She had spoken as if she had been inspired, but the great effort had exhausted her, and she sank back upon the couch, pallid and trembling.
And Gordon knew too well that in the Indian climate such extreme prostration was an almost certain sign of coming death.
A few hours had served to bring about terrible changes in each of their lives; and what the end might be, no man could tell. But he braced himself up to do his duty, and mentally vowed never to cease his search for the lost Flora while he had reason to believe that she lived, and while health and strength were his.
“You must remain very quiet now, and get rest,” he said, as he placed a pillow under the head of Mrs. Harper. “Your sister’s ayah, Zeemit Mehal, promised to meet me here; I must go and seek her, and arrange my plans with her; for she has promised to go with me.”
“That is good,” Emily murmured; “if this woman remains faithful, her services will be invaluable.”
“I will answer for her fidelity. She might have betrayed me into the hands of her savage countrymen, but she has been true.”
Walter soon found Zeemit. She was waiting for him in the verandah of the bungalow. She had brought with her some powder for staining the skin, and a native dress—that of a religious mendicant.
“With this disguise,” she said, “you may penetrate into any part of India, free from molestation. This staff, carried by none but religious pilgrims, will be a passport of safety.”
“This idea is excellent,” he answered; “but there is one great difficulty which seems to me to be insurmountable. I have but a very slight knowledge of the language of the country, and this will betray me.”
“Yes, it would, if you let it be known.”