“Stay, Jewan!” said Zeemit. “If you are rough with this pretty prize, she may injure herself. She is a bonny bird, and should not ruffle her plumage. She shall be yours. I give her to you.”
“May God in heaven protect me!” murmured Flora, as, sinking on her knees, she buried her face in her hands.
“Hush!” whispered Zeemit, as she bent down, unperceived by Jewan, “obey me in all things, and I will save you.”
“Come, my pretty dove,” said Zeemit, aloud, as she took the hands of Flora, and raised her to her feet, “life is sweet, and Jewan will be good to you. Besides, our time has come. The Feringhees have ruled us long enough. We triumph now, and resistance on your part will be useless. You must go with Jewan.”
“That is well said, Zeemit,” cried the man; “and I will give you jewels enough to make you as rich as a Ranee for your service. I shall take this white-faced woman to the Palace of the Mogul in Delhi.”
“But you must not leave me behind!” exclaimed Zeemit in well-feigned alarm.
“Leave you behind—certainly not!” answered Jewan, with a laugh. “You shall go and be keeper to my bird, and clip her wings if she wants to fly. I have a buggy close at hand; we will go together. Stay here until I bring it up.”
He went out into the compound, and when he had gone Flora flung herself at the feet of Zeemit.
“Oh, Zeemit!” she cried, “by all that you hold dear—if you have sister, mother, father, brother, nay, more, if you have a child—I appeal to you, in their names, to save me!”
“I will,” was the answer. “But you must go with this man; for to remain here is certain death. If your lover has escaped, and he may have done so, he will assuredly return. I will remain behind and wait, so that if he comes I can warn him and apprise him of your whereabouts. Hush! Jewan returns.”