As he was speaking, we were following the track back toward the village, and as there was no need now to practise caution, the distance did not seem great before we were abreast of the houses again, and after passing his hands over the entrances of one or two, Brace entered the third cautiously, stood within; there was a rustling noise, a sharp crackling, and the match he had struck blazed up and spread what appeared to me quite a brilliant glare around.
“No,” he said sharply, “we are not dogs, to rest in such a kennel as this. There must be a decent house somewhere.”
But for a long time it seemed as if there was not, and I was ready to say, “Anything will do,” when we cautiously entered another door; a light was struck, and though the place was deplorable enough, it did not look so desolate, and it had evidently lately been occupied, for there was a half-burned candle standing on a rough stool, and to this candle Brace applied his match.
“Officers’ quarters, I should say,” he cried cheerily. “Why, Gil, this is the very thing; three charpoys, and there has been eating and drinking going on. But, look out!”
He raised the candle with one hand, and with his sword advanced, made for a ragged purdah or curtain hanging from the roof just beyond the farthest native bedstead.
“Here, Gil,” he said sharply, “I’ll defend you; come and snatch away this piece of hangings.”
I did as he told me, with my heart beating heavily the while, and, holding my sword ready, I snatched the purdah aside, when the light fell upon the thin, deeply lined face of an extremely old-looking Hindu, whose white beard seemed to quiver as he threw up his arms and fell down before us.
“My lord will not slay his servant,” he cried in a trembling voice in his own tongue. “He has done no harm.”
“Come out,” cried Brace in Hindustani. “Why were you hiding there?”
“Thy servant was afraid that the white sahib would slay him.”