“Now, Sahib, you return to the village, I will remain; but before I lay my head upon my pillow this night, I must have speech with this Pangeran.”
“Madness, Prabu!” cried I; “for if he has betrayed your cause, he will deliver you into the hands of this envoy.”
“Even this attendant may betray you,” said Martin.
“Go not, I pray—it is a wild scheme.”
“It is not madness—it is wisdom,” he replied, coolly.
“Sahib Martin,” he added, “no native-born subject of this prince will betray the son of Surapati,” so saying he left us, and we returned with our host, the head-man, and his people to the village.
Now, notwithstanding Prabu’s confidence in the wisdom of his seeking an interview that evening with the Prince, my brother and I felt seriously alarmed for his safety. “For,” said Martin, “if this Prince, who has for some time past been plotting against the Government, has patched up a peace with the latter, like all Asiatic tyrants in general, he will not scruple to betray his recent friends.”
“I fear it may be so, Martin; yet let us hope the best. Prabu is not wanting in cunning; he would not wantonly and without some great object thrust his head into the lion’s jaws. After all, this warm welcome given to the envoy, and professions of amity with his master, may be but a ruse on the part of the Prince to gain time—who knows?”
“Who knows indeed?” repeated Martin. And for three or four hours we sat thus conversing and cogitating, till at length, fairly worn out with fatigue, I proposed that we should stretch ourselves upon our mats, as there seemed but little probability that the subject of our thoughts would return that night.
“True, Claud,” replied my brother, “I do not think he will return to-night—still, I don’t like sleeping before I know the result of his interview.”