“And then you did wonders. But how many of our lads are hurt?”
“Three have slight cuts. But about yourself?”
“Skin not broken anywhere, thank goodness. Now, what about the Rajah?”
“I have had no news for some time. Go in, both of you, and see. You will be admitted sooner than I should.”
“Come, then, Darrell,” said Wyatt, signing to one of the men; and they rode up to the entrance, dismounted, handed their reins to the man, and the guards saluted them, uttering a low murmur as their officer came to them open-handed, smiling as if proud of their prowess.
“A brave fight,” he said; “and we had to stay and do nothing.”
“Yes,” said Wyatt, smiling back; “but some of us are obliged to look on. How is the Rajah?”
“The Rajah? Ah, yes; I do not know. We were watching the fight.”
“We will go up to him, then,” said Wyatt; and they ascended to the sufferer’s room, where the first person they encountered was the Ranee, who looked at them wildly, her lips parting to ask a question.
But she did not speak. She could read the endorsement of the defeat of her followers in the young officers’ faces.