"It is useless for me now to say who I am," replied Fazil looking round. "Enough that I am one of your own faith, as ye will know when the morning breaks;—one who may be able to punish you for rough uncivil usage, or reward you if that poor fellow is speedily aided. I care little what happens to myself; but if ye know of a physician near, or a skilful barber, I pray, good sir," he continued, addressing himself to the officer, "send for him, that a valuable life may be saved."
This speech was received with a shout of derision by most of the party; but their leader was not unobservant, and he saw at once, by the manner and speech of Fazil, that he was no common person; certainly not, what his attire proclaimed him to be, a Gosai. There was a chance that he might be some one of rank in disguise. The keeper of the house had declared him to be the man who had struck down the unfortunate Bulwunt; but, again, the consideration of his return to the spot, and his sincere grief at the poor fellow's wound, went far to assure the officer that his prisoner had not done the deed, and that whoever did it had escaped. These thoughts rapidly occurring, caused the Duffadar to doubt whether rigour was needful. "Art thou a Gosai?" he asked again. "Answer truly!"
"There is no God but God, and Mahomed is the Prophet of God," exclaimed Fazil, repeating the creed, and, as rapidly as possible, in Arabic, the first part of the midnight prayer. "No, good sir, I am no Gosai, but a humble disciple of the Prophet, on whom be peace!"
"Toba, Toba! now shame on me that I should have put a Mussulman to disgrace," exclaimed the Duffadar. "Loose him, friends—we will see to this; and run one of ye to the respectable Meer Hoosein, who lives in the alley yonder, and is a skilful doctor; and, if I mistake not, there is a clever barber, one Nunda, who lives near him, and who is accustomed to matters of this kind. Bid him bring his needles to sew up the wound. And, hark ye, no excuses from either about the rain and lateness of the night; this is the King's business, and a matter of life and death."
Then turning to Bulwunt, who had been raised up while Fazil's arms were being unbound, and who appeared sensible, he spoke cheerfully to him, bidding him not to be afraid, for he would be well treated.
"Water!" gasped the poor fellow, looking dreamily about him and pointing to his mouth—"Water!"
"Here is a vessel full," cried a bearded soldier, advancing; "drink, friend."
"Hold," said Fazil, "he is a Hindu; he will not take it from you. Where is the kullal? Let him get some."
"Here, great sir," said the man, advancing with a brass vessel full. "Who is he? May he take water from me?"
"He is a Mahratta," replied Fazil.