With a gruff assent to her request, he turned into the bungalow, to procure the seat, and Flora stood alone. In those few moments a dozen things suggested themselves to her. She would rush wildly away. By that course she would probably be shot down, or, escaping that risk, she might be able to reach the river, or canal, and there she would end her misery, for she seemed to be abandoned by all. But great as had been her experience of Zeemit’s fidelity, she did not know what a depth of devotion there was in the old woman’s nature. For days she had loitered about the bungalow, waiting patiently and anxiously for the Feringhee lady, to whose cause she had devoted herself, in spite of the many temptations that were offered to a native to fling off all restraint for a time, and live a brief, riotous, and idle life. She had watched the bungalow with ceaseless watching, creeping at night into the shadow of the verandah, where she would lie coiled up, snatching a few hours of rest, but always ready to start up on the alert at the sound of wheels. She herself had almost given up all hope of Flora’s escape. She had begun to think that the plan had miscarried, and was resolving upon a scheme to pay another visit to the imprisoned lady in the Palace. But her vigilance and patience were rewarded at last. She heard the approach of the buggy, she saw Flora arrive, she heard the conversation that passed, so that, when Miss Meredith had sunk to the lowest depth of despair, when all seemed dark and hopeless, and she felt inclined to doubt the goodness of Heaven, succour was at hand. As she stood alone in the brief space that elapsed during Moghul’s absence, Zeemit was by her side. Flora was used to surprises now; but as she heard the familiar voice, although it was but the faintest whisper, of her faithful ayah, she could scarcely refrain from uttering a cry. But the feeling of thankfulness that filled her heart found expression in a silent “Thank God!” uttered under her breath. There was no time for words. Action was needed. Zeemit was equal to the occasion. The buggy and horse still stood before the door. She seized Flora’s hand, and rushed to the vehicle. Terror lent them both strength and quickness. In an instant they had sprung to the seat. Zeemit caught up the reins, and bringing the whip down upon the horse’s neck, started the animal into a furious gallop, just as Moghul came from the house with a chair in his hand. The whole affair took place in absolutely less time than it has taken to pen these lines. Moghul realised at once that his bird had flown, and as he dropped the chair with an imprecation, he hastily drew a revolver, and fired it after the retreating vehicle. But the bullet sped harmlessly away, though the report broke upon the stillness with startling distinctness, and in a few minutes, dozens of natives had rushed from their huts to discover the cause of alarm.