‘No, no, my life, my soul!’ returned the Khan, ‘it is not fit for thee; if they should fire upon us, there will be danger; besides there are many men,—thou wouldst not like it; remember too I am near thee, and once the village is alarmed thou wilt have many companions.’
‘I am not afraid,’ she said; ‘I had rather be with men than women at such a time.’
‘Well, well, Ameena, rest thou here now at all events; should there be need thou canst join us hereafter.’
The Khan a moment afterwards was on the top of the tower.
‘Seest thou aught more, Kasim?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,—the village continues to burn, and the men are there; but either the people have escaped, or they are dead, for none come out now.’
‘Sound the alarm!’ cried the Khan to some men below, who, bearing a large tambourine drum and a brass horn, had assembled ready for the signal. ‘If the horsemen hear it, it will tell them we are on the alert.’
The deep tone of the drum and the shrill and wild quivering notes of the horn soon aroused the villagers from their sleep, and numbers were seen flying to the tower for refuge, believing the Mahrattas were truly upon the skirts of the village. The Patél was among the rest, accompanied by his family. He was soon upon the tower, and was roughly saluted by the Khan.
‘Thou art a worthy man for a Patél!’ cried he; ‘but for me, thy village might have shared the fate of that one yonder. Look, base-born! shouldest thou like to see it burning as that is? Why wert thou not here to watch, O unfortunate?’
‘I—I did not know—’ stammered the Patél.