"Why particularly to-day, Mohammed Khan?" said Denzil, greatly ruffled, and now recognising the tall, thin and yellow visaged Wuzeer of the Shah.
"Alas! ye are but as swine!" was the complimentary reply. "Know you not that it is Friday—a day set apart by the devout for solemn fast and prayer, in commemoration of the holy prophet's arrival at Medina; and because on that day God finished the great work of creation?"
"I never thought of all this, Khan," replied Denzil, whose heart was yet furious against the fanatical jeweller; and he might with truth have added, that so far from thinking of the prophet he thought only of Rose Trecarrel.
The narrow streets were nearly involved in darkness now. They were destitute of all lamps; and thus, provided the Wuzeer could elude the crowd that followed clamorously from the bazaar, he would not have much difficulty in effecting the escape of Denzil, whose blood they fiercely and furiously demanded, crying aloud that one of the faithful had been assaulted, robbed and half murdered by a Kaffir, a Feringhee, and so forth.
The six juzailchees who formed the escort of Taj Mohammed Khan, and who were soldiers of the Shah's 6th regiment (a portion of the same force that General Trecarrel had come up country to command) now fixed their long bayonets and kept back the pressure of the crowd, many of whom had now drawn their swords. The high, narrow thoroughfare re-echoed with barbarous yells, and Denzil felt that he was in a very awkward scrape.
Dismounting, the Wuzeer quitted his horse, and seizing the somewhat bewildered Denzil by the hand conducted him down a narrow, dark and steep alley, under the very ramparts of the towering Bala Hissar; and thence, by a steeper open slope to the lower wall of the city, through a kirkee, or wicket, in a gate of which they issued, and the fugitive found himself free. Before him stretched, far away in the starlight, the extensive and beautifully cultivated valley, amid which the Cabul flows till it passes through the city, the ramparts, royal citadel, domes and castles of which rose in sombre masses skyward behind him.
Mohammed drew a long breath, as if of relief. So did Denzil. He had been thinking of the emotions of Rose on the morrow, if she heard that he had been massacred in the streets of Cabul, helplessly, pitilessly, barbarously, and of those who were so dear at home, and were so far, far away.
"As yet you are safe," said his guide.
"I thank you gratefully; but how far am I from the cantonments?"
"About two kroes."