou knowest thyself, it is more than I can say of thee."

The disguise was indeed perfect. Fazil was naked to the waist, and a coarse cloth of some length, which might serve as a sheet if unwound, was crossed upon his shoulders and chest in thick folds. A long scarf of thick soft muslin was tied about his loins, leaving his muscular arms bare and free. On his chest and about his neck was a necklace, consisting of several heavy rows of large wooden beads, which, with the cloth, might turn a sword-cut, while both served to protect him from the damp night wind. About his head was a turban of coarse cloth, and a strip of finer material, passing under his chin, covered his mouth and eyes, and was tied in a knot above his turban, leaving two hood ends hanging down on each side. His face was smeared with white earth, and above his nose the broad trident of Krishna was painted in white and red, covering nearly the whole of his eyebrows and forehead. The loose Mahomedan drawers had been changed for a Hindu waist-cloth, or "punja," tied tightly about him, and reaching barely to his knee; while the ends were rolled up, leaving his legs and most part of his thighs bare, which, with his arms, were covered with brown earth to subdue the fairness of the skin. The whole of his clothes were of one colour, a deep reddish brown, which is called "bhugwa," and is the sacred and distinctive colour of all religious devotees. At his back hung a broad black shield with steel bosses upon it, and he held in his hand a sabre with a plain steel hilt and black scabbard, which his father recognized as a favourite weapon. Nothing could have been better suited for his guise than the whole equipment, nor was there anything left to desire in its perfect adaptation to resistance or flight, should either be necessary.

"Bulwunt waits for me in the garden, and I go. Thy blessing, my father," said Fazil, stooping forward.

"Go. May Alla, and the saints, and the holy Emaon Zamin protect thee!" said the Khan, rising, and placing his hands tenderly on his son's head. "Go, and return victorious!"

"Ameen! ameen!" (amen!) sighed Zyna, for her heart was with her brother, as he turned to depart upon his perhaps perilous mission.

---

[CHAPTER XX.]

"You have not stayed long, Meah, after all," cried the cheery voice of Bulwunt Rao, as he saw his young master approaching the place of meeting, a large peepul tree, which stood at a back entrance to the garden. "And you are as good as your word. I thought there might be some lecture from 'the Mastu,' and some remonstrances from the Khánum, and possibly that the stars were not to be overcome; but all seems to have gone well. Did they know you?"

"My sister seemed rather frightened as she saw me, and shrank back, but my father declared me perfect, and bade me God-speed," replied Fazil; "but look over me once more: dark as it is, it might be a matter of life or death if we were discovered."

"Discovered, Meah! No, trust me for that!" replied Bulwunt. "Only keep that courtly tongue of yours quiet, or if you speak at all, let it be in Canara, which somehow suits you better than our soft Mahratta, and let it be as broad as you can make it. Leave the rest to me. 'Mahrattas know Mahrattas,' is one of our common proverbs, not untrue either. No salaams, Meah! If there be occasion to salute any one, you know the mode. So—join your hands and thumbs together, carry them up to your nose. There, your thumbs along the nose—good. Now a gentle inclination of the head, very little——Shabash! that was excellent. Take care that no Bundagee or Salaam Alyèk—or other Moslem salutation escape you: if you have need, a soft 'Numuscar Maharaj,' or if we meet a Gosai, 'Nemmo Narrayen Bawa!' Or, better than all—why risk anything? keep a silent tongue, and leave me to talk."

"Nay, not so fast, friend," cried the young Khan, smiling at his follower's earnestness, "fear not for me; I know enough of the customs of the dress I wear to bear me out if need be, and I would fain have my tongue as my hands are—at liberty. No ganja, I hope, since your brain is clear."

"By your head and eyes, no, Meah, I have only drunk water since you first called me," he replied earnestly; "look here," and he executed one of the most difficult of the movements which accompanied his sword exercise,—"will that do?"

"Let us on then, friend, in the name of all the saints, for we have enough to do ere morning, and it is some distance to the temple."

"Nearly a coss, Meah, and we have to pass some bad places beyond the deer park. Come, let nothing induce you to enter into a brawl, or notice insult, or we shall fail. If we are attacked, we can strike in return. Come!"

So saying, they moved on rapidly and silently to the Hindu temple which Bulwunt Rao knew of. Their appearance—for both were attired as nearly as possible alike, except that Bulwunt had concealed more of his face than his companion—was too common and unobtrusive to attract attention, and they passed unnoticed through the respectable portions of the city, meeting, however, few passers in the now dark and deserted streets.

Passing the wall of the deer park, and skirting the walls and glacis of the citadel, patches of open rocky ground succeeded, where a few sleepless asses picked up a scanty night meal, and the houseless dogs of the city snarled and fought over the carrion carcases of cattle, or the offal which had been thrown out there, or disputed their half-picked bones with troops of jackals. Now they met men at intervals, who, with muffled faces and scarcely concealed weapons, watched for unwary single passengers, from whom by threat or violence they might be able to extort the means of temporary debauchery. Some such looked scowlingly upon the friends, and sometimes even advanced upon them; but seeing at a nearer glance no hope of anything but hard blows, passed them by unheeded.

