“When—when did he go?” I asked, taking up my coffee, so as to seem indifferent.
“Who knows, my lord? No one saw him leave. They come and they go, and some of them are always coming and going. They have no home. Perhaps he went in the night, perhaps as soon as it was day. And with all those wounds not healed, it is wonderful.”
I was already beginning to enjoy my breakfast at this glorious news, for Dost had evidently got away in safety, and his disguise would no doubt enable him to pass easily through the land.
“Well,” I said, speaking cheerfully now, “what is your other news?”
“Ah, that coffee has done my lord good,” said Salaman. “He smiles and looks brighter and better for his highness to see. I made that coffee myself, and it is fresh and good.”
“Beautiful, Salaman,” I said, emptying my cup, and longing for some good honest English milk; “but your news—your other news.”
“His highness is coming to-day.”
“How do you know?” I cried, the aroma departing from my coffee, and the chupatties beginning to taste bitter.
“A horseman rode over to bid me have refreshments ready for his highness this afternoon, which he will partake of with you, and afterwards the tents are to be taken down, bullock-waggons will come, and we shall sleep at the palace to-night. But my lord does not seem glad.”
“Glad?” I said bitterly. “Why, this means that I, too, am to go.”