The words have scarcely escaped his lips before a sound, more definite than those of the tempest, strikes upon his ear. Some one down below is knocking for admission. In the next instant, just as he is about to go out and see who it is, he hears a brief parley, followed by the opening and shutting of the door that leads to his private apartment. There follow a few moments of suspense, and then Ganesh, the chuprassie, who is one of the most trusted of his servants, stands before him. Ganesh carries a torch, by whose light Tom sees that there is a strange glitter in his eyes. 'What is it?' he says. 'Who came in just now?' 'Excellency,' answers Ganesh bowing low, 'Subdul Khan, his Honour's syce, has come back.' 'Subdul! Thank heaven! Show him in!' cries Tom, in great excitement. 'Excellency----' 'Do you hear me, Ganesh?' 'Yes, master, Ganesh hears.' 'Then why----' 'Let my master have patience! Ganesh would speak with him before he sees the Sahib?' 'A Sahib--an English Sahib?' 'Excellency, he is in the hands of Hoossein Buksh, who will give him all he needs. He was wet through with the rain, and stained with travel, and he asked for water and fresh clothes before presenting himself to your Highness.' 'Right! Quite right! You have done well, Ganesh. But where is Subdul?' 'He is close at hand, Excellency; but let him wait. Ganesh, too, has a message for your Highness.' 'From whom?' gasped Tom. 'Hoosanee?' 'No, Excellency; and yet it has to do with the errand on which Hoosanee was sent. Had his Highness been pleased to trust Ganesh with his confidence, he might--but'--dropping his voice to a still humbler tone--'I am delaying, and your Highness, I can see, is impatient. The message of which I have the honour to be the bearer is from the illustrious Dost Ali Khan.' 'A traitor and a rebel,' said Tom, sternly. 'Do you mean to tell me that one of my servants has been in communication with him?' They were still close to the marble lattice. The storm had increased in violence, and so fearful was the tumult that they could scarcely hear one another's voices. Tom moved to the centre of the room, and, feeling almost too weak to stand, threw himself down on one of the mattresses. 'Explain yourself,' he said, as firmly as he could. 'I would not condemn you unheard.' Ganesh had followed him; he stood at the foot of his couch, looking down upon him. 'Your Excellency,' he said, with that curious dignity which generally characterises an Indian who respects himself, 'I knew Dost Ali Khan in the days of his greatness. Was I to forsake him when he was poor and deserted?' 'Certainly not, Ganesh; but, if I am to believe what I hear, he is poor no longer.' 'If your Excellency means that Dost Ali Khan, the son of the late rajah's friend, has raised the standard of revolt, he is right. He has done it to recover his own. But to my master he means well. He has not forgotten Delhi, and his food and rest in my master's tent.'