"Many a good fellow has had an end of him made hereabouts," said Bulwunt in a low voice, as they passed a more conspicuous group than usual, who seemed inclined to dispute the way with them. "How much would there be found of a man by morning, to ascertain what he had been in life, if his body were thrown upon one of those heaps of carrion, which the hyenas, dogs, and jackals are fighting over? Do you not hear them yelling?—Bah! that would be an ugly fate, and that is why I seldom venture into this quarter by night."

"Then you come sometimes?"

"Why not, Meah? Are there not adventures enough for those who seek them? I tell thee, many a young noble, ay, and old one too, that I could name, come here after dark and amuse themselves gaily for an hour or two; but thou art not of that sort, Meah; else I had brought thee long ago."

"And that is the quarter yonder, I suppose," said the young man, "above which the light gleams brightly."

"You are right, Meah; a few minutes more and we enter it."

A scene it was of coarse open profligacy. Shops of a low character for the sale of spirits were everywhere open, filled with flaming lamps, or before which stood large iron cressets filled with cotton seed soaked in oil, that burned brightly, sending forth a thick ropy smoke, and showing groups of men, women, and children too, sitting on the ground, drinking the hot new liquor, or the more rapidly intoxicating juice of the date palm-tree; which, contained in large earthen jars, was being dispensed by ladlesful to people clustered around them. All this part resounded with obscene abuse, and songs, and violent wrangling. In one group two men had drawn their daggers, and were with difficulty held back by women hanging about them. In another place, two women had hold of each other's hair, and were beating and scratching each other with their disengaged hands.

They passed through all; many a gibe and coarse invitation familiar to Bulwunt Rao, who, had he been alone, could not have resisted them, followed them from men and women. But he was for the time steady, checked by the presence of his young chief, and with the fierce desire of meeting his hereditary enemy burning at his heart. They were now near the place in regard to which Bulwunt thought he could not be mistaken. A little further there was a Hindu temple gaily decked out with white and orange-coloured banners; people were singing evening hymns within it, and their voices rose even above the hoarse murmur of the crowd, and there was a clash of cymbals accompanying them. Bulwunt stopped, and laid his hand on his companion's arm.

"That is the temple," he said, "by which I know the kullal's, and that is where we shall meet Tannajee, if at all. That is Rama of Ashtee's shop across the street."

"And is the other temple far off?" asked Fazil.

"Not now; a few more turns down the back lanes yonder, and we shall find it among the tamarind trees in the plain. We will go there at once."

Bulwunt knew the place perfectly. A quiet secluded spot, where often, stupid from the effects of ganja, or drink, he had gone to sleep off the effects before he went home. A place where one or two Jogis, or Gosais, or Sunniasis of ascetic orders, usually put up, or travellers sometimes going eastwards, who had to be clear of the city before dawn. The grove, too, was a favourite place for encampment, and droves of Brinjarries, or other public carriers, halted there in fair weather. Now, however, it was quite vacant, and the natural gloom of the place was deepened by the darkness of the night, while the glare to which their eyes had been exposed, caused it to seem more gloomy still.

"An evil-looking place, friend, at this hour," said Fazil.

"Ay, Meah, dark enough; yet better than the light we have left yonder," he replied, pausing and looking back to where the glare of the kullal's quarter rose into the dark night air above the houses;—"better than that. Yet it is a strange place to come to at night, unless there be any one here. Be cautious, Meah, I will look in."

The temple was a small one, upon a low basement; the high conical roof or steeple could hardly be traced among the heavy foliage that enveloped it. There was a court around it, the wall of which was not so high on one side but that a man standing on tip-toe might look over it; and as Fazil was about to do so, Bulwunt Rao pulled him back.

"For your life, no," he whispered, "some one is there. I saw the flicker of a fire yonder; come round to the back of the verandah. I know of a hole in the wall which is not filled up."

Fazil followed. His companion was right. A hole had been left in the wall for light or air, and some loose stones and bricks stuffed into it. Just enough aperture remained for both to see plainly what was therein. On two sides of the small court, opposite to the temple, was a terraced building roughly built, the pillars supporting the clay roof being of rudely-hewn timber. The basement was level with that of the temple, and ascended by three low steps in the centre. Three persons were sitting on the floor near the embers of a fire; two enveloped in white sheets, which were drawn over their heads, and partly over their faces; they might be Brahmuns, who had been worshipping at the temple. The other was a "Jogi," or ascetic, who, in all his majesty of dirt and ashes—his hair matted and twisted about his head like a turban, the ends of a long grizzly beard tucked over his ears, and naked to the waist—sat cross-legged upon a deer's skin before the embers, which cast a dull and flickering light upon his naked body.

Occasionally, with his right hand, he took ashes from the fire and rubbed them over his broad hairy chest and sinewy arms, and occasionally over his face, telling his beads the while with his left. None of the men spoke. Could they be the persons of whom they were in search?

"I fear we are wrong, Bulwunt," whispered Fazil, "these must be Brahmuns with that Jogi."

"I know of no other temple, Meah," returned Bulwunt; "but wait here, I will go round to the door and question them."

"Be careful, friend; I like not the look of the old Jogi; be careful," interrupted Fazil.

"Nay, I am not going to quarrel with him," continued Bulwunt Rao; "but watch what they do. You will see all their faces if they turn to me." And with cautious steps he moved in.

