I was calling Ny Deen to witness to my perfect innocence, for he was somehow there at Nussoor, when my father suddenly said—
“It is of no use, Gil. You may as well get up.”
I started awake to see that his grey, worn face was bent down over me, and found that he was holding my hand.
“You had better rouse up, and have a bath, lad,” he said kindly. “Your sleep is doing you no good.”
“Oh, what a horrible muddle of a dream,” I exclaimed, as I sprang to my feet.
“You should have undressed, my lad. You are bathed in perspiration.”
Dost came in just then with coffee borne by Salaman, and I turned to him directly.
“How did you escape?” I cried.
“I was beaten down, sahib, and I managed to crawl away. I was not much hurt,” he added, with a smile.
“I am glad,” I cried; and ten minutes later I was out in the court with my father, listening to the arrangements being made; and soon after I was audience to a little council of war in the rajah’s principal room, where it was arranged that two strong companies of the other foot regiment should garrison the palace, and hold it while a troop of lancers stayed back to help preserve order in the town.