“Of course. But how good of her. Please tell her that you have told me, and how grateful I am for her offer.”
Bathurst called Rabda, who was sitting a short distance away.
She took the hand that Isobel held out to her and placed it against her forehead.
“My life is yours, sahib,” she said simply to Bathurst. “It was right that I should give it for this lady you love.”
“What does she say?” Isobel asked.
“She says that she owed me her life for that tiger business, you know, and was ready to give it for you because I had set my mind on saving you.”
“Is that what she really said, Mr. Bathurst?” Isobel asked quietly, for he had hesitated a little in changing its wording.
“That was the sense of it, I can assure you. Not only was she ready to make the sacrifice, but her father consented to her doing so. These Hindoos are capable of gratitude, you see. There are not many English who would be ready thus to sacrifice themselves for a man who had accidentally, as I may say, saved their lives.”
“Not accidentally, Mr. Bathurst. Why do you always try to run yourself down? I suppose you will say next you saved my life by an accident.”
“The saving of your life is due chiefly to these natives.”