Jewan laughed—laughed joyously, ferociously; he would gladly yield her up to the King twenty times over, rather than she should escape. In a few minutes they had placed her in the gharry, which was driven through a private entrance, and was soon on the other side of the Ganges, and speeding along the road to Delhi.
Within a hundred yards of where the unfortunate Flora had fallen, Walter Gordon slept soundly, and when the sound of the wheels of the departing vehicle had died out, the silence of the night remained unbroken.
CHAPTER XX. AS A BIRD IS ENSNARED.
As the sounds of the wheels died away, Jewan Bukht half-regretted that he had given his consent for Flora to go with Moghul Singh. He blamed himself now for being so indiscreet as to take her to Delhi in the first instance; but there was no help for it. He had lost her, he believed, beyond all hope of recovery; and if he wished to retain his position, he was bound to acknowledge the supremacy of the King. He knew that. And so, consoling himself as best he could, he turned towards the tower, with the intention of rendering some aid to Zeemit Mehal.
He found that the old woman had managed to drag herself into the room. She was terribly shaken, and weakened from loss of blood, but it was evident that she yet had a good deal of vitality left in her frame.
“How fares it now?” he asked, as he entered.
“Better,” she answered. “Strength is returning to me. But what of the Englishwoman?” she added eagerly.