‘Then remember when I send to thee, come quickly; all will be prepared, and I will myself give her over to the leader of the Dakhan troops; if she will go to my mother’s, she will become a daughter to her; and I—but no matter, let that be as it is written in our destiny. Go now, ye have tarried long.’
Ere they arose to depart, a female figure, which had been seated at the door, drinking in every word of their discourse with greedy ears, arose rapidly, and gliding away to the edge of the verandah, stepped from it into the court-yard, and squatted behind a thick bush of Méhndee which grew there. The joyful pair passed on, and, after allowing a few moments to elapse, she arose and followed them. That woman was Sozun.
A few nights after, in a small chamber in the house of Kummoo’s mother, adjoining the one which we have before mentioned, sat Kummoo and the wretched old woman her accomplice; they spoke in low tones and whispers, and in dread, for the cannon of the English roared without, and was answered in loud peals from the walls of the Fort. The siege had begun now two days; the issue of the night-attack of the 6th of February, and its effect upon the Sultaun’s army, causing nearly one-half of its number to desert and fly from a service they had long detested, is well known. On the following morning twenty-three thousand were missing, and among them hundreds of the Europeans, upon whom he had placed such reliance; they preferred surrendering themselves into the hands of a generous enemy, to the service of a blood-stained and capricious monster. The rest of the army had retired within the walls, and, faithful to their cause, had determined to defend them to the last.
There was an awful din without; the roar of cannon, the incessant rattle of musketry, the hissing sound of shells as they descended and burst, came full on the ears of the guilty pair, and the old woman cowered to the ground in fright.
‘Knoweth Hoormut-bee of this? why is she not here?’ she asked, after a long silence.
‘She knoweth it, mother,’ said Kummoo, ‘but she is a coward, a pitiful coward, and dared not venture forth when shot is flying; but it is late—come—why dost thou delay? thou saidst all was ready.’
‘But the cannon, daughter—the noise—my heart is appalled.’
‘Ay, who is the coward now? once thou didst call me a coward, Kureena; behold I am now ready. What are the cannon to us? arise and come, I say; I see thou hast prepared the figure—come, time passes, and the Khan expects me; he will be returned ere this from the Durbar.’
‘She will die without it, daughter. Munoo and Shekh Suddoo came to me in my dreams last night,’ said the hag, ‘and they told me she would die; this new ceremony is useless.’