“It is not peaceful yet,” he replied. “The English are making a little struggle here and there. They do not like to give up the land they have held so long.”
We were silent again, and Salaman and the two servants I had seen most often, came up, bearing a tray with coffee, a long snake pipe, and a little pan of burning charcoal. A minute after the pipe was lit, and the great amber mouthpiece handed to the rajah, who took it after sipping his coffee, and the men retired as he began to smoke, gazing at me the while.
“It is useless,” he said at last. “A lost cause.”
I sat frowning and thinking that he did not understand Englishmen yet, or he would not talk of our cause being lost.
“Well,” he said at last, “I am very glad to see you getting so strong. In another fortnight you will be well enough to come back to the city.”
“What city?” I asked.
“Mine. To my palace,” he replied proudly; but he turned off his haughty manner directly, and continued. “I have had rooms set apart for you, and a certain number of servants, so that you will be quite free, and not dependent upon me.”
“Free!” I cried, catching that one word; it had such a delightful ring. “Then you will let me go as soon as I have visited you at your palace.”
“To be cut down—slain, after I have taken such pains to save your life?” he said, with a smile.
“Oh, I am very grateful for all that,” I cried hastily; “but you must feel that even if they are unfortunate, my place is with my own people.”