Disappointment! What fool's tongue spoke that word of ill-omen? Hoosanee had come back--Hoosanee, who knew, who had read, the secret of his heart--and Hoosanee had brought back fugitives. That she was not amongst them would be impossible. So terrible, so overpowering, was his joy, that there were moments of that frantic ride when he felt as if he could not bear it--as if it would kill him. Once, to the great solace of his light-carriers, who, stalwart and swift as they were, could scarcely keep up with him, he drew rein for a moment, and pressed his hand to his heart, whose wild, passionate throbs seemed to be choking out his life. A few moments--a few moments--and then--ah! there they are--a little covered cart, stealing slowly down the road--men carrying lanterns beside it--the guide, his noble Hoosanee, walking at the bullocks' heads! Now, what an idiot he has been not to order out carriages! She--they--should not thus make their entry into his palace. But it is dark now, thank heaven! and storms are threatening, and no one is abroad. To-morrow, when they are rested and refreshed, and clothed in fine raiment--to-morrow they will drive in state through his city. But surely Hoosanee has seen him--why does he not hasten forward? And he is hanging his head, like one ashamed--he who has done this great and noble deed. What does it mean? He spurs on. The cart stops, and Hoosanee approaches him, bowing low. 'Is all well--is all well, Hoosanee?' cries the poor fellow. 'Excellency, your servant has done what he could.' 'I know it; but--my good fellow, don't torture me. She is safe?' 'Sahib, she is in the hands of the All-Merciful.' 'Dead?' 'Excellency, in a few moments I will tell you all. There are three English ladies and a little child in the cart. They are fainting with hunger and weariness. Will not your Honour speak to them?' For a moment Tom's head sank upon his breast. He could not. Then, making a fierce effort to recover himself, he dismounted, threw his reins to one of the syces and went up to the cart. A wild white face, set round with an aureole of yellow hair, looked out at him. It was Lucy's. 'Oh!' she wailed. 'Where are we, and why are we stopping? Is this the end?' 'It will be the end of your troubles, I hope, dearest lady,' said Tom very gently. 'An English voice,' cried another lady hysterically. 'Thank God!' 'An English voice, and an English heart,' said the young rajah. 'I am taking you to my house, dear ladies. Command me as if I were your brother.'