AS A BIRD IS ENSNARED.
As the sounds of the wheels died away, Jewan Bukht half-regretted that he had given his consent for Flora to go with Moghul Singh. He blamed himself now for being so indiscreet as to take her to Delhi in the first instance; but there was no help for it. He had lost her, he believed, beyond all hope of recovery; and if he wished to retain his position, he was bound to acknowledge the supremacy of the King. He knew that. And so, consoling himself as best he could, he turned towards the tower, with the intention of rendering some aid to Zeemit Mehal.
He found that the old woman had managed to drag herself into the room. She was terribly shaken, and weakened from loss of blood, but it was evident that she yet had a good deal of vitality left in her frame.
“How fares it now?” he asked, as he entered.
“Better,” she answered. “Strength is returning to me. But what of the Englishwoman?” she added eagerly.
Jewan laughed.
“She is safe. The bird thought to escape me, but her wings were not strong enough. We brought her down again; and I warrant she will be caged securely enough now.”
Mehal groaned with sorrow.
“What is the matter?” asked Bukht, quickly taking the exclamation as an expression of sympathy.
“My wound pains me,” she answered.
“Or have you sympathy with the Feringhee woman?” asked Bukht, eyeing the other suspiciously.
“Sympathy forsooth!—no. Have I not risked my life in your service? Why then suspect me of sympathy? But after what I have suffered, I regret that you have lost possession of her.”
“You do not regret it more than I; but it was the King’s command, and I could not disobey.”
“But how did the King know that she was here?”
“Some meddling fool, I suppose, in Delhi, informed him.”
“That is bad. You cannot hope to regain her?”
“No.”
“Without she was to escape.”
“Escape! What do you mean?”
“You are dull. Supposing she were to escape, and you to re-capture her.”
“But how should she escape.”
“If bars and bolts were withdrawn, and doors and gates thrown open, why could she not walk out?”
“I do not understand you.”
“Supposing somebody was near her, who would offer her liberty.”
“But who dare do this in defiance of the King?”
“I.”
“You!”
“Yes.”
“So, so,” Jewan muttered musingly. “I think I gather your meaning now. And yet I am not quite clear what you would propose to do, after she had escaped.”
“The plan is simple. I go to Delhi. I seek out this woman. I pretend to be touched with some feeling of pity. I offer to aid her in escaping. She accepts that offer. She walks out of one trap into another. Once free from Delhi, she can be re-captured by you, and secretly conveyed away, so that the King shall no more find her.”
“I like your plan,” Jewan added, after a pause; “but there is danger in it.”
“Danger! How so?”
“If the King were to get to know that I had had a hand in this, it would be my ruin.”
“But how would he get to know? I should not tell him, and the Feringhee woman could not.”
“True. If I can depend upon you, the plan might work.”
“If you can! Why can you not? Have I not proved myself faithful?”
“Yes.”
“Then why these suspicions? They are unjust.”
“Because there is so much danger in the plan that extreme caution is needed.”
“I do not blame you for being cautious; but since you have been to so much trouble, and risked so much to gain this prize, it is worth some effort to try and retain her.”
“That is so,” said Jewan, for he saw that the plan was quite possible, and the chances of once more getting Flora into his power was too strong a temptation to be resisted. “I think you reason well,” he continued; “and if you are cautious, we may succeed. At any rate, let us make the attempt. If you are true to me, I will pay you five hundred rupees the moment this woman is once more mine; but if you play me false, your life shall be forfeited.”
“You need not threaten. I have served you well; I will serve you better. Get me assistance, so that my hurt may be attended to; and, when I have regained a little strength, I start for Delhi. Time shall prove how well I will serve you.”
This was said significantly, but Jewan failed to catch its meaning.
The old woman felt that she was leading him into a pitfall, and she could scarcely restrain the pleasure she experienced. Her love for Flora was unmistakable, and it was a fact strangely at variance with the demoniacal-like hatred exhibited by the majority of the natives, that, during the mutiny, the truest friends to the whites were the ayahs or nurses. It is certain that many of these women—and there was one in every house in India, where there were children or ladies—paid for their fidelity with their lives.
“You know the reward and the penalty which attaches to your errand,” Jewan remarked. “Death or riches. I depend upon you, and you shall go. To-morrow we will confer further on the subject. For the present, good-night.”
When he had gone, Mehal gave utterance to a sigh of relief. She had made up her mind either to save Flora, or die in the attempt. She had no doubt that if she could but get near Miss Meredith—and this she knew would not be difficult—some plan of escape might be easily arranged, and the young Englishwoman could be restored to the arms of Walter Gordon. As Mehal thought of him, she felt inclined to seek him at once, and make known her plans. But she must wait until somebody had attended to her. She had not to wait long.
Jewan’s first act was to have the mangled corpse of Wanna Ranu conveyed away, and it was soon floating towards the sea on the bosom of the Ganges. Then he sought out a native doctor, and despatched him to render aid to the wounded Mehal. Her wound was dressed, and a restorative administered; and in a little while she sank into a deep sleep.
In the meantime, Walter Gordon, refreshed and strengthened by his long rest, had awoke, and ventured to look out from his hiding-place. He knew that many hours had passed since he had entered, and he began to grow exceedingly anxious about the success of Mehal’s plans. She had promised, if possible, to bring Flora to him.
