The grounds were extensive, and, to an uninitiated person, little better than a maze. The farther she went, the more hopelessly confused she became. Now darting here, now there, until with a wail of pain she fell upon the grass in a swoon. Nature was merciful, and came to her relief. It might have seemed better had she fallen dead. But, in the mysterious workings of Providence, it was not so ordained. Her destiny was not fulfilled--her book of life not yet completed, so that the Angel of Death could write “Finis” on the last page. She must live to the end, whatever of sorrow, whatever of agony was in reserve for her. “We’ve run the cat down,” said Moghul, as, breathless, he stooped over the prostrate girl, and lifted her in his strong arms. Jewan laughed--laughed joyously, ferociously; he would gladly yield her up to the King twenty times over, rather than she should escape. In a few minutes they had placed her in the gharry, which was driven through a private entrance, and was soon on the other side of the Ganges, and speeding along the road to Delhi. Within a hundred yards of where the unfortunate Flora had fallen, Walter Gordon slept soundly, and when the sound of the wheels of the departing vehicle had died out, the silence of the night remained unbroken. CHAPTER XX. AS A BIRD IS ENSNARED. As the sounds of the wheels died away, Jewan Bukht half-regretted that he had given his consent for Flora to go with Moghul Singh. He blamed himself now for being so indiscreet as to take her to Delhi in the first instance; but there was no help for it. He had lost her, he believed, beyond all hope of recovery; and if he wished to retain his position, he was bound to acknowledge the supremacy of the King. He knew that. And so, consoling himself as best he could, he turned towards the tower, with the intention of rendering some aid to Zeemit Mehal. He found that the old woman had managed to drag herself into the room. She was terribly shaken, and weakened from loss of blood, but it was evident that she yet had a good deal of vitality left in her frame. “How fares it now?” he asked, as he entered. “Better,” she answered. “Strength is returning to me. But what of the Englishwoman?” she added eagerly. Jewan laughed. “She is safe. The bird thought to escape me, but her wings were not strong enough. We brought her down again; and I warrant she will be caged securely enough now.” Mehal groaned with sorrow. “What is the matter?” asked Bukht, quickly taking the exclamation as an expression of sympathy. “My wound pains me,” she answered. “Or have you sympathy with the Feringhee woman?” asked Bukht, eyeing the other suspiciously. “Sympathy forsooth!--no. Have I not risked my life in your service? Why then suspect me of sympathy? But after what I have suffered, I regret that you have lost possession of her.” “You do not regret it more than I; but it was the King’s command, and I could not disobey.”