Flora was utterly bewildered. She could neither think nor act, only yield herself blindly to the counselling of this old woman.
The man had driven into the compound in a buggy. He sprang to the ground.
“Quick,” he cried, “there is no time to be lost.”
“I have an old father, who lives on the other side of the nullah,” said Zeemit; “I must visit him before I go.”
“But I cannot wait for you; even our own lives are in danger by remaining here,” observed Jewan angrily.
“There is no occasion to wait,” was the answer. “When I have seen my father I will hurry after you. I am an old woman, and no one will molest me; I shall find means to reach Delhi almost as soon as you. Come, my baby, put on your things,” she added, addressing Flora, who followed the old woman into the bungalow.
When Flora had secured a few relics and articles of value, and had arrayed herself in a shawl and hat, she returned to the verandah.
“You will come,” she whispered to the old woman; “and save him if possible. Should I not see you in three days, and if this man insults me, I will die by my own hand.”
“I will save him and you if he lives,” was the answer. “Go.”
Then the poor girl, bewildered by the rapid course of events, and half-dazed by the danger that surrounded her, and scarcely able to realise the fact that a few yards off her mother was lying stark and white, mounted to the buggy, and sank down overpowered upon the cushions.