I pass over two more years. Why should I fatigue you, Sahib, with a relation of daily occurrences, monotonous in themselves, and presenting to my memory not one incident worthy of remark. I will again lead you to the road, and to further adventures.
But Ameer Ali, said I, did you never hear aught of Motee and your other companions who were seized by Cheetoo?
I had forgotten them, Sahib; theirs was a sad fate, as you shall hear.
One evening, about three months after my return home, as I was sitting in the Dewan Khana of my house, surrounded by some friends, an attendant brought me word that a man was without, closely wrapped in a sheet, who desired to speak with me. "He will not enter," said he; "and says that you will know him when you see him."
I took up my sword and followed him. It was dusk, and I did not recognise the features of the person who had sent for me; indeed he was so closely muffled that I could hardly see them. "What is your purpose, friend?" I asked, as the man did not speak, but motioned with his arms under his cloth for my attendant to go away. I bid him begone.
"Jemadar," cried the figure when we were alone, "do you not know me?"
"The voice," said I, "is familiar to mine ears; step into the light that I may see your face."
"No, no!" said the man, in a hollow voice, "I cannot bear the light; mutilated and disgraced as I am, the darkness scarcely hides my shame: I am Ghous Khan."
"Ghous Khan!" I cried, in amazement; "he is dead, he perished at——"
"It is even so," said the man with a melancholy voice; "Ghous Khan is before you; to prove it, send for a light and look at me."