"Either my money or my life. In a month from now . . ."
"What?" asked Ahmed.
"Ah, I must not tell." Pundita stole close to Ramabai.
Ahmed smiled.
"We have elephants but a little way outside the city. We have pulling
chains. Let us be off at once. It is not necessary to enter the city,
for this window, Ahmed says, is on the outside. We can easily approach
the wall in a roundabout way without being seen. Have you money?"
From his belt Ramabai produced some gold.
"That will be sufficient. To you, then, the bribing. The men, should
there be any, will hark to you. Come!" concluded Bruce, impatient to
be off.
"And I?" timidly asked Pundita.
"You will seek Hare Sahib's camp," said Ramabai. "This is a good
opportunity to get you away also."
Ahmed nodded approvingly.
Pundita kissed her husband; for these two loved each other, a
circumstance almost unknown in this dark mysterious land of many gods.
"Pundita, you will remain at the camp in readiness to receive us. At
dawn we shall leave for the frontier. And when we return it will be
with might and reprisal. Umballa shall die the death of a dog."
Ramabai clenched his hands.
"But first," cooed Ahmed, "he shall wear out the soles of his pig's
feet in the treadmill. It is written. I am a Mohammedan. Yet
sometimes these vile fakirs have the gift of seeing into the future.
And me has seen . . ." He paused.
"Seen what?" demanded Bruce.
"I must not put false hopes in your hearts. But this I may say: Trials
will come, bitter and heart burning: a storm, a whirlwind, a fire; but
peace is after that. But Allah uses us as his tools. Let us haste!"
"And I?" said Ramabai, sending a piercing glance at Ahmed.
But Ahmed smiled and shook his head. "Wait and see, Ramabai. Some day
they will call you the Fortunate. Let us hurry. My Mem-sahib waits."
"What did this fakir see?" whispered Bruce as he donned his burnoose
again.
"Many wonderful things; but perhaps the fakir lied. They all lie. Yet
. . . hurry!"
The quartet passed out of the city unmolested. Ramabai's house was
supposed to be under strict surveillance; but the soldiers, due to
largess, were junketing in the bazaars. Shortly they came up to two
elephants with howdahs. They were the best mannered of the half dozen
owned or rented by Colonel Hare. Mahouts sat astride. Rifles reposed
in the side sheaths. This was to be no light adventure. There might
be a small warfare.
Pundita flung her arms around Ramabai, and he consoled her. She was
then led away to the colonel's camp.
"Remember," Ramabai said at parting, "she saved both our lives. We owe
a debt."
"Go, my Lord; and may all the gods--no, the Christian God--watch over
you!"