Salaman shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you know why the fierce beast did not eat him?”
“Because he found out that he had made a mistake in striking down a holy man, my—”
“Ah!”
“Sahib,” cried Salaman, hurriedly.
“That’s better,” I said. “No! The tiger did not touch him afterwards, because he was so dirty.”
I walked away, hearing the fakir whispering wishes of evil against me to the attendants, and spitting on the ground from time to time, while Salaman followed me to my dinner under the tree, and brought me a cool, pleasant draught of lemon and water and some fresh fruit, leaving me afterwards to moralise on the difference between my religion and his, and afterwards to sit dejectedly waiting for my wound to heal, and to hope that the rajah would not come.
He did not come, and as I sat thinking, I was obliged to confess that I was too weak to make any attempt at escape for some time yet; and even when I grew stronger, the chances appeared to be very small.
“Never mind,” I said at last, trying to be cheerful. “Some chance may come yet.”
But my spirits did not rise, for there was always the black cloud which I could not pierce, behind which was hidden the fate of my friends, and all that were dear to me.