He strove to repeat it, but the blood gushed into his throat: he fell back in despair. They came nearer and nearer, shouting his name.
‘It was near this spot,’ said one; ‘I am sure of it, for here is a corpse, and here another: let us look further.’ And they continued to track the way of the fugitives by the dead.
‘Kasim Ali! Kasim Ali! ho, hote!’ shouted a voice which thrilled to Kasim’s very soul, for it was the Khan’s: how well he knew it—an angel’s would have been less welcome. One torch-bearer was advancing, hardly fifty paces from him; he waited an instant, then summoning his resolution, ‘Ho! hote!’ he cried, with all his remaining power. The sound was very faint, but it was heard.
‘Some one answered!’ shouted the torch-bearer.
‘Where? for the sake of Alla,’ cried the Khan from his horse.
‘Yonder, in front.’
‘Quick, run!’ was the reply, and all hurried on, looking to the right and left.
Kasim could not speak, but he waved his arm; as they came close to him, the broad glare of the torch fell on him, and he was seen.
All rushed towards him, and the old Khan, throwing himself recklessly from his horse, ran eagerly to his side and gazed in his face. Kasim’s eye was dim, and his face and body were covered with blood; but the features were well known to him, and the old soldier, unable to repress his emotion, fell on his knees beside him, and raising his clasped hands wept aloud.
‘Shookur-khoda! Ul-humd-ul-illa!’ he cried at last when he could speak, ‘he lives! my friends, he lives! I vow a gift to thee, O Moula Ali, and to thee, O Burhanee Sahib, for this joy; I vow Fatehas at your shrines, and to feed a hundred Fakeers in your names.’