“What is it?” he said anxiously. “You are ill.”
“Your hand was pressing my wounded shoulder,” I said rather faintly.
“My dear Gil!” he cried, as he took and pressed my hand, “I did not know.”
“Of course not,” I said, smiling. “It is long healing. I’m better now. It was very weak and cowardly of me to turn so. There,” I cried, with an attempt at being merry; “you see what a poor officer I should make.”
“You cowardly!” he cried. “It is wonderful how you have recovered so quickly. But, come, it is getting late, and we have a long journey back. Go and put on your uniform.”
“I cannot,” I said sadly.
“I am not asking you to say ‘Yes’ now,” he continued calmly. “I only wish you to appear before my people worthily dressed as my friend, and ready to enter my city.”
“You want to take me with you?” I said quickly.
“Yes; you will share my howdah. It is you I care for as my friend. I do not care for your clothes; but my people would think it strange.”
I sat frowning and thinking of Dost and Brace, but I was helpless.