“I made those, sahib, with a hook fastened in a tree.”
“Dost!”
“Oh, it hurt a little, sahib; but there was no other way to come. And even then, when I was ready to tear and wound, I stopped, for I said to myself, ‘If I run there for help and refuge, they will not let me stay, and I was ready to pull my hair and bewail myself.’ But that would not help me, and I sat down and thought all one day and all the next night, and no help came, till it was gaining light, when I jumped up and shouted, for I could see the way.”
“To disguise yourself as a fakir?”
“Yes, sahib, for I said that no one would dare to say no to a holy man. And you see I am here, and can stay, and—”
“Hist!” I said; and in a few moments he was lying beside my couch with the light coverlid and two of the cushions tossed over him, effectually hiding him as he lay on the side of the tent farthest from the lamp.
It was only just in time, for the tent door opened, and Salaman came in softly, peering in my direction as I lay pretending to be asleep, but I jumped up on the instant.
“Yes? What is it?” I cried. “Ah, Salaman, is it morning?”
“No, my lord. Thy servant came to see if he could bring anything.”
“No,” I said with a yawn; “nothing. But call me quite early, as soon as it is light. I shall walk while it is cool.”