But somehow he impressed Dick in a way he did not intend, for, as they went along the silent, echoing gallery, the young officer felt more and more that his guide was treacherous and untrustworthy to the last degree—a man who, in spite of his sacred office, would proceed to any extremity to get rid of people who stood in his way. So that it was with a feeling of relief that he descended once more to the floor of the great temple, and upon being ushered into one of the rooms used by the Brahmin priesthood, who dwelt in a part of the building, he did not at all enjoy the sweetmeats and fruit provided for his refection, nor fancy a sweetish kind of wine given him in a quaint Indian cup.
At last he was conducted to the temple gates, Hanson still following close behind, the Brahmin begging him to come again, as it was his wish now that the English officers should look upon him and his brethren as their friends.
“I wish you would teach the people to feel towards us in the same way,” said Dick, smiling and trying, now they were once more in the bright sunshine, to look upon the ideas which had coursed through his brain as fancies.
“We are trying,” said the Brahmin; “but the people are very weak and ignorant, and you must see that, after being taught for so long to look upon the English as infidels and enemies, it must take time.”
They parted apparently the best of friends, and Dick was walking back towards his quarters, when, in turning a corner, he looked sharply round and saw that Hanson was watching him intently; and, if he had been asked, he would have found it impossible to have explained why he asked his follower the following question, but ask it he did:
“Could you hear what the Brahmin said to me as I took leave?”
“Every word, sir.”
“What did you think of it?”
“That I’d trust him as far as I would a tiger.”
“Then it was not all fancy on my part,” thought Dick as he went on. “I was right in my impressions, and I’ll trust him as far as I would one of the great savage cats; but I must be civil, I suppose.”