The door of the temple was in front. Bulwunt had seen it was partially opened when they arrived. Fazil heard it creak on its hinges as Bulwunt opened it, and saw him emerge from behind the basement of the temple; and amidst a rough cry of "who comes?" "who art thou?" from the three persons, walk slowly and firmly up to the basement of the verandah, and make the customary reverential salutation.

"Thou art a bold fellow," exclaimed one of the men covered with a sheet, who stood up, looking at Bulwunt from head to foot, "to intrude upon respectable people unbidden. A Gosai, too, whence art thou?"

"I am a poor disciple of Amrut Geer, of Kullianee, if ye know the town," answered Bulwunt, deferentially; "and they call me Poorungeer. I have come to the city on business, and have travelled far to-day. I often put up here, and, as I saw lights, I entered, in the hope of shelter for the night. It will rain presently, and, with your permission, I will take a drink of water and rest here."

"There is plenty of water in the well without," returned the man sulkily; "and there are the iron bucket and cord—take them and begone. There are a thousand Gosain's Mutts in Beejapoor, why shouldst thou stay here?—begone!"

"Nay, be not inhospitable, O Bawa!" returned Bulwunt. "I am weary and footsore; it is a long way to the only Mutt, I know, and it is not safe for a man alone to pass the plain at night."

"I tell thee begone," said the Jogi; "there is no room for thee here; begone, else we will turn thee out."

"Direct me, then, to a resting-place, good sirs," replied Bulwunt. "I would give no offence; I pray ye be not angry." "Nay," he continued, observing a gesture of impatience; "behold, I am gone. I would not be unwelcome. Only say, O Jogi, what this temple is called?"

"This is the temple of Toolja Dévi, and dedicated to the Holy Mother at Tooljapoor," replied the man. "If thou hast need to visit it, come to-morrow, and thou wilt see the image. Depart now, or these worthy men may be angry. Thou hast interrupted already a discourse on the mysteries——"

"Which would have benefited me, Bawa, also. I shall not forget their inhospitality. Now I depart." And saluting the Jogi, who lifted his hand to his head, and staring fixedly at the others, whose faces were plainly visible by the light of the fire, which had blazed up, Bulwunt Rao left them.

"Listen, Meah," whispered Bulwunt to Fazil, as he rejoined him. "These are the people, no doubt; there are some holes in the wall behind them, which I saw when within; come round to them, we shall see and hear better, and can listen to the old Jogi's discourse on the mysteries; no doubt it will be edifying. The old Jogi is some one, I think, in disguise, but it is well done. Come, and tread softly."

The light tread of their naked feet was not heard amidst the rustling of the trees above; and, as Bulwunt had said, there were several holes in the wall which enabled them to see and hear perfectly, except when the conversation was carried on in the lowest whispers. They were, however, on the highest side of the court wall.

"We are right now," whispered Fazil; "but have the weapons ready in case of need. I like not the Jogi nor his friends."

The inmates of the little building were silent for some time, and one of them, who had kept his face concealed, at length lay down, and drew his sheet over him. The other two smoked at intervals. Now one, now the other, lighting the rude cocoa-nut hooka with embers from the fire before them.

"Didst thou know that lad, Pahar Singh—that Gosai?" asked his companion. "Methinks he was more than he seemed. I know most of that old robber Amrut Geer's cheylas, too, but not him; he may be a new one perhaps. Only I wish I had not seen him; there was an evil eye in his head;" and the speaker's shoulders twitched as though a slight shudder had passed through him.

"What dost thou care about evil eyes, Maun Singh?" replied the Jogi, laughing. "I know not the man, and why should he trouble thee, brother? Depend upon it he was no more than he seemed, else why should he have named Amrut Geer of Tooljapoor? Why art thou thus suspicious?" And he again applied himself to the hooka, whose bubbling rattle rang through the building.

"Nay, it does not signify, only one does not like to be intruded upon, that's all. I had as well shut the door of the temple, brother."

"Do not bolt it," cried the Jogi; "they will be here soon," as the man went and closed it; then returned, and with another shrug or shiver, lay down, when both relapsed into silence.

"Pahar Singh!" whispered Bulwunt to the young Khan; "the robber, murderer, rebel, what you please. The man after whom we wandered so long last year. Ah, 'tis a rare plot, Meah, if such be the instruments."

"Hush!" said Fazil; "they are speaking again. Listen!"

"Where did you get those papers, O Toolsee Das?" asked Pahar Singh of the man who had been lying down. "What, hast thou been asleep? Tell me again, lest I make a mistake."

"Not I, please your Highness," replied the person addressed, raising himself upon his arm; "but if you talk in that gibberish language of your country, what am I to do? It is dull work waiting when one's eyes are heavy with sleep, and I am not rested from that fearful ride."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Pahar Singh; "that ride, Lalla! O man! it was but a child's ride after all, only forty coss. You will be lively enough by-and-by. Now, if you can speak without lying, tell me truly, are those papers genuine or not?"

