Jewan did not answer, but drove straight on, until, crossing a broad courtyard, he alighted at the door of a pile of buildings in the rear of the Palace. He lifted Flora out, for she was too weak to rise. He carried her into a luxurious apartment, and placed her upon a couch. Scarcely had he done so than Moghul Singh, the orderly of the guard, entered hurriedly. “Good greetings, Jewan,” he exclaimed. Then, noticing the pale form of Miss Meredith, he laughed slyly, and added, “So, so; you have caught a bird! By the Prophet, but she is a bonny one too!” Flora seemed to be quite unconscious of what was passing around her. She had let her head fall upon the arms of the couch, and had buried her face in her hands. “But what do you want here?” the orderly continued. “Know you not that your presence is urgently required in Cawnpore?” “No, I did not know that,” Jewan answered, as a look of annoyance crossed his face. “But whence got you this information?” “From Teeka Singh. He was here yesterday, and said you were to lose no time in hurrying to the Nana. Nay, he expects you this very day.” “That is unfortunate,” Jewan remarked, biting his lips with vexation. Moghul laughed, and, pointing to Flora, said-- “You must choose between pleasure and duty.” “What do you mean?” exclaimed Jewan, angrily. “Mean,” retorted the other; “why, I mean that you must give up your mistress to serve your master.” “No; I can retain the one and do the other. From the Nana I shall derive wealth, greatness, position. It is worth some sacrifice to gain them. But I have risked too much for this white-faced woman to let her go now. I will take her to Cawnpore.” With a scream, Flora--who, though apparently unconscious, had heard the conversation between the two men--flung herself at the feet of Jewan, and, catching his hand between her own, cried-- “Oh, man, if you are not something less than human, do not take me away. Do not take me to Cawnpore. Let me remain here. Nay, kill me, rather than separate me for ever from those who are dear to me.” She crouched at his feet; she held his hand tightly, and looked up into his face with such a look of sorrow, that it should have moved even a savage animal. But the man only laughed coarsely, and, with a sneer on his lips, said-- “Our power is returning. The white woman crouches at the feet of the despised Indian.” “No, no; do not say despised,” she answered, her voice broken with sobs. “You have ever experienced the greatest kindness from my countrymen. Has not Mr. Gordon been a friend to you? Were you not nursed and tended with love and gentleness by white friends? Let some remembrance of all that has been done for you move your heart to pity me; and, rather than take me away, strike me dead now at your feet, and with my last breath I will bless you.”