“Who bade thee give me this message?” he asked, knowing full well that such a menial would never dare to speak on his own authority.
“One who wishes thee well, sahib—my wife, to wit,” answered the bhisti.
“Thy wife!”
“Yes, honored one. You plucked our child from death in the river, and my wife heard from others that there is intent to make sport with thee and the Hathi-sahib ere both are put to death.”
Swish, swish went the water among the rose-leaves. Never was there a more energetic bhisti, for a gardener had appeared, and further talk was impossible.
“As well die here as a mile away,” was Roger’s quiet comment. “We have breakfasted, we have dined, and a fight is toward. What more can a man want? Out with your hanger, Walter, when Jahangir so much as opes his mouth to speak crossly. We shall give him a feast of steel, with first, second, and third course all alike. There shall be much carving, yet none will tarry to eat. Gad! this talking makes me thirsty, and, if I am fated to fall to-day, their blades may as well let out some good liquor. Fall to, lad! We may not have another chance.”
He seized a bottle of Alicant and poured out two generous measures. Mowbray lifted a tankard and cried:—
“Here’s to Old England and Nellie Roe, if I never see either again!”
“And here’s to the day when I set foot on the heather once more!” was Roger’s sturdy rejoinder. It was in such spirit that they followed the chamberlain when he reappeared.
They had no opportunity of conversing again with the bhisti. Whatever good cause inspired his mysterious message they were now on the verge of enlightenment, so Walter called the poor fellow towards him and openly presented him with some rupees, saying:—