“He is in the pay of Nana Sahib, but is also an agent for the King. He thought to remain here, in the Palace, where he has relations; but, on arrival, an imperative order was waiting him, that he was instantly to depart for Cawnpore: and he lost no time in hurrying away. When he had gone, the King heard of Jewan’s captive, and of her beauty, and he commanded Singh to follow, with a band of retainers, and bring the woman back. Long before Singh can overtake him, Bukht will have arrived in Cawnpore; and when Singh gets there, it is doubtful if he can return, owing to the vigilance of the English.” When Haidee had finished her revelations, Harper entertained no doubt that Jewan Bukht’s unfortunate captive was Flora Meredith, and that being so, the first question that suggested itself to him was, whether he was not justified in attempting her rescue. “Haidee!” he said, “from what you state, I have every reason to believe that the lady carried off by Jewan is a relation of mine, and that it is my duty to follow her.” “Your duty to follow her?” Haidee repeated mournfully. “When I spoke of your following the craven-hearted Moghul Singh, you replied that it could not be, and yet this man is an enemy to your race, and has slaughtered with exultant ferocity many of your countrymen! But now you proclaim your readiness to throw to the wind all those scruples which applied to him in favour of the woman! You speak in parables, and poor Haidee in her ignorance understands you not. Only her heart tells her this: she holds but little place in your thoughts.” “Ah, Haidee, how you wrong me! Your reproaches are undeserved. However great the number of my faults, ingratitude is certainly not one of them. How can I forget the services you have rendered to me? how forget the great wrongs that you yourself have suffered? But the laws of our two nations are different. Society in my country is governed by a code of rules, that no man must depart from who would not have his reputation blasted. I hold a commission in the service of my Queen. Would you have me sully my name by an act that I could never justify to my superiors?” “To what do you refer?” she asked with startling energy. “Sooner than I would counsel you to dishonour, sooner than I would bring shame upon you, this little weapon should be stained with my own heart’s blood!” As she spoke she drew quickly, from the folds of her dress, a small, glittering stiletto, and held it aloft, so that the glow of the now rising sun made red its gleaming blade. Fearing that she meant mischief, Martin, who had been a silent witness of the scene, darted forward and caught her hand. She turned upon him with a look of sorrow, and said-- “Do not fear. The women of my country hold honour as dear as those of your own. I said the weapon should find my heart sooner than I would bring shame on the head of your countryman, and that I will never do.”