The reader is already aware how that plan had failed; but little did Walter dream that the woman for whom he would willingly have died to serve had been near him, and fled away in alarm, as she observed his disguise.
It will be remembered that on leaving Meerut he had adopted the garb of a religious mendicant, and so complete was this disguise that no wonder Miss Meredith had been deceived. And it had not occurred to Mehal to tell Flora that her lover would be found dressed as a native. Thus by an omission, apparently trifling in itself, the troubles of the lovers had been complicated, and the two were separated probably never to meet again.
As morning commenced to break, Zeemit Mehal awoke, considerably strengthened by the medicine she had taken, and the sleep she had secured. Her first thoughts were of Walter. She must endeavour to see him and to arrange some plans for their future guidance.
With difficulty she arose, for she was very ill, and the loss of blood had been great. Having assured herself that all was quiet, and that there was no one stirring, she commenced to descend, and soon gained the compound. This she quickly crossed, and stood in the shed where Walter waited, burning with anxiety and suspense almost unbearable. In the uncertain light, he did not recognise for some moments who his visitor was; but as soon as he discovered it was Mehal, he sprang towards her, and in a voice, rendered tremulous by his excessive anxiety, cried—
“What of Miss Meredith—where is she?”
“Hush!” Mehal answered, clutching his arm and leaning upon him, for she was terribly weak.
Then for the first time, Walter noticed the bandage round the old woman’s head, and that something was the matter. His heart sank within him, for Mehal’s appearance in such a plight augured a disaster—so he thought—that might annihilate his hopes.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked eagerly, as he led the woman to the heap of straw.
“Our plans have miscarried,” she said, as she seated herself with difficulty, and the pain from her wound caused her to utter an involuntary groan.
The strong man staggered as the words were uttered, for it sounded like the death-knell of Flora. In an instant he remembered the promise he had made to Mrs. Harper the night before he had left Meerut. “I will either save Flora, or perish in the attempt.” That promise should be fulfilled one way or the other. He mentally pledged himself again to that.
When he had recovered from the first effects of the startling news, he said—
“But how is it the plans have miscarried? and where is Miss Meredith?”
“I liberated her. She must have been near you.”
Gordon uttered a cry of agony, and pressed his hand to his head, as there flashed through his brain the remembrance of the cry which had startled him in his sleep, and which he believed to be a delusion, but he now knew was a reality. He moaned, fairly moaned, with the unutterable sense of sickness which was at his heart, as he realised that, by some accident, Flora had been near, without discovering him.
“Tell me all,” he said, when he was able to speak.
Mehal related the circumstances of her struggle with Wanna, of Flora’s descent to the balcony, of her starting off for the shed, and the other particulars which have already been chronicled.
“Answer me one question,” Walter gasped, for his breath came so thick and fast that he could scarcely speak. “Did you tell Miss Meredith of my disguise?”
“No; it did not occur to me to do so.”
“I see it now clear enough,” he continued. “She has been here. The voice I heard was hers. She did not recognise me in this disguise, and fled.”
“I think there can be no doubt that these are the true facts,” Mehal remarked. “And it must have been on leaving the shed that she was recaptured.”
Walter was bowed with grief. He felt that incalculable misery had been brought upon all by one of the merest chances imaginable.
Flora might have been saved; but in the very moment of her extremest peril he had been sleeping; and to that circumstance was due the fact that she was again lost to him. It was a terrible reflection. But useless wailings could avail nothing; action—prompt action—was required.
“Zeemit,” he cried, “at all hazards I will follow Miss Meredith. To rescue her is the mission of my life. I must accomplish it or perish!”
“Were you to follow her, you would most certainly perish. It would be a useless sacrifice of your life, and you would not be able to render her the slightest aid. At a time like this, when the power of your countrymen is set at defiance, and anarchy prevails, stratagem only can succeed. To that we must resort!”
“But what do you propose?” he exclaimed, interrupting her in his eagerness.
“I propose to follow her myself. I, and I alone, can save her now.”
“But what shall I do?” he asked, scarcely able to restrain his impatience.
“You must remain quiet. I go to Delhi ostensibly on Jewan Bukht’s behalf. I have told him that I shall endeavour to liberate Miss Meredith, so that she may again fall into his hands. Your presence would endanger my plans, and you would run the risk of being detected. Make your way to the English defences in this town. I will find means of communicating with you in a few days; and, should I succeed in setting the lady free, we will instantly proceed to Meerut, where you can rejoin us, or we will come on here.”
“I am in your hands, Mehal; I will be guided by you. But remember, if I do not hear from you in about a week I shall endeavour to make my way to Delhi, whatever the consequences may be. To remain inactive when her honour and safety are imperilled, would be a living death. Therefore I will face any danger, so that I can feel that I am doing something in her behalf.”
“You can best aid her by doing what I suggest. On reaching Delhi, if I find it practicable to set her free, I will return here immediately to let you know; the rest must depend upon circumstances. Jewan will be able to get me a conveyance back to Delhi, so that I will soon be with Miss Meredith once again. I cannot remain longer with you, for if Jewan should miss me all our plans would be frustrated, and he would kill me.”
Walter saw the necessity of strictly complying with the old woman’s wishes. He recognised that in her rested every hope of future happiness. It was a slender reed, but the only one upon which he could lean.
Mehal gave him some hurried directions as to the road to take to reach the English quarters, and then hastened away; and he was left standing alone, as the rising sun was commencing to throw down his fiery beams.