"There now, make a salaam to the 'Lion of the Jungle'" (as the chief was called among his people), said Lukshmun, raising the right hand of the Lalla to his head, which dropped helplessly. "Ah, I see he is ashamed, poor man, of his naked head. There, Lallajee," and he wound the turban round his head hastily, giving it a ludicrous cock to one side, increasing, if possible, the grotesque expression of the features--"there now, get up and make your Tusleemât, else my lord may be angry; and he is not exactly safe when he is," he added in a whisper. "Get up, and don't be afraid." But the Lalla's terror was too great, his mouth too dry to speak. "Amān, amān!--Mercy, mercy!" was all he could gasp. "Who art thou, knave?" cried Pahar Singh again. "Whence art thou come? Give a good account of thyself. Let go of him, rascals!" he continued to the men who held him; "begone all of ye." "Maharaj," cried Lukshmun beseechingly to the chief, "here are the Lalla's things; who will take them? Look, Rao Sahib," he continued, to Amrut Rao, "here they are: count them. I have done with them--for the Lion is getting savage--let me go. Beware, O Lalla! take my advice, and tell all about yourself, else I shall have to kill you somehow. You don't know the Maharaj as I do." This advice, and the diversion effected by the hunchback, afforded the Lalla a little time for the recovery of his senses; but who could have recognized the bland, accomplished Toolsee Das, in the abject figure before them? Hastily pressing the turban straight upon his brows, the Lalla arose, and, as well as he could, made the ordinary Tusleemât. "Shabash!" cried the chief. "Well done, that was never learned in the jungle. Now speak truly, and at once, who art thou?" "Noble sir," returned the Lalla, "I claim your protection. There has been a mistake about my treatment. My property has been taken, and I have been misused----" "I misuse thee, knave?" cried Pahar Singh, his brow darkening; "who art thou to bandy words with Pahar Singh? I have never seen thee before." "Beware, Lallajee," said Gopal Singh; "did I not warn thee? Say who thou art at once, or I will not answer for thee. Do not eat dirt." "Peace, boy!" interrupted the chief angrily; "the fellow looks like a knave--a thief--his is no honest face. Speak; or, by the gods, there will be scant ceremony with thee!" "My lord, my lord!" cried the Lalla piteously; "mercy, I am no thief; I am a poor Khayet of Delhi, travelling to Beejapoor, on business of my own--a stranger--a poor stranger." "What business, Lalla?" "My lord, we are merchants, and have dealings with people there for clothes and jewels. There is a dispute about the accounts, and I have come to settle them," said the Lalla glibly enough. It was one of the stories he had made up by the way. "Who are the merchants?" asked the chief. "The Gosais of the Mutt at Kullianee, where I was yesterday; they sent me on," replied the Lalla.