"Where is the home of Miss sahib, who honors me with her presence?" asked the native, after taking two or three strong puffs at his hookah, which had been neglected for a few minutes.
She gave him the address, and he nodded his head.
"I know the good man—I know Mr. Jennings also. He is a missionary. I do not believe in your faith, but I am none the less your friend. A true follower of the Prophet is the enemy of no man."
These sentiments were so unusual and so inappropriate, as may be said, for a Mohammedan, that the young lady was puzzled. She could not but doubt the sincerity of a Mussulman who talked that way.
Since Dr. Avery found his ears of little account while this conversation was going on, he made good use of his eyes. Marian was talking with some animation, when through the tattie that had been pulled aside he discerned the crouching figure of a man stealing toward the entrance of the compound. He came around the corner of the house, and was evidently trying to reach the street without being seen.
The truth flashed upon the surgeon.
"That is the servant the nawab called to him and gave some order in a low voice; that order was that he should slip out of the garden and make known to the leaders of the mob that the infidels for whom they are searching are here in his house, and he will keep them until they come back and kill them."
"Marian," said he, suppressing all evidence of excitement, "if we do not leave at once, we are lost. The precious scoundrel has sent out his servant to notify the mob that we are here. Make the best excuse we can; let us go."
He rose to his feet, and Marian, instantly grasping the situation, thanked their host for his kindness, adding as an excuse for their abrupt departure that her parents would be alarmed by her long absence.
"Will not the sahib honor our home with his presence?" asked the nawab, who could not conceal his chagrin.