“It is true,” echoed Hira Singh. “If all the Feringhis were like unto Henry Larens there would have been no mutiny. Just is he, and he understands us and knows our ways of thinking as no other white man has ever done. He loved us, yet was he firm—firm as is his brother, and never was there a braver man. How he defied us all at Peshawur, though at our mercy! And so great was his ikbal (prestige), that he forced us to aid him even against our will. Jan Larens is a just and good man, but for Henry Larens we would gladly lay down our lives. I know that he is dead, but my brother will not believe it.”
“We will be ready before sundown, sahib,” Govind Singh assured Ted as he left them, greatly impressed by this evidence of the influence of one good man, who had so won over his former enemies that they had become his staunchest friends.
Ensign Russell’s kit was not extensive. He was now quite an old campaigner, having learned at Delhi how to do without many luxuries that he had formerly considered necessities. He gave his Mohammedan servant instructions to prepare for a long journey, and Kasim Ali received the news as a matter of course. Strange must be the lives of these Indian servants, who are ready to change their place of abode at a moment’s notice for another hundreds of miles away. At Delhi, after the capture of the town, Ted had picked up a bargain in the shape of a nice Arab, good-tempered, robust, and speedy. But he also needed an animal for Kasim Ali, and another for his kit and supplies, so he now called upon an Afghan dealer whose horses he had previously noticed. The Afghan brought out one sorry brute after another and tried to pass them off as veritable treasures, such as Aurungzebe himself might have envied. Ted looked guileless, and the Afghan was pained to hear him remark:
“I’m in a hurry. If you have no horses, say so, and I’ll go elsewhere.”
The wily coper began to see that his customer was no ignorant griffin, so he changed his tone, dropped his protestations, and finally brought out a couple of serviceable beasts, not showy, but strong and in good condition. Ted at once declared that they would suit, and named the sum he was prepared to give; and the Afghan, seeing that it was “take or leave”, ceased to haggle, and closed the bargain, not dissatisfied with the profit he had made. Kasim Ali led the steeds away.
“Must go and say good-bye to Ethel and the colonel next,” said the ensign to himself.
Colonel Woodburn and his daughter had remained in Lahore after the unsatisfactory conclusion of the trial, in order to be able to give the lad any advice or assistance within their power. They were staying with a civilian friend of the colonel, towards whose bungalow Ted turned his horse’s steps. The news that he had been cleared was already out, and Ethel waved her hand joyously as he hove in sight. Sending a servant to take the horse, she motioned the ensign to join her in the verandah.
“I am delighted, Ted!” she began. “Do you feel like a free man again?”
Ted sank luxuriously into the easy-chair.
“Ethel,” he said with unwonted seriousness, “I feel like the man in the Pilgrim’s Progress, whose burden has rolled from his shoulders. I suppose you have heard how the truth came out?”