The crowd listened with something like awe, and the messenger, apparently impressed, made answer that he would return to the palace and represent to the Khan that the envoy had had no time to make preparation for the journey, and could not, therefore, start at once. The officer of the escort, seeming to be satisfied that the plea would be allowed, asked whether Firoz Sahib would like a guard left in the house for the night, in case of an attack by the mob; but Ferrers declined, with a shrewd idea that the danger might be as great from the one as from the other. Remarking that he would be ready to start on the following afternoon, he was about to enter the house, when an elderly woman, not of the best character, with whom he had several times exchanged a smile and a jest, looked out at her doorway on the opposite side of the narrow street. “When the wolf sees the trap closing upon him, he does not wait to escape till it is down,” she cried, with a shrill burst of laughter, and Ferrers recognised that a timely warning was intended. But he set his teeth hard. Depart in obedience to the Khan’s insulting mandate he would not, even though he had been prepared to start at once before receiving it. It seemed to him, however, that it would not materially compromise his dignity if he stole a march on the authorities, and made a dash for the gate with his servants as soon as it was opened in the morning. They would not expect him to start until the time he had mentioned, and the mob would not have opportunity to collect in sufficient numbers to bar the passage of several resolute, well-armed men. He gave his orders accordingly; but the process of packing up was interrupted by the servants belonging to the house, who collected in an angry group, and demanded loudly to be given their wages and allowed to depart. The house and all in it were marked for destruction, they said, and why should they be sacrificed to the madness of the Kafir?