"My lord," replied the Lalla, sitting up; "they who come will best know that. If they had not been genuine they would not have been worth the stealing, nor these long journeys, to which your servant is not accustomed, nor the risk of being compared with original documents. I told my lord this before, and——"

"True, Lalla," said Pahar Singh, interrupting him; "but one likes to hear a thing over again when it is pleasant. Ha, ha! when it is pleasant, you know——"

"When the honour of great houses is at stake we Mutsuddees have to be proportionably careful," returned the Lalla pompously; "and when your poor servant saw what these were, you see—my consideration for the king—for this state—may it flourish a thousand years—was great, and I—I, ahem—brought them away——"

"You mean you stole them, Lalla? Out with the truth, good fellow."

"Well, sir, if you don't like my words. Yes, I stole them, and it was a blessed chance which has enabled me to turn them to such good account," said the Lalla, smiling blandly. "Excellent indeed, my lord; and I," continued the Lalla, rubbing his hands, "ha! ha! my lord, and I——"

"Ha! ha! ha!" responded Pahar Singh, interrupting him with a coarse laugh. "We shall see. No blood in that robbery, Maun Singh. Ours are seldom so neatly done, I think; but the Lalla is a master of his craft. Well, and if they are genuine, you will have a rich reward. O, much money; gold perhaps, who knows? and half is mine for not cutting that lying coward throat of yours, or hanging you like a dog, Lallajee."

"Noble prince, I have not forgotten the agreement, nor my lord's hospitality," returned the Lalla, joining his hands.

"Ah, that is well," returned Pahar Singh grimly. "One should not forget obligations, and they are only five days old. By your child's head, Maun Singh, he had a narrow escape, only for the boy and thee. Ah, it was rare fun. A coward—a peculiar coward! He did not think he should live, and he told us of the papers; only for that, they would have gone into the river with his carcase. Ah, yes; it was well done. What if they are false, O Lalla, and we have been brought so far in vain! O man, think of that."

"Yes, think of that, Lallajee," returned Maun Singh, turning himself lazily round to speak. "There are few like thee who are made guests of, and fed instead of becoming food. Ha, ha, ha! art thou not afraid?"

"My lords, I can say no more. I have told you all I can, and the rest is in their hands who come," said the Lalla, humbly putting up his hands to his nose. In his heart, however, the man was chuckling, secretly. He thought those who were to come would be attended by a retinue, and he purposed to watch his opportunity and denounce the robber, who would be seized on the bare mention of his name; and when he, Toolsee Das, should not only get the price of the papers, but, he felt sure, be rewarded for having enticed so wary a robber into a trap. The Lalla, therefore, endured the raillery and coarse abuse expended upon him with a peculiarly grim satisfaction.

"Yes, a cowardly knave, by your eyes, Maun Singh," continued Pahar Singh, while both were laughing heartily. "Ah, how he begged for life! And we have fed him well since too, though I am not sure that I did right in bringing him here, after all. I think I ought to have sent thee after thine ancestors, Lalla!"

"I doubt not, valiant sir, that your worship hath slain many of the King's enemies," said the Lalla, trembling in spite of himself, but inwardly determining to show no mercy, "and you are pleased to be merry."

"Dog, if thou hast deceived me, and brought me fifty coss for nothing, to save thy miserable life," said Pahar Singh, fiercely, "thou shalt not escape me twice. Hark! what is that at the door?" for it was now shaken violently; "they are come, Maun Singh. Remember, Lalla, I am no Pahar Singh now, or thou diest on the spot. See what I have for thee here," and he showed the shining naked blade of a sword concealed under the ashes. "Enough, don't be frightened, only be discreet. Go, Maun Singh, brother, open the wicket quickly," for those without again shook it impatiently. "Two are to come, only the two; there might be treachery with more. But ho, ho, ho! Pahar Singh is a match for ten, is he not? Now, see thou speakest the truth, O Lalla," he continued; "and my vows for the temple, and the well, they are not to be forgotten—nor—the feeding—five thousand Brahmuns. Forget not this on thy life. I am thy Gooroo, teaching thee 'the mysteries.'"

These words came from him, jerked out, as it were, by morsels, during the brief interval that elapsed before those he expected arrived; and which he employed in rubbing additional handfuls of ashes from the edges of the fire upon his face, body, and limbs, so as to render his disguise more complete, and in heaping up ashes on his sword, the hilt of which lay towards him, ready for action. As he finished, he took a string of wooden beads from his hair, and settled himself on his heels, in an attitude of austere devotion; for, after a brief parley at the gate, steps were heard advancing, and the Lalla, though his heart sank within him at seeing only two persons accompanying Maun Singh, rose as they ascended the steps of the basement, and were clearly visible by the light of the fire, which Pahar Singh had caused to burn brightly.

Fazil Khan's heart beat fast as he saw that one of the persons who ascended first was the King's secretary, his most trustworthy and confidential servant. His handsome, grave, Persian face, and long grey beard, with the lameness he was known by, which resulted from a wound, were unmistakable. The other, who had his face partly concealed, and who might be taken for an ordinary attendant to the Secretary, seemed nowise remarkable; but, as the pair sat down before him, and this person removed one fold of the scarf about his face—though he kept his mouth and nose still covered, as if to exclude the night air—the large sad eyes of the young King were plainly visible.

Fazil beheld him with an intensity of wondering interest, which it is impossible to describe, and fairly panted with excitement. "If he had known whom he was to meet here," he thought, "he would not have exposed himself to this risk: Alla and the Prophet have sent us." And as this escaped him, partly interjectionally and partly in devout prayer, the young Khan seemed to swell with the consciousness that his King might owe his safety, nay, even life, to them.

