“Do not keep the news, however bad it is, from me. Better to know the worst at once, than suffer the nameless agony of suspense, when the fate of one’s dearest relatives is in question. My husband—what of him?”
“When I parted from him last night, I left him in perfect health. I have no doubt he would reach Delhi in safety.”
“Bless you for that news! And my sister—what of her?”
Gordon grew pale; strong man as he was, the tears gathered in his eyes, into his throat came a sensation as if a ball had suddenly been placed there, and was choking him; for his love for Flora Meredith was as strong as it was honourable.
And as he thought of what her fate might be, his emotion overpowered him.
“You do not answer,” cried Mrs. Harper, excitedly, as she noticed the red fade from his face, and a pallor spread over it. “Does she live? Speak, I conjure you.”
“She lives,” he answered, sorrowfully.
“Lives! and yet she is not with you!” Mrs. Harper almost shrieked, as a terrible thought flitted through her brain.
“Do not excite yourself, Emily, I beg, for you are endangering your life. Your sister lives, but has been abducted by Jewan Bukht.”