Fazil Khan rode rapidly up the pass, for he knew his father would await his coming ere he gave the final orders for the march. Truth to say, he was hungry enough, and a breakfast upon Ibrahim Khan's kichÉri and kabobs would be very welcome. As he reached the top, a busy scene presented itself. Wherever he looked, little fires were lighted between three large stones, upon which the small cooking-pans used by the men, and carried in their saddle-bags, were placed; and the savoury smells which issued from them, and pervaded the air, proved that the stews and curries within were in very satisfactory progress, and were certainly very provocative of appetite. While one member of a small mess watched the pot, others were kneading dough, or patting out "chupatees" or unleavened cakes, with their hands, and baking them on their "towas" or iron plates. Hundreds of these operations were going on simultaneously in every direction; for the force had a long day's march before it to Sholapoor. There would be no midway halt, and men and horses must alike be fed. Everywhere, too, the merry laugh, the broad joke or banter incidental to camp life, resounded among the rude soldiery, and the cries of sellers of milk, curds, firewood, and fruit, mingled with them pleasantly.

Already was the scene of the night before forgotten. The dead for the most part had been buried out of sight; and if grief and misery sat at the heart of many a household in the town—mourning for relations slain, or property plundered or destroyed,—in the camp without, no such feelings existed among the fierce and fanatical men. A grim satisfaction prevailed at having defiled one of the holiest shrines of the Dekhan, plundered its property, and slain its priests. To all, the night's events had been those of ordinary skirmish and excitement: forgotten with the next petty cares of life, and anticipation of new scenes of adventure,—and possibly of new plunder.

"Where hast thou been, Meah Sahib?" cried one of a knot of his own men, whom he met almost as he reached the plain above the pass. "The Khan Sahib has been searching for thee, and is anxious. Ah! when wilt thou learn caution, and take some of us at least with thee? Remember this is not Beejapoor, and the people are not in good humour after last night. Any fellow with a gun behind one of those rocks——"

"Thanks, friend," said Fazil, interrupting him. "I did but go to ShÊre Khan and the rest of them below, and tell them to precede us; but thanks for the caution nevertheless. Now, get ready soon, for I shall not be long away from ye," and he cantered on to the town.

Giving directions for a led horse to be accoutred for him, in lieu of that which had carried him through the night, Fazil entered the Mutt where he had left his father, and found him girding himself for the journey.

"Where hast thou been, son? we could not wait; but they have kept the kichÉri hot for thee, and the kabobs are good; only they have too much pepper and garlic in them. The Khan's cookery is not refined, my son: not like thy mother's. Inshalla! she will have a famous dish ready for us this evening, for I am going to send on a camel. Hast thou any message?"

Fazil knew by his father's volubility that he was in good humour. The flurried, anxious expression of his face had departed, as well under the influence of a hearty breakfast as owing to the feeling that, under the circumstances, he had really done his best to smooth over the events of the night. It was unfortunate, certainly, that they had happened; but it could not be helped now. A donation from the King would soothe the Brahmuns. So he had again sent for the local NÄik, and charged him to assure all of his sympathy and sorrow. Afzool Khan had taken advantage of the Peer's absence to do this, for in his presence he would have feared to commit himself by expression of any consideration for infidels.

"I did but ride down the pass, father," replied Fazil, "to speak with ShÊre Khan, and send him on to camp. They will halt by-and-by, and refresh themselves. Yes, truly, something to eat will be welcome; therefore, sit down and rest. We have a long ride before us."

"The camel is ready," said the rider of it, entering. "What are your orders?"

"Write a line from me to thy mother, Fazil," said the Khan, "to say she is to have kichÉri and kabobs ready for us, and that we have won a victory with little loss. That will cheer her, and put her in mind of old days, and we shall have a glorious dish. Inshalla! we shall be hungry, son!"

Fazil wrote what was needed to Lurlee, and added, on separate paper, a few lines to Zyna, to take care of Tara on her arrival. There was no time to write her story, but she would hear particulars from Tara herself. "Take this at your best speed," he said to the man. "Give it into the hands of Goolab Daee, and tell her it is for my sister only. You will overtake ShÊre Khan by the way. Tell him to stop where he likes, refresh the men and horses, and push on. It is of moment that he should arrive before us, and he is already far beyond Sindphul."

"Good," replied the man; "your orders are on my head and eyes, and shall be done." In a few moments more, the clash of the bells of the animal he rode were heard as he started, and then died away in the distance.

What was best to be done?—to tell his father of Tara's being sent on under escort of the men, or to leave explanation about her till they reached Sholapoor? Fazil thought over this as he ate, and he ate heartily what was brought, and did justice to it; while his father sat and looked on approvingly, or told his son of what had been done to assure the people, and what he would do, in spite of the Peer, to obtain a donation for the temple. "Yes, it will be better to tell him," Fazil thought. "He will not object, as he is in this complacent humour, and we are alone."

"I had no opportunity of speaking, father, before, else I would have told you," he said, after he had washed his hands and sat down.

"What!" interrupted the Khan, who detected a tone of embarrassment in Fazil's voice—"what has happened? Didst thou lose any men? Who is dead?"

"No, no, father, we had no fighting," replied Fazil. "All I had to say was, that I sent the lady we took, with ShÊre Khan. She had a palankeen, and the bearers said they would take her to Sholapoor at once. There were twenty of them, and it is only twelve coss."

"A lady, son! Who?" he answered in an indifferent tone.

"A Brahmun girl, father, of rank. She was escaping in a palankeen, and we took her when we took Moro Pundit."

"Indeed! His wife perhaps?"