The Secretary was a veteran soldier, but he was unarmed, except a small knife-dagger in his girdle. Fazil, therefore, loosened his sword in its sheath. "Be ready," he whispered to his companion, who pressed his hand silently, in acknowledgment of the caution. Bulwunt had evidently not recognized the King; indeed, it was well perhaps that he could not see the face, or have his suspicions awakened: he might not have preserved the same composure as his young master.

---

[CHAPTER XXI.]

The silence was becoming oppressive, though only of a few moments' duration, when Fazil observed the Jogi twitch the sleeve of the Lalla's garment as a sign to begin. Though it had cost him a pang to think he had no present hope of securing the robber, Toolsee Das, in truth, was pretty much at his ease. The position and rank of the King's secretary were unequivocal; who the other person might be, he could not conjecture—perhaps an assistant, perhaps a son—he might be either. There was something, certainly, in the look of those great black eyes, which was uncommon; but they gave no response to the Lalla's rapid but curious investigation of them: they could not be fathomed at a glance.

There was nothing in the demeanour of either of the persons before him to excite personal apprehension; and the Lalla was quite sure that Pahar Singh would not give him up, or the papers either, without an equivalent in money; and as he could not have Pahar Singh taken, it was assuring to think that he need not be apprehended himself, for it was quite certain that the robber would get more for the secret here than if he and the papers had been conveyed to the Imperial camp. There, a short questioning, and the executioner would be sure; and the Lalla shuddered for an instant at the thought of what would have followed. Here, as one who could give information of the enemy, and who could disclose state counsels, to what might he not aspire? If the people and their language were barbarous in northern estimation, yet he had seen enough of the city to be satisfied of its beauty; and were not many of the northern people already settling among the Dekhanies?

Such thoughts were flashing rapidly through the Lalla's mind—far more rapidly than we can write them—when he felt the sudden twitch we have already mentioned: he joined his hands together, and began, in a mincing accent, some of those courtly Persian phrases of complimentary welcome, common to the Mahomedans of the north, and which we need not repeat. The Secretary, however, was not in a mood to endure them.

"Peace, Lallajee!" he said; "we are rougher people here than those from whom you have brought these idle compliments, and you can keep them till you get back. Now to business—do not detain us."

"Ah, yes. My lord desired to see some letters of which I spoke to him," he replied; "some that I mentioned yesterday."

"It is therefore that I have come, and it will be well if they can be produced. You have higgled for them overmuch, good fellow," replied the Secretary, curtly.

"Nay, if my lord regrets," said the Lalla, "there is no need to press the matter further. Baba!" he continued to the pretended Jogi, "thou canst burn them in the fire there, only perhaps the King——"

"Not so fast, good sir," said the Meerza, speaking more blandly. "I remember all that has passed between us and that valiant gentleman yonder," and he pointed to Maun Singh, "and I am willing to perform my part of the bargain. And is this the Gooroo of whom ye spoke?"

"Sir, it is," replied the Lalla. "A holy man—one unused to the ways of the world, and who travels from shrine to shrine in the performance of sacred vows. Such were the Rishis; such are those from whom holy actions emanate; and such are the virtuous Jogis of the present day, of whom my Gooroo is a noble example. He, desiring the welfare of the Shah—may his splendour increase, and live for ever!—sent me to inform you, O fountain of eloquence and discretion! that they were in existence——" Here the Jogi gave another twitch of interruption, and a look, with a low growl, which the Lalla well understood, and continued—

"You see, noble sirs, he hath already suffered the interruption of his devotional abstraction, and is uneasy; for he never speaks unless to bless his disciples, or removes his eyes from the end of his nose: in continuing which, and repeating to himself holy texts and spells of wonderful power, he is pre-eminent in absorption of his faculties. So my lord will excuse him, and will remember the condition attached to the perusal of the papers."

"The gold, the gold—the money first!" growled the Jogi. "My son, my vow, my vow!"

"Noble sirs," continued the Lalla in a deprecatory whine to both, which appeared perfectly natural, as he looked from one to the other, with his hands joined, "you must pardon him; he is not a man of courts or of the world, but of temples, and holy shrines, and ascetic exercises; and some time ago he made a vow to build a temple on a spot where he had an ecstatic vision of heaven, and to dig a well, and feed five thousand Brahmuns, and to pass the remainder of his days in assisting poor travellers and in holy contemplation. A holy man, therefore, noble gentlemen, and he is anxious about the gold, not as filthy lucre, but for the sake of the temple and the well."

"Peace!" interrupted the Meerza. "What, in the name of the Shytan, are the well and the temple to us? Let us get up and depart, Sahib," he said to his companion, "they have no papers; this is but a scheme to raise money. I like them not, my lord," he added in a whisper, "and bitterly do I regret having brought you here unarmed and unattended. May God and the Prophet take us safe hence!"

The Lalla was not watching their faces in vain; he felt that he had gone far enough; and a fresh scowl from Pahar Singh, which was not to be mistaken: and his action, as he turned up a corner of the deerskin on which he sat, exhibiting a small red satin bag which might contain papers, assured the Lalla that he need not delay longer.

