“Alas, my son, where should we journey to but to that great city where the King dwells, and where we hope to find rest and plenty.”
“Allah guide you!” the man answered. “The Moghul will be restored, the Feringhees will be exterminated, and our race will be raised to power again. But come you from Meerut?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the latest news. Are the Europeans going to follow our friends to Delhi?”
“No. They have, to a man, returned to Meerut.”
“Allah be praised!” cried the Coolie, springing to his feet. “That is news indeed. I and my companion then will accompany you to Delhi, and we will serve these foreigners no more. Fearing that the Europeans would follow our friends out of Meerut, we have remained at our posts here, dreading to be overtaken. But the news you bring is good, and we will seek better fortune than is to be gained by attending to the Feringhee travellers who stop here.”
“When my son is refreshed, we will continue our journey in company,” answered Zeemit, as she passed into the house; and the two Coolies coiled themselves upon their matting again.
The unexpected meeting with these two men was a source of trouble to her; for if their suspicions should be aroused, the object of the journey might be frustrated. Moreover, she feared that the man she had seen at the hut in the paddy field would give pursuit as soon as he had armed himself, and got some of his comrades to join him; for he would know that the Englishman could not go very far, and could soon be overtaken. She looked at Gordon; he was steeped in a death-like sleep, and even if she had been inclined, she could not have aroused him until rest had somewhat restored him.
She made a survey of the house. The windows were only guarded with jalousies, which offered no protection; so that, if the place should be attacked, escape would be almost impossible.
Some hours passed, and nothing occurred to justify her suspicions. Many an anxious glance did she cast back to the white road along which they had travelled.