Without adding another word Beebee pushed the branches aside and urged on her steed towards the spot from which the sounds proceeded.
Miss Morgan followed close behind.
And soon they came to a kind of green grassy glade in the forest, which, from the trampled condition of the sward, gave evidence that a fearful struggle had taken place there but very recently.
One man lay face downwards on the ground, and it was easy to see he would never need help again.
But the other, evidently an Englishman, sat half up leaning on one elbow, his other hand pressed against his side, and blood trickling over his fingers.
Beebee quickly alighted from her horse and tied the bridle to a tree.
She was a Persian, it is true, but she had a woman’s heart, and here was a fellow-creature in pain and probably dying. She did not even notice that her veil had fallen down as she quickly rushed towards the stranger and knelt pityingly at his side.