"Nay, my lords, be not impatient," he said blandly. "When was—he, he!—business of importance ever well done in a hurry? Behold!" added the Lalla, taking up the bag, "here are the papers which the holy father has kept safely for me beneath his deer's hide. Have I your permission to open them, Baba?"

"Open, and be quick," was the short answer of the Jogi.

"Simply then, noble sirs," continued the obsequious Lalla, taking some Persian letters out of the bag, "here they are; and if either of ye know the handwriting, the signature, or the seals of Khan Mahomed, Wuzeer of Beejapoor, he will, Inshalla! be able to recognize them. I do not know them myself, but that makes no difference; they are no forgeries. If you, my lord," he added to the Meerza, "know them, you will find that your poor servant has spoken the truth. Look at them carefully."

The Meerza received the packet with trembling hands, but he said firmly, "Thou knowest the penalty thou hast incurred if these be forged; and if a slave like thee shouldst have dared to question falsely the honour of one so exalted as the Wuzeer, beware!"

"I know—I know, O most exalted and worthy sir!" replied the Lalla, humbly but confidently shutting his eyes, folding his hands upon his breast, and bowing his head over them; "your worship told me before it would be death. But it will not be so. O no! In your poor slave's destiny is written favour and advancement at your hands, and his planets are in a fortunate conjunction."

"I would hang him to the highest tree in Beejapoor, to the topmost branch of the Goruk Imlee, to feed the crows and kites for a week. What a rascal he is, Meah!" whispered Bulwunt.

"Hush, and be ready! there is a life on every word," returned Fazil, hearing the King speak in Persian in an under-tone to the Meerza.

"There is no escape from death," he said in a sad tone, "if these papers be not false."

"True!" exclaimed the Jogi, abruptly, but whether it had reference to the Lalla's speech or the King's, could not be certain. The King looked at him suspiciously, but the man appeared once more to have relapsed into abstraction.

"O, that I know, worthy sir," returned the Lalla carelessly, "we must all die in the end: we are all mortal: what saith Saadi?" and he quoted a verse from the Bôstan. "I have no fear of them, noble gentlemen! May it please you to look at them first, and then determine about killing me afterwards. He, he, he!"

"He does not tremble under those eyes," whispered Fazil to his companion. "This must be true. God help them all!"

"If there be faith in handwriting and seals," resumed the Lalla after a pause, "I fear not. If these documents had not been so precious, why should the asylum of the world, my master, have kept them so carefully in his own writing-case? The time is not come, O Meerza! but you will yet hear of a reward having been set upon your poor slave's head. Be it so; I claim the protection of Ali Adil Shah for the service I now do him, Bismilla! Open the packet there, and say whether I have death and infamy before me, or life and honour in the King's service, for there is more at stake in this matter than my lord knows of. Bismilla! open it."

The Meerza held the packet irresolutely, as one who almost feared a knowledge of its contents, and looked for a moment to his companion——

"Bismilla!" said the King, eagerly speaking in Persian, "open it; this suspense is intolerable. Dost thou fear for Khan Mahomed? art thou his friend?"

"By your head and eyes, by the King's salt, no," answered the other. "For good or for evil, Bismilla! I open it,"—and he tore the cover hastily.

The heart of Fazil Khan beat so hard in his bosom that its throbbings seemed painfully audible to himself, and he almost fancied they must be heard by all inside; but he was still, as was also his companion.

As the wax-cloth covers were withdrawn, there appeared several letters in the bundle,—large, and the paper covered with gilding, such as are sent to persons of the most exalted rank only. Eagerly, most eagerly, did the practised eye of the Secretary run over each superscription, and each was narrowly scrutinized. One by one he passed them to the King, and Fazil could see that, whatever they were, they caused the deepest expression of interest in both their countenances. Suddenly the Meerza came to one which, having examined even more narrowly than the others, he passed on, with a deep sigh, to the King.

It was taken eagerly, and at once opened and read, while the Lalla turned from one to the other with an intense expression of curiosity, fear, and hope blended together, marked on his features.

"Does that Jogi understand Persian, thinkest thou?" asked the King of the Lalla.

"Not a word, I will answer for it with my head," returned the man confidently. "How should he?"

"And thyself?"

"Surely, excellent sir; I have long served in the royal Dufter, else how should I have known what to take and what to leave?" He spoke now in Persian, and the conversation continued in that language.

"If there were more, why didst thou not take all, Lalla?" asked the Meerza.

"All, Meerza Sahib? that the theft might be discovered before I had time to get away? Ah, no, good sir! A Mutsuddee may be a rogue, but he should have discretion," and he quoted the Persian proverb to that effect; "and to all appearance the royal desk still holds the same packet which I made up with other papers, and sealed with the private signet as it was before. No; the theft is not suspected yet, unless that packet have been opened by the Emperor when I was missed——"

"And thou knowest the contents of this letter, Lalla?" inquired the King.

"I could say them to you, for I have them by heart, noble sir; perhaps they are somewhat remarkable, for when I read them, I thought Ali Adil Shah would like to hear them, so I committed them to memory. I will even repeat the letter to you if this worthy Meerza have no objection. I presume," he continued to the Secretary, "that your friend is in the King's confidence as much as yourself."

"Surely," was the reply. "I may say that he is more in it than I am myself, else I had not brought him."

