"I would rather speak to ye alone," said the Lalla.
"We three are as one. Yet stay," added the chief. "Go thou, Amrut Rao, let him have his own chance for life—but remain without."
"Do any of ye know the seal of the Wuzeer of Beejapoor," said the Lalla, when they were alone, "or do ye know the writing of Sivaji, the Mahratta Rajah?" He spoke with great difficulty, for his mouth was parched and clammy, and his lips white.
"Nay, but Sivaji cannot write, Lalla. This is some fool's story. Beware, too, how thou takest the name of my lord the Wuzeer," said the chief sternly.
"My lord, my lord, with death before me and one chance for life, I cannot lie," returned the Lalla, sadly shaking his head. "My hands are tied; but if one of you will open that bag, there will be truth enough found in it to save me. There, Jemadar," he continued, as Gopal Singh opened the bag, "in the side pocket are two Persian letters, fastened up; look at them first; look at the seals. If I am wrong I am wrong—I am helpless, do as ye like with me; I am helpless."
"It is the Wuzeer's seal, his private seal, uncle," said Gopal Singh excitedly. "Of this there is no doubt; look at it yourself."
"Ai Ram! Ai Seeta Ram! what have we here? It is the seal truly," said Pahar Singh, looking at the impressions on both letters, and rocking himself to and fro.
"Do any of ye read Persian?" asked the Lalla; "if so, read for yourselves. I need not speak; they will speak for me."
"I will try, uncle," said Gopal Singh; "give me the letters. By Krishna, father!" he continued, breaking the silence, and after his eye had glanced over a few lines, "I would rather go into the thickest fight than read treachery like this. Narayun, keep us!"