“I have been told that some of you English are great and good. Men who cannot be tempted by riches; who would not take from another any gift unless it was some little token—a ring of silver or plain gold; but I never met one before. I called you my friend; I felt from the first that you were noble and great of heart; now I know it ten times more, and I am glad. I should have given you everything I wear if it would have pleased you; but I should have felt sorry, for my friend would not have been so great as I wished.”
“Then you will give me what I ask?”
“Your liberty?” he said, smiling. “My poor brave boy, you do not know what you ask.”
“Yes,” I cried. “As soon as I am strong. I am grateful, and will never think of you as an enemy; always as a friend. You will let me go?”
“No,” he said gravely, “I could not lose my friend.”
“No?” I cried passionately. “Is this your friendship?”
“Yes,” he said, holding the hand firmly which I tried to snatch away, but with a poor feeble effort. “Say I gave you leave to go. Where would you make for? The country is all changed. Our men scour it in all directions, and your freedom would mean your death.”
“Is this true?” I cried piteously, as his words told me that our cause was lost.
“I could not lie to my friend,” he said. “Yes, it is true. The Company’s and the English Queen’s troops are driven back, while our rajahs and maharajahs are gathering their forces all through the land. No; I cannot give you liberty. It means sending you to your death; for I am, perhaps, the only chief in this great country who would take you by the hand and call you friend.”
He ceased speaking, and I lay back, feeling that his words must be true, and that hope was indeed dead now.