"Enough," said the Lalla; "I am satisfied. Now, open the letter and compare it with what I repeat. There is no Alkab."

"True," said the King, "he has drawn a Mudd at the top."

"Proceed after the Mudd, then," continued the Lalla, "the letter runs thus:—

"It has been the will of the all-powerful that the forces of my lord, the ruler of both worlds, should retire. Let not that trouble his heart. By the favour of the most merciful, matters will yet take a prosperous course for my lord's true interests. All here, with this poor suppliant for his bounty, are day and night labouring in his behalf: and already many, as by the endorsed list, with their adherents, have been gained to the true cause. Others demur, but will repent; again, others are obstinate, and cannot be moved, but they are not many. A few months more, and when the season opens, the harvest will be ripe for the gathering. Then, there will be no turning back for my lord from this city; for its people, with this poor servant, rejoicing to escape tyranny, will at once turn to the asylum of the two worlds, and give my lord's fortunate footsteps a happy welcome. We are tired of the false religion; and as to the King, he is but yet a boy, and has neither power, knowledge, nor any friends: and are men of venerable age to submit tamely to his idle fancies? Surely not. He can be ultimately provided for. For the rest, my lord's promises are undeserved by the least of his servants, who is not fit to kiss his feet; but my lord can at least rely that his administration will be carried on entirely in his interest, and to his honour and glory. What need to write more? it would be beyond the bounds of respect. May the splendour of dominion and honour increase! The signature of Khan Mahomed, Wuzeer of Beejapoor."

"Ay, what need of more?" sighed the young King. "Enough here—enough to prove the man's treachery, the least deserved that ever the false world saw. Yet, Meerza, there are still many true to the King: there are some suspected ones in the list that we know of," he continued, his eye running rapidly over it, "but Afzool Khan, and many of note, are not here, and yet rumour has assailed them also."

"Yes, they are intimates," said the Secretary, "but no more, I think."

"Then I have won my reward and my life!" exclaimed the Lalla anxiously, in his own tongue.

"Your life, surely," replied the Meerza; "but for the reward, we need to make some further scrutiny into those papers ere that can be disbursed: they must be compared with others in the King's possession. Therefore I will take them with me to-night, and if you will come to me—you know my house—early to-morrow, all will be arranged to your satisfaction."

"But, my lord—noble sirs," cried the Lalla, in evident dread, "that was no part of the bargain. Did we not settle——" He could not, however, finish the sentence on account of a rude and decisive interruption.

"I forbid it. I forbid one paper or one of you passing hence this night till the money is paid," said the Jogi, severely.

"And who art thou?" demanded the Meerza, haughtily. "Peace! withdraw; this is no place for thee, or the like of thee."

"Who am I?" retorted the ruffian. "Who am I? One who has the right, as he has the power, to demand what he seeks." And as he spoke he snatched from beneath the heap of ashes before him the heavy sword he had kept concealed there, which flashed brightly in the firelight, and started to his feet, as did also his follower. "Stir not!" he exclaimed to the King and Secretary, who had been too much startled by the sudden action to rise with the Jogi; "stir not, or ye die on the spot!" Drawing himself up to his majestic height, Pahar Singh laughed scornfully. "Ha, ha, ha! a boy and a penman against me! Ha, ha, ha! put up thy weapon, Maun Singh, there is no need of it."

"Who art thou?" demanded the King, rising notwithstanding the threat, and returning the glance as steadily as it was given.

"It concerns thee not," answered Pahar Singh. "Pay me the money promised on those papers—ten thousand good rupees—on this spot, or you pass not hence alive. Brother," he added to Maun Singh, "be ready. They have brought the money, and we must get it."

It was a moment of intense anxiety to Fazil Khan and his companion. A word—a sound from them, and the life of the young King was gone. Fazil could see that, except a small dagger in each of their girdles, the King and his Secretary were unarmed. To rush to them soon enough to be of use, was a thing impossible; they would be dead ere he could strike a blow. There was no absolute peril, however, as yet, and too much at stake to risk anything. Pahar Singh appeared to have no evil intention; but, if provoked, it was plain he might do violence, and would not hesitate to use his weapon if rescue were attempted.

The King saw his danger. There was little avail in temporizing, and his thought and action were alike prompt. His own life and his friend's were both at stake; and what did the money signify? Not a feather in the balance. Could his attendants, whom he had left at a distance, even hear of his danger, he must perish ere they could approach him.

"Hold!" he cried, "whoever thou art, Jogi. If the Lalla says thou art to have the money, it will be given. Our bargain was with him."

"And his with me," returned the man. "Give it me;" and as he spoke he advanced close to the King.

"Pay it to him—let him have it," cried the Lalla to the King, "and keep back your men if you have any with you, else there will be bloodshed. He is desperate, noble sirs; do not provoke him."

"I would do him no harm," said Pahar Singh to the Secretary, "but it is as well to be certain in case of treachery;" and he drew a small dagger from his girdle with his left hand, and held it in an attitude to strike into the King. "Go, if the money is here; bring it quickly; but beware of any attempt to rescue him, or you will cause his death. You could not reach me ere I had struck him down. Go then, Meerza Sahib, my friend Maun Singh will bring the bags: he is strong enough."

