As Alderbury entered his sitting-room a man rose from a chair and advanced to meet him. He was dressed in European clothes although he was a Hindu. Over his eye was a recently healed wound.
"Ananda!" cried Alderbury, astonished beyond measure.
"The same, sir," was the reply.
"How did you get here? We made so sure of your being still under your father's roof that I can scarcely believe my eyes."
"By the help of friends. It is a long story——"
His words were checked by the sound of a cry. The widow refusing to be detained any longer by the servant, rushed forward past Alderbury, never stopping till she had fallen at Ananda's feet. In a moment he was on his knees by her side forgetful of the missionary and all else.
"My wife! my pearl! my beloved! How did you manage to escape? how did you get here? But what have they done to you my beautiful lotus? They have cut off your hair! and this cloth! what does it mean?"
The words poured from his lips with a string of eager questions which Dorama could only answer with sobs.
"Who do you say this woman is?" demanded Alderbury in some bewilderment.
"She is Dorama, my wife, sir! And see what they have done to her, poor child! Not content with nearly beating the life out of me they have widowed her! the brutes! This is my uncle's doing. I will be even with him. He shall answer for it with his life! I will kill him as he would have killed me; and I will widow his——"