"That you will know by-and-by," replied Bulwunt. "Meanwhile, as to the Mutt and the temple, who knows whether there is either the one or the other; and who can go to look in this storm? Wherefore, worthy sir," he continued to the keeper of the place, "we are very comfortable, and intend to remain. We are not beasts to be turned out in rain like this. So, kindly bring the hookas, and when we have smoked we will rest after our long travel to-day. As to those here before us, we are not likely to molest them; and if they do not let us alone, we have weapons, and can defend ourselves. Therefore, be reasonable." Bulwunt spoke loudly, that he might be heard by the men within.
"What noise is that?" suddenly asked a strange voice from behind a partition close to which they were sitting. "Did I not tell thee, Rama, to admit no one?"
"May I be your sacrifice, Rao Sahib," returned the kullal, joining his hands together, and advancing to the door of the room, "your slave desired these two Gosais to depart civilly, but they will not move; they say they were told to come here, and ask for hookas. When I told them to be gone, one fellow talked about his weapons, and I believe they are drunk."
"About weapons, did he, Rama? and who art thou, mad youth, who venturest here into the privacy of gentlemen?" said a tall man, who now advanced from behind the partition with a sword in his left hand, while, observing that Bulwunt Rao and Fazil were armed, his right hand passed to his sword-hilt, and rested there, with a determined action.
How the stern tones of his voice thrilled to the heart of Bulwunt Rao, as he listened to them after an interval of many years. When he last heard them he was a mere youth. Shrieks of women were ringing in his ears, and his enemy's fierce commands to kill and spare none—hurried shouts, and the clash of steel. As he stood, the past recurred to Bulwunt Rao so vividly that, though years had intervened, it seemed only as if that night had gone, and morning had succeeded. There could be no doubt he was in Maloosray's presence. The same grave, determined manner—the same large black eye—as the proverb about him said, "Gentle as a fawn's, or fierce as a tiger's"—the same deep-toned voice. Time had hardly tinged his whiskers and moustaches with grey, but his face was weather-beaten and seared, as it were, by the sun, and his large bony frame more developed, than when they had last met—the boy and the cruel fiery youth. The light from a rude lamp in a niche of the wall threw a strong glare upon his face, which he did not seek to evade; while the features of Bulwunt Rao and his companion were in a great measure concealed by the shadow thrown upon them in the corner where they sat.
"A poor Gosai," answered Bulwunt in the Mahratta tongue, but in a tone as haughty as that in which he had been addressed, "who, with his brother, has sought shelter here and refreshment. Why shouldst thou interfere?"
"Ha! a proud speech, young sir; and your companion, why does he not answer?" returned Maloosray.
"He has a vow of silence for a year, made at the shrine of our Mother of Tooljapoor," returned Bulwunt, doggedly.
"Enough," cried Maloosray, "begone in her name! There is a temple of hers a gunshot from hence; begone to it."
"We must know who it is that has the power to send us hence ere we stir foot to depart," retorted Bulwunt, rising, and raising his really fine figure to its full height; and as Fazil Khan followed his example, both were ready to meet any sudden assault. "Who dares, I say, send us out in such rain? Are we men or dogs, to be put out with insult from a public place in such weather?"