"How should our humbleness know? They came through the gates--by the favour of Heaven--the missy sahib being called the new wife of one of the princes. We were even on our way--the missy sahib, and the ayah, and the khitmutgar, and we hired bearers also--to Karnal, when behold we were met by a zamindar of the village which your mightiness has laid waste this day. To him--it is even he that lieth now at the point of death--the khitmutgar said even as I have told, that in the palki sat the new wife of one of the princes of Delhi, supposing that he would salaam and pass on with reverence. But he saw through their pretence, and demanded that the cover should be lifted that he might see the noble lady with his own eyes. And behold, the missy sahib, being hot and in a great fear, had taken the veil from her face, and sat even as the shameless women of the Feringhis----" "Son and grandson of dogs," cried Ahmed, "tell thy tale without this insolence, or verily I will slice thee and leave thee for carrion." "I but repeat the words of the zamindar, O merciful. He cried out with great laughter when he saw the white face of the missy sahib, and bade us carry the palki to his village. And but a little after we had entered came one running, to say that your mightinesses were riding fast upon the place. The zamindar is not a man of war, and he lay for a time in his house, hoping that if his face was not seen by the Feringhis he would escape the edge of the sword. But when it was told him that the men of Lumsden Sahib had entered and were burning, he stowed some jewels in his pockets, and placed more in the palki--they are even beneath the cushion whereon the missy sahib sits--and he bade us hasten out of the gate with the palki, purposing to reach Gungah, ten koss to the north-east, and there dwell with his brother. And then thou didst come upon us like a swift breath, and the zamindar hath not escaped the edge of the sword. It is fate: who can strive against it? I have spoken the truth." "Well for thee!" cried Ahmed. "And what became of the ayah and the khitmutgar?" "Truly we left them in the house, and without doubt they are burnt up in the flames kindled by the Feringhis' servants." Ahmed was nonplussed. He looked round for Sherdil and his party; there was no sign of them. The sooner he rejoined them the better. Suddenly he heard a voice from the interior of the palki; it was thrown open, and turning, he saw the face of a young English girl. "You are a friend of the sahibs?" she said in faltering Urdu.