"Go, friend," said the King, "do as he says. If the people ask questions, say I am safe, and will be with them presently."

"And leave thee with him!" said the Meerza, anxiously. "I will not stir; there is peril, and my place is beside thee."

"There is no peril if ye are true," said Pahar Singh; "much, if ye are false. Go!"

"Go, friend, I will trust him; his object is money, not my poor life. Go! I am not afraid of him, nor he of me," said the King.

"How noble he is!" whispered Fazil to his companion.

Both would have given all they possessed to have been by the King's side to have struck down the ruffian.

"Ay, Meah, I would we were by his side," returned Bulwunt. "Who can he be? Whoever he may be, he is indeed fearless; but he will not be harmed if they bring the money. Hush! they may speak again."

The Meerza turned silently to go, and descended the step, accompanied by Maun Singh.

"Come," said the latter to the Lalla; "help to carry the bags, good man; it will save me another journey. Come!"

The Lalla followed, and the two remained standing face to face, the young King and the outlaw looking steadily at each other.

"Afraid of thee?" said Pahar Singh in a low voice, and dropping the arm which had held the dagger uplifted. "Afraid of thee? No, proud boy: he who defied thy father's power at its greatest, hath little to fear from thine. Ali Adil Shah, thinkest thou that this poor disguise could conceal thee? Yet thou art bold and true, and I rejoice that I have had proof of it, for men told me thou wert a coward—a boy of the zenana—only fit to herd with women. Now thou hast met the 'Lion of the Hill' bravely," he continued, using the play on his own name, "and he will turn from thee peacefully. Thy life hath been in my hand—nay, is now in it were I to strike—but I give it to thee freely; promise me mine in return, and swear by thy father's spirit that, once gone from this, thou wilt not turn back, nor suffer any one of thy retinue to do so."

The King started as the man covertly declared his name, and the covering fell from his face.

"Thou Pahar Singh, the Lion of Allund?" he said.

"Even so, monarch," returned the chief. "Ha! ha! The man whom thy slaves—cowards—tell thee they pursue. Aha! they dare not. Pahar Singh is monarch of his own wilds; no royal troops dare to come near them. But keep thine own counsel, and now listen. Thou mayst need me yet, and I may do thee good service. Two thousand good hearts and stout arms, such as thy money cannot hire, serve Pahar Singh. Swear to keep faith with me, and I will be true. Hadst thou been a coward, and quailed at the sight of this weapon, I should have been tempted to slay thee, Adil Khan, like a dog, for never yet did coward sit on the throne of Beejapoor. For what has happened, thou hast my respect. Enough! remember Pahar Singh, and in two days or less I will send thee more tidings, or come myself. Thou mayst kill the messenger, but he will not tell of my hiding-place; and if harm come to him, I swear to thee, by the Lady of Tooljapoor, my Holy Mother, that I will take a life for every hair of his head, and burn a hundred villages. Now, silence! I have spoken. Am I free to go, scathless as thou art? Thy hand upon it, monarch!"

It was frankly given, and the rebel and outlaw, instead of taking it rudely, and as if prompted suddenly by a kindly feeling of reverence for his King, bent his head gently, touched it with his forehead, and kissed it.

"Thy hand has touched my lips—put it upon my head, and swear by thy father not to harm me," he said, quickly.

"I swear by my father not to harm thee, Pahar Singh: only be thou henceforth faithful to thy King's salt," he replied, as he placed both his hands upon the outlaw's head.

"Enough," returned Pahar Singh, removing them, pressing them again to his forehead, and kissing them reverently; "I will be true to thy salt, O King; but speak to no one of me, and wait patiently till I come—I may have news for thee. A fakeer's rags and a beggar's cry admit me everywhere—'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga'[6]—by night or by day, wherever thou art, in durbar or zenana, whenever you hear it—admit me, or order me to be confined, and send for me—I shall bawl loudly enough. If I come not in two days, do not doubt me; but stir not in this matter till I arrive—it may be very soon, I cannot say. Now cover thy face; they come," and he resumed his former threatening attitude.

The Meerza, with the two others, emerged from behind the temple almost as he spoke, and in a few moments had ascended the steps of the apartment. Maun Singh drew a heavy bag from beneath the scarf which was round his shoulders; but the eye of the robber at once detected its small size.

"Those are not rupees, Meerza; beware of treachery with me. I have not harmed him," he exclaimed.

"No, it is gold, holy Baba. Behold!" and he opened the bag, and poured the contents carefully into a little heap on the floor near the fire. "There is more than he bargained for," he continued, pointing to the Lalla, "but it does not matter; you are welcome to it, for the temple and the well."

---

"Enough," returned Pahar Singh; "I am satisfied. Go, take your papers, and begone; molest me no more." And, sitting down on his deer's hide, he heaped up the gold coins carefully with his left hand, while his right still held the sword.

"And my reward, O Meerza Sahib!" cried the Lalla eagerly, as he and the King turned to depart; "thou wilt not abandon me to him."

"It is there with the rest," answered the Secretary; "Lallajee, help yourself, we must begone."

"Nay, but I want it not; only take me away—take me away. I fear him," cried the man, in a piteous voice, and trembling violently.

"Peace, fool," exclaimed Pahar Singh, rising and holding him back powerfully. "Peace, I will settle with thee!"