Chapter Forty Six.
I dared not go to the window now, for I knew I was right; and it was impossible for me to be aware of how much I might be watched, while a look might be sufficient, if exchanged between me and the bheestie, to draw suspicion to him, and cause his immediate death.
So I kept away, hoping that he would take the blow he had received, although accidentally given, as an answer to his communication.
But suppose the wrong man received the blow?
It did not matter, I thought. One told the other, and perhaps they were confederates.
That was enough. Help was at hand. I had but to wait; and it was evidently not some furtive kind of help—some attempt at an escape, but a bold attack to be made on the place, and the message was to put me on my guard.
I was in such a state of joyous excitement that I could hardly bear myself. I wanted to laugh aloud at Dost’s cleverness. Only the other day playing the part of fakir, and completely deceiving me, when he stood reviling, and now so transformed that I might have passed the humble water-carrier a hundred times without having the slightest suspicion as to his being genuine.
“He is not a fighting man,” I thought, “but quite as brave in his way; for nothing could be more daring than for him to march into the enemy’s camp with his life in his hand like this.”
Then I began to wonder how long it would be before an attack was made upon the town, and what Ny Deen would do. It would be a surprise—of that I felt sure; for the rajah was completely satisfied of his safety—at least, so he seemed, and ready to treat the British power as completely broken.