"Ah, leave me not, gentlemen! I am poor and in great pain," replied the man. "My clothes and horse are a long way from hence: how shall I get to them? Take me with you and I shall live, else he will find me out and kill me—that Pahar Singh."
Supporting the wounded man between them, the two friends unfastened the door of the courtyard and passed out. The glare and noise of the bazar seemed only at a short distance, and knowing that a strong guard was placed at night near the end nearest the city, they went to it as directly as they could. A few questions were carelessly asked as to the cause of the wound, and as vaguely answered. A traveller found wounded, who had been robbed, was probably cause enough to account for his condition.
"We cannot delay, Lalla," said Bulwunt, in answer to his cries that one at least would stay with him. "We have far to go, and the night is passing fast. The clouds, too, are gathering, and the thunder is growling in the distance. Hark! there will be a storm. Come, Meah," he whispered, "we may miss him whom we seek. See that the man's wounds are dressed, Duffadar," he continued aloud to the officer of the guard, "and let him sleep here."
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
As Fazil parted from the wounded man, the scenes of the night, the horrid truth regarding the treachery of his friend's father, the danger which threatened both, and indeed the whole family, caused him many an anxious thought. His worst suspicions had only been too deeply verified, and even now there arose some struggle between duty and allegiance to his King, and affection for the Wuzeer's family, for the sake of his son. Bulwunt had again avoided the principal street, and they were once more in the open ground beyond the houses. Fazil walked on rapidly and silently; but at length, the oppression of his thoughts found vent in words. "Let him decide," he said aloud, in allusion to his father; "wisdom abides with him; and in a matter like this his advice is precious."
"And what think you of all this, Meah?" asked his companion, for an instant slackening his pace; "what will the noble Khan Sahib say to it?—not indeed that he and the Wuzeer are very intimate friends either. I tell thee, were not my heart turning to that devil Tannajee Maloosray, I should be lost in wonder at the Wuzeer's folly."
"Even so," said Fazil, sighing; "a man in whom I would have placed confidence as in my own father—one who ought to be honoured and loved for his faith—is but a poor knave, after all, Bulwunt—not better than that miserable Lalla whom we have just left—a thing for men to spit upon. Alas for the world's honesty, brother! A heap of gold, a few empty titles, the smile of a woman,—and power—which does but make its possessor miserable when he has gained it—turns right to wrong, justice to oppression, virtue to vice, honesty to knavery, faith to treachery. We look for it in the highest, but it flies from us; we seek it in the lowest, and turn from them but too often in despair. Should not one sigh at depravity like this, which finds no echo in one's own heart?"
"True, Meah, and may it long be so with you," returned his companion; "but your experience of life is as yet small, and as it increases I fear you will search in vain for the purity which your own heart now pictures. Perhaps it may exist among women. Sree Swâmi knows, and you may find it there. I have not, Meah; but in the world abroad, when you have more to do with it, your sensitive spirit will become blunted by degrees, and, though a serious matter like this will trouble it, you will gradually learn to pass many a broad lie or rogue's trick which now vexes you, without notice beyond a passing curse or a hasty blow. Patience, Meah Sahib! thou hast much to learn yet; would it were good, and not evil!"
"Ah, would it were, Bulwunt Rao! Your experience is from the crooked ways and thoughts of your own people, of which men make proverbs; but for a noble of the state to betray his salt in this base manner, makes me sick at heart. But this is no time, friend, to think of aught but the work we have to do; and what more has to come of the night we know not. Hark! the thunder growls again, and the storm is coming up fast—we had as well run on to shelter; and what more may follow, Alla knows!"