The words and his hot breath on her cheek roused the girl more completely than aught else could have done. She did not speak, but she arose, strong and defiant, and, shaking him off, pushed him away so violently from her, that he staggered and fell backwards.
For some time past, a body of horsemen, with their faces tied up, after the fashion of Mahratta cavaliers, the housings of their horses weather-stained, and their arms rusty and unpolished, had moved about the bed of the river and the bank beyond, and as the procession advanced to the pile, pressed on nearer to the crowd. It might be a hundred men or more; and the leader, who was a Mahratta, spoke cheerfully to the people who addressed him, and told them of his pursuit of the Mussulmans, and the raid they had done into the Beejapoor country, from which they were only now returning in time to see the show before they went home to the fort.
Our old friend Bulwunt Rao had become spokesman and ostensible leader; and the hunchback rode with him, and bandied words with the bystanders freely, but in good humour. With them, too, was Fazil Khan, who joined heartily in the rough jokes which were passing—many, at his own expense of ragged clothes, rusty arms, and gaunt features: and thus the band pressed on to the very skirts of the crowd, as if to see the Sutee, but actually to take up the position necessary for their adventure. During the day they had passed several bodies of Mahratta horse, but had been taken for a similar party, and had as yet been unchallenged; and in the crowd, their bold confident demeanour, and the ready replies given to all questions, with the certainty among the people that every Moslem soldier had perished at Pertâbgurh, or was a prisoner, prevented any suspicion of their real character.
Bulwunt Rao had seen Sutee rites before. They had watched the procession issue from the town, and he knew Tara would alight from the litter when she arrived at the pile. As she did so—as the litter was carried aside, and before the procession around the pile was formed—they had determined to ride in upon the crowd and bear her away. They had no fear of the result; there was not a doubt among them. They knew that every horseman in the town would be present there, unarmed and on foot, and that miles would be passed by them ere pursuit could be made. Their old hiding-place was not known, and beyond was open country; and if a long ride by night, what fear?—the horses were fresh and well fed.
"Be ready, Meah," said Bulwunt Rao, in a low voice. "See, they are clearing a space around the pile for her to walk. Holy Krishna! how beautiful she is! 'Jey Kalee! Jey Toolja Máta!'" he shouted with the crowd. Then turning to the hunchback, he bade him go round the rear of the party and see they all kept together. "As one man, Lukshmun, when they hear our shout, let them follow."
So they advanced nearer and nearer, and the crowd on foot, unable to resist the pressure of the horses, gave way before them. The sword of every man was loosened in its sheath, and a few of the rear men, who had matchlocks with lighted matches slung over their backs, unslung them, and held them on their saddlebows ready for use. If any one had noticed Fazil Khan, they would have seen him smoothing a cushion, as it were, of cloths upon the pommel of his saddle, while he wakened his horse with an occasional touch of his leg, and kept him excited for a sudden rush.
He moved up close to Bulwunt Rao. "If I fall, dear friend, in this," he said, "tell them how it was, and take the men to them. Do not wait for me; let them do with me as they list."
Bulwunt Rao smiled. "Fear not, Meah," he replied. "Ride thou in to her, and trust to us for the rest."
Fazil's teeth were hard set, and his heart throbbed quick; but he was calm and cool. It was no time for chance work, and there must not be any mistake now. He felt his sword was loose in the sheath, and smiled to himself. The men had orders not to strike unarmed people; but if any resisted, there would be some revenge for Pertâbgurh he thought, and, looking round, saw the rough faces of his followers in thick array behind him, holding in their horses as though for a race.