“How long is it since you saw her?” asked Moghul of Jewan.
“Scarcely two hours.”
“Then she cannot be far off; and we will find her if she has not got to the English quarters.”
“Thou art a faithful servant,” said Jewan to Zeemit; “and shall have attention and ample reward. But you must wait until I return, for we shall have to recapture this woman.”
As they went away Mehal smiled with satisfaction, in spite of the pain she was enduring; for she scarcely doubted that Flora had by this time discovered Walter Gordon, and the two were safe within the British lines. But fate had willed it otherwise. The men scarcely reached the compound, when the first thing that met their gaze was the bewildered Flora, flying unconsciously from the devoted lover who had perilled his life to save her.
A stranger to the place, and almost blinded with terror, she was rushing frantically about to endeavour to find a way out of the grounds into the city. But her chance had passed. With a diabolical cry of glee, Jewan rushed forward, followed by Singh.
Miss Meredith knew that she was pursued, though she was too confused to tell by whom. She darted away in the direction of some buildings that seemed to offer her a chance of hiding; but she was deceived. On she sped again, followed closely by the cowardly ruffians. She knew not where she was going to, she scarcely cared, so long as she could escape them. She would have thrown herself into a well, or dashed her brains out against a wall, if either had been at hand.
The grounds were extensive, and, to an uninitiated person, little better than a maze. The farther she went, the more hopelessly confused she became. Now darting here, now there, until with a wail of pain she fell upon the grass in a swoon. Nature was merciful, and came to her relief.
It might have seemed better had she fallen dead. But, in the mysterious workings of Providence, it was not so ordained. Her destiny was not fulfilled—her book of life not yet completed, so that the Angel of Death could write “Finis” on the last page. She must live to the end, whatever of sorrow, whatever of agony was in reserve for her.
“We’ve run the cat down,” said Moghul, as, breathless, he stooped over the prostrate girl, and lifted her in his strong arms.