“It was strong, no doubt,” Bathurst said; “but if she had put it on as I instructed her it could only have burnt the surface of the skin.”
“It has burnt her dreadfully, sahib; even I should hardly have known her. She must be brave indeed to have done it. She must have suffered dreadfully; but I obtained some ointment for her, and she was better when I left her. She is with the wife of the Sahib Hunter.”
“Now, Rabda, see if the meal is prepared,” Rujub said. “We are both hungry, and you can have eaten nothing this morning.”
He then left the room, leaving Bathurst to read the letters which he still held in his hand, feeling that they were too precious to be looked at until he was alone.
It was some time before Rabda brought in his breakfast, and, glancing at him, she saw how deeply he had been moved by the letters. She went up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“We will get her for you, sahib. We have been successful so far, be assured that we shall succeed again. What we have done is more difficult than what we have to do. It is easier to get twenty prisoners from a jail than one from a rajah's zenana.”
“That is true enough, Rabda. At the moment I was not thinking of that, but of other things.”
He longed for sympathy, but the girl would not have understood him had he told her his feelings. To her he was a hero, and it would have seemed to her folly had he said that he felt himself altogether unworthy of Isobel Hannay. After he had finished his breakfast Rujub again came in.
“What does the sahib intend to do now?” he asked.
“As far as I can see there is nothing to do at present, Rujub,” he said. “When the white troops come up she will be delivered.”