"Come, Shékh Hoosein," said the lad, addressing a young man standing near; "we had better be two. Tie up thy waist-band tight, for we shall not draw breath till we reach the city gate. Come!" Both loosened their waist-scarfs, and retied them tighter, and after a few words of caution from the Duffadar, they dashed down the street at full speed. As they left, several of the men came in, leading the kullal by the end of his turban, with which his arms were tightly tied down. Bareheaded, covered with mud, and bleeding slightly from his nose, his face wearing an expression of fright and pain combined, Rama was a very different-looking person to what he had appeared when Fazil Khan and Bulwunt entered his shop. His first impulse was to cast himself on the ground before Fazil, and lie at full length moaning. The men who were with him did not interfere. The act was a deprecation of anger which it would have been unmannerly to deny. "Get up," cried Fazil; "get up, knave and liar! Say, was it I who wounded that poor fellow yonder?" "Pardon! pardon! Noble Meah, pardon! Your slave will not rise till he has pardon," cried the man abjectly. "It was all a mistake; and how could I know the son of Afzool Khan? Pardon! and I will tell all I know." "If thou dost not, hound! thou wilt hang upon the highest branch of the Goruk Imlee to feed the crows before morn," replied Fazil. "Get up! If thou tellest the truth, I give thee kowl; if not--if I detect one word of lie, nothing can save thee. Dost thou hear? Rise!" "Get up, Kafir!" cried the man who held the turban, giving it a jerk, which caused a corresponding exclamation of pain, "Don't you hear what my lord says to you? He will give you pardon if you speak the truth. Get up, and tell him all. My lord," he continued to Fazil, "he knows much, and he has some papers which one of the fellows--Maloosray, he says--dropped as he left the house. We wanted them, but he said you would pardon him if he gave them himself. We found him hiding in the wood stack near his still, and the fool must needs struggle and try to wrestle with one of our men, and so got a fall; but he is not hurt." "Loose my arms, noble Meah--tell them to loose my arms. They are swelling already, and I am sick with pain," said the kullal, rising. "If my lord allows me, I will loose him. There!" continued the soldier, on receiving Fazil's sign in the affirmative; "see thou speak the truth, else I will tie them tighter than ever, and they will not be loosened again while thou art alive." "My lord, don't threaten me, or I shall lose my senses," said the kullal, the horrible vision of hanging, as he had seen many hang to the branches of that famous tree, coming vividly to his mind. "If there be a good Hindu among you, give me a drink of water. Ah, my arms! my arms!" he cried, sitting down again, and sobbing as the rope was loosened. "Here is water," said one of the men, advancing with a brass vessel full. "I am a Rajpoot--drink."