'Is all well—is all well, Hoosanee?' cries the poor fellow.
'Excellency, your servant has done what he could.'
'I know it; but—my good fellow, don't torture me. She is safe?'
'Sahib, she is in the hands of the All-Merciful.'
'Dead?'
'Excellency, in a few moments I will tell you all. There are three English ladies and a little child in the cart. They are fainting with hunger and weariness. Will not your Honour speak to them?'
For a moment Tom's head sank upon his breast. He could not. Then, making a fierce effort to recover himself, he dismounted, threw his reins to one of the syces and went up to the cart.
A wild white face, set round with an aureole of yellow hair, looked out at him. It was Lucy's.
'Oh!' she wailed. 'Where are we, and why are we stopping? Is this the end?'
'It will be the end of your troubles, I hope, dearest lady,' said Tom very gently.