A hand was laid on Dick’s shoulder, and Wyatt bent forward and pressed the Rajah’s arm.
“I am very, very sorry for this, sir,” he said in a low tone. “But we must go now. It is urgent.”
“Yes, go,” said the Rajah, clutching at Wyatt’s hand as he looked wistfully in his eyes. “Fight for me and save me. I am your friend.”
The doctor had come to the other side of the couch, and laid his hand upon the Rajah’s forehead, with the result that the poor fellow sank back with a sigh and closed his eyes.
“Come, Dick, lad,” said Wyatt. “Our work is cut out;” and they were hurrying to the door, when, to their surprise, they were confronted by the Ranee, who looked twenty years older in her horror and despair.
“Will he die?” she whispered to Wyatt.
“I hope not, madam, but we mean to live,” said the captain, giving her a peculiar look of disgust which made her shrink back; while a flash of resentment swept over her handsome face, and she drew herself up as she said quickly:
“It is not true, I swear. I have always hated you and yours, but I am a queen, and I would not have done this horrible, treacherous thing. Once more, I swear I did not know of this.”
“But you took pity, and warned me not to drink,” said Dick sharply.
“I swear to you I did not know,” said the Ranee once more. “Now, tell me what you are going to do.”