"Look for more--look yonder, kind sir; and the blessings of a poor Khayet be on you both," returned the Lalla. "My eyes are dim: alas!" he exclaimed, as he put his hand to the back of his neck and felt blood,--"I am killed--I am dying!" "Peace, fool!" cried Fazil impatiently, "a child would have cut deeper: it has been a strange escape. Give me your scarf--I will tie up the wound." "And here is some more money for you, too, Lallajee," said Bulwunt, who had now returned, having picked up several gold pieces in the line which Pahar Singh had taken across the court. "There may be more, and if you come to-morrow early, you may find them." "But now we cannot wait, Lalla," added Fazil; "there is no further fear of your life. The clouds are gathering fast, and there will be rain; we will see you safe to a guard-room, and I will have you cared for in the morning; or you can sleep here if you like." "Ah, leave me not, gentlemen! I am poor and in great pain," replied the man. "My clothes and horse are a long way from hence: how shall I get to them? Take me with you and I shall live, else he will find me out and kill me--that Pahar Singh." Supporting the wounded man between them, the two friends unfastened the door of the courtyard and passed out. The glare and noise of the bazar seemed only at a short distance, and knowing that a strong guard was placed at night near the end nearest the city, they went to it as directly as they could. A few questions were carelessly asked as to the cause of the wound, and as vaguely answered. A traveller found wounded, who had been robbed, was probably cause enough to account for his condition. "We cannot delay, Lalla," said Bulwunt, in answer to his cries that one at least would stay with him. "We have far to go, and the night is passing fast. The clouds, too, are gathering, and the thunder is growling in the distance. Hark! there will be a storm. Come, Meah," he whispered, "we may miss him whom we seek. See that the man's wounds are dressed, Duffadar," he continued aloud to the officer of the guard, "and let him sleep here." CHAPTER XXIII. As Fazil parted from the wounded man, the scenes of the night, the horrid truth regarding the treachery of his friend's father, the danger which threatened both, and indeed the whole family, caused him many an anxious thought. His worst suspicions had only been too deeply verified, and even now there arose some struggle between duty and allegiance to his King, and affection for the Wuzeer's family, for the sake of his son. Bulwunt had again avoided the principal street, and they were once more in the open ground beyond the houses. Fazil walked on rapidly and silently; but at length, the oppression of his thoughts found vent in words. "Let him decide," he said aloud, in allusion to his father; "wisdom abides with him; and in a matter like this his advice is precious."