“Darrell here!” said Wyatt, coming to the door hurriedly.
“Yes, I’ll come,” whispered Dick; but as he took a step forward he glanced towards the Rajah’s couch, and he saw the victim’s hand raised in a sign to him to approach.
The poor fellow’s face was livid and drawn with pain as Dick bent over him and took the hand offered, feeling a pang of reproach the while at his doubts of the prince. For, in spite of the pain the sufferer was in, he smiled in Dick’s face and pressed his hand.
“I heard your men come,” he said. “Keep the palace and the temple. If you hold these bravely half my people will side with you, and you can set the rest at defiance.”
“Captain Wyatt will fight to the last,” said Dick.
“Yes, I know he will. You will too—for your friend?”
“I will,” said Dick earnestly, and there was remorse in his breast as he pressed the sufferer’s hand.
“One word more,” whispered the Rajah faintly. “It is an enemy who did this—to poison you and your friends—but it could not be my mother. Where are the others?”
“Prisoners,” said Dick, frowning.
“I ask that they may not be killed. Tell Captain Wyatt that. Now go—I cannot talk, Darrell,” he whispered. “I am only a little older than you are—and I want to live; there is so much to do. Tell Doctor Robson not to let me die.”