“Perhaps it is, Dick, and perhaps they are all that is good and amiable, and I’m quite wrong. Let them prove it, and I’ll go over to their side. As it is, I think I’ll believe in myself and the Rajah. When Hulton gets better and takes command he will judge for himself.”
“Hulton will not get better and take the command for a long time,” said Dick quietly.
“Who says so?”
“Doctor Robson. He told me so this morning. He says that Hulton must go back to England for a year before he does anything more.”
“Poor old chap,” said Wyatt earnestly. “I hoped better things. He certainly is mending.”
“Yes, but very slowly. The doctor says that he must have complete change.”
A month had glided by since the Rajah of Singh’s forces had returned to their own country to await the retaliation they felt sure must come; but, so far, the Rajah of Soojeepur had contented himself with trying to consolidate his own state, and to convince his people that they must accept his plans for being in alliance with the English—a task, as yet, far from being accomplished.
The old palace, under Wyatt’s eye, had become a strong little fort, well provided with ammunition and provisions, so that they were well prepared in case of a siege, either from within or without the walls, though there were no signs of a fresh attack on the part of the Singh people, while the attitude of the natives within the city had ceased to be menacing. The result was that the orders respecting the men’s going about had ceased to be stringent.
Dick took advantage of this in his natural desire to see all he possibly could of the place and of the people, a ramble being more pleasant now that it could be taken without seeing scowling looks, and hearing knife-armed men cursing aloud at the dog of an infidel who dared to profane the streets with his presence.
On the morning that the above short conversation took place, he rose from the table to take his puggree-covered cap from where it hung.