“The family,” replied the native, emphasizing the word, and making another obeisance, “are as well as their best friends would wish them. But, craving your pardon, Prabu is charged to convey the noble stranger and his sons to the upper town; to do that, and nothing more. He is a servant, and must obey.”
“Astounding! What can be the meaning of this?” replied my father, thoughtfully; but finding it was of no use to further question Prabu, as he had called himself, he said, turning to us two boys, “Come, lads, let us follow this fellow, for the sooner we reach my brother’s house the sooner we shall be free from suspense.”
“Our uncle is ill—too ill to come or write; but fearing to alarm you, has forbidden this man to open his lips,” said Martin, offering the best explanation of Prabu’s taciturnity.
“I fear so, indeed,” replied my father. “The greater reason, then, that we should hasten to him; so forward, my sons.”
I had also my own fears, and an explanation to offer, but as they passed through my mind, a chilling sensation at my heart seemed to freeze the words, ere they could escape my lips, and so I followed in silence to a great, clumsy, old Dutch coach, with four Java ponies, that was awaiting us on the quay.
Now, the road from the lower to the upper town is steep and narrow. Thus, on our way we should have been amused by the opportunity the ascent gave us of looking at the surrounding scenery, so new to us, and the multitude of quaintly-dressed people of all ranks, on foot and in all descriptions of vehicles, who were proceeding to their places of business in the wretched city we had just quitted; but a species of melancholy foreboding seemed to have seized upon us, which obscured our eyes, turned our thoughts inwardly, and reined in our tongues, for neither spoke, until the carriage stopped before the courtyard of a large, flat-roofed mansion in the upper town.
Perceiving that the gates stood open, my father, who could no longer bridle his impatience, descended from the carriage, telling us to follow. As we did so, Martin, touching me on the shoulder, and speaking for the first time since we had entered the vehicle, said:
“This is very queer, Claud. What do you make of it?”
“Martin, I have a foreboding that something is wrong, very wrong; calamity is in store for us; the storm, upon our arrival last night, was ominous. Besides, to my thinking, mystery is seated upon the mahogany-colored countenance of that fellow Prabu. Look, even now how he is straining his glittering eyes after us.”
“Pooh, pooh, Claud, don’t croak; you make a fellow shiver,” replied my brother.