Two hours passed away. His attendants had looked at him several times, and, at last, being satisfied of his perfect unconsciousness, they had followed his example, and now no one but Abdul was awake.
Abdul had received his orders. He was to watch over the prisoner, but not to molest him in any way; he knew very well that, if he were detected in any attempt at outrage or robbery, he would pay the forfeit of his life for the crime; but the stillness of the moment and the perfect unconsciousness of the sleeping man were too much for his prudence. He would not hurt him. That would be to betray himself; but he would cautiously feel about him to see if he had valuables concealed in his sash or turban. If he had not, no harm was done. If he had, and if Abdul purloined them, then Abdul would be so much the richer, and the high-born youth, who would not venture, surrounded as he was by hostile strangers, to make any ado about his loss, would be the poorer. And that would be all.
Thinking thus he crept closer to Tom, and, having softly drawn his chuddah aside began to finger his fine satin tunic. Once or twice the sleeping youth stirred, and then the robber drew back, but supposing himself in a dream, he settled down again, and Abdul went on with his work. The heart of the robber was jubilant and his fingers were light, for he was sure now that there was gold in the youth's waistband, gold which would soon be transferred to his own. The gold was almost within his grasp, he heard its jingle, his long fingers swept it, as they moved to and fro. Why then did he stop suddenly and draw back? Had he seen the youth's breast and shoulders white in the moonlight, and did he recognise him as one of the hated race, whom, in a few short weeks, the children of the Prophet would scatter and slay? But this should have given him courage, for he knew very well that he had but to say that a Feringhee spy had entered the camp, and the youth whom he purposed to rob would have his lips sealed effectually. Surely it was something more that stayed Abdul's hand. And, in that moment's pause, his prey escaped him. Strong, and with all his wits about him, Tom awoke; seeing his chuddah and tunic open, and Abdul glaring at him, like a startled wild animal, he sprang to his feet and struck out with the dagger which he carried in his belt.
At the same moment the robber was smitten from behind. As, with a muttered cry, he fell to the ground, a voice broke upon the stillness of the camp: 'So the White Ranee punishes treachery. Let all take notice and beware!'
[CHAPTER XXIII]
THE SNAKE-CHARMER AND THE VEILED LADY
As for Tom, he laid himself down again, not to sleep this time, but to watch. There was, however, no further alarm, nor, when, long before dawn, the camp began to stir and the morning fires were lighted, was any remark made with regard to the incident of the night. A narrow trench was dug; the robber was laid in it, and, once more, the cavalcade moved forward. Throughout that day they went on steadily. The prisoner was continually on the alert, but he was given no chance either of escaping or of speaking to the veiled lady in the litter. His passionate irritation over the delay grew, meanwhile, to such a height, that he was on the point once or twice of making some mad effort that would have had the effect of either seriously jeopardising his life or putting fetters on his limbs. That he restrained himself was due not so much to prudence as to fatality. He could never find a moment when his will-power and his surroundings leapt together. When he might have acted he could not. When all his nerves were braced and the blood coursed like fire about his heart, something would always happen to make action impossible. So, with throbbing brain and a heart as heavy as lead, he travelled on. Every hour was taking them further away from Jhansi, and nearer Gumilcund, although they were not shaping their course directly for the last-named city. The men were reticent before him, but he gathered from a stray word here and there that they were themselves uncertain about their movements, which would depend upon the result of an enterprise undertaken by some of their comrades.
Towards mid-day they halted, and a man, who appeared to be a moulvie, or priest, joined them, was admitted to the tent, and held a conference with the lady, travelling on with the cavalcade as far as the next village, where he took his leave. What news he brought Tom did not hear, but he judged from the jubilant faces of the men, and the laughter and rude jests, some of which made his blood curdle, that there had been another triumph over the Europeans, and that these men were expecting to share in its results.
Evening came and they halted again. It was in the neighbourhood of a large village, to the right of which stretched a mere or shallow pond, half covered with red pond-weed and overshadowed with some fine acacia and fig trees. By order of the lady in the litter, her tent, which always formed the centre of the camp, was pitched on the shores of the mere, being separated from the village by its waters.