Tannajee's sword was drawn in an instant, and flashed brightly in the flickering glare of the lamp. The others were as rapidly unsheathed; but both parties stood on the defensive,—neither struck.
"For the love of Mahadeo, for the love of Bhowani, by your fathers' heads! no blood-shedding here, good sirs!" cried the keeper of the house imploringly, passing between them, and stretching out his hands deprecatingly to each in turn. "I shall be ruined! fined!—they will hang me! Hold! there will be blood shed. Help! help!" he shrieked in a frantic manner, seeing Tannajee advance a step.
Hearing his cries and the altercation, two men rushed from the inner apartment with drawn weapons, and would have attacked the others at once, but Tannajee withheld them.
"Peace!" he cried; "put down your weapons, friends. Peace, bold youth!" he continued to Bulwunt Rao; "you have run a fearful risk unmoved, which you do not know of. Who are you?" he asked rapidly.
"A Gosai: I have said it already," replied the other.
"A disciple of what teacher?"
"How are you to know, even if I tell it truly, who my Gooroo is?" returned Bulwunt. "Is Bussunt Geer of Tooljapoor known to you?"
"Ha! Bussunt Geer of Tooljapoor? but his cheyla is Poorun Geer, not thou?"
"Maharaj, it is true; but I am the younger. Poorun Geer stays with the Gooroo."
"And your name?"