"No, father; she said not. She has nothing to do with him; but she was in such grief at her people being killed in the town, that I could only make out she had relatives at Wye, and I sent her on under ShÊre Khan. As she was richly dressed, and had valuable jewels on her, I feared to send her back, and she was willing to go."

"Poor girl, poor girl," said the Khan, sighing; "and she is young, you say. Alas, alas! to be so soon a widow!"

"Quite young, father—sixteen, perhaps—and very beautiful. O, so beautiful! I never saw one like her before."

"Wonderful!" returned the Khan. "Then she let thee see her?... Ah, Pahar Singh, well, so you are already prepared," he exclaimed, as the chief entered the room suddenly, and saluted them. "Have you eaten? Are your people ready? We go on to Sholapoor."

"I am come to bid you farewell, my lord," said the chief. "I have done my work with you for the present. My duty is not with the army, but on the marches; and I hear of a raid by the Golconda people which I must see to. My nephew Gopal Singh would fain have accompanied your son, but I cannot spare him. He is my only stay since—since ... no matter. My men would be worse than useless to you, and you will not miss what I could send. Nevertheless, if——"

"No, no," said the Khan, who in truth had dreaded rather than desired Pahar Singh's company, and that of his lawless freebooters; "no, you are better here in your own country, and I have already weakened the force too much at Nuldroog to withdraw you."

"Then we may go, Khan?"

"Certainly; you are honourably dismissed with thanks, and mention will be made of you, when I write, as you deserve."

"I have only one thing to say, Khan Sahib,—and I pray you to pardon my saying it,—and that is, beware of Moro Pundit. Had I been a Mussulman like you, I had not spared him: but as you have done so, it is not for me, a Rajpoot, to be concerned in a Brahmun's death. He is faithful to his cause, and he cannot be true to you."

"He can do no harm, friend," said the Khan, laughing. "I fancy the Nimbalkur and others have had a good lesson, and will keep quiet; and, for the rest, as I am going to scotch the head of the snake, we need not fear if its tail writhes a little; it can do no harm: but I thank you for your caution nevertheless, and you will see to my people of Afzoolpoor and its villages?"

"Surely, Khan Sahib; be under no apprehension—nothing can molest them. Now, put your hand on my head once more, embrace me, and let me go."

"Go," said the Khan, rising and doing as he wished—"go; be careful, friend; remember the royal clemency, and be true."

"Will you come with me for a moment, Meah?" said Pahar Singh, as he disengaged himself from the Khan's embrace.

Fazil got up and followed him. As they emerged from the courtyard into the street, Fazil saw that Gopal Singh and others, ready mounted, awaited their chief, and they saluted him courteously.

"Come hither, Lukshmun," said the chief.

The man was well mounted, and advanced. Fazil saw that his cheeks were wet with tears, and his eyes red and swollen. Hideous as the face now was, there was a dignity of sorrow in it which was not unimpressive.

"Meah," said the chief, "this is a foolish slave of mine, who implores me to send him with you; he wants no pay,—only food and clothes, and forage for his horse. He will be faithful to you in all danger and trial, and knows no fear. When you return from the campaign, send him to me again. Do you accept him?"

"I do, Pahar Singh, and will be to him as you were, that I promise," replied Fazil.

"Then dismount and kiss the young Khan's feet," said the chief.

Lukshmun obeyed him, dismounted, and prostrating himself before Fazil, embraced his knees. He then did the same to his master, lying at his feet, and sobbing bitterly.

"Get up, fool," said the chief kindly, drawing the back of his hand roughly across his eyes. "Go, thou art safer with him than with me, go! Take him, Meah," he continued, putting the man's hand into Fazil's, who raised him up. "Take him; he will be to you the faithful hound he was to me and my boy yonder: we can ill spare him, but, after what has happened, he is better away for a while. And now, sir, we part. Remember what I said to your father, and that while Mahrattas are weak they will be treacherous. I wish you well; in the words of your people, 'KhÔda Hafiz.'"

So saying, the chief mounted, caused his spirited horse to execute several caracoles and plunges, and, with his nephew and followers, rode off rapidly to the plain beyond, where the shrill horn and deep drum of his troop were sounding the assembly.

"Had it been thus if you knew me, Pahar Singh?" thought Fazil, as the last of the rough troopers passed round the corner of the buildings to the plain beyond. "Hardly, I think; but it is well as it is, and your goodwill is better than your spite." As he turned round he saw the hunchback beside him. The bridle of his horse was hooked within his left arm; his hands, joined together, were raised to his nose, and he had balanced himself on his left leg, with the sole of the right foot pressed against the calf of the left. His grotesque features were twisted into a curious expression, in which grief and joy struggled for mastery.

"Your name is Lukshmun?" said Fazil.

"My lord, it is; I am your slave now and for ever:—till I die, if you permit me to serve you in my own way."

"And that is?"

"No matter now," said the creature; "you will find out. If I displease you, I will go away of my own accord and give no trouble; if I please you, let me be near you, and that is enough."

"How is this? You talk like a woman."

"Do you know anything of them, master?" replied the man. "Perhaps not; it takes a long life to know them, they say. Do I talk like a woman? Ah no, sir; to me you are the woman who has bewitched me, and I follow you blindly for the sake of the love I have for you, which sits in my heart."

"Since when, friend?" said Fazil, laughing.

"Since last night, when you were kind to that poor Brahmun girl who owes her honour to you, and long before that, of which I will tell you another time. Can I do anything now?"

"Hast thou eaten?"

"Yes; and I have enough here to last me two days," and he pointed to a bundle of cakes tied at his back. "I can give you one if you like, when you are hungry."

"I do not want it—I have eaten," said Fazil. "Can I trust thee already?"

"O, master!" cried the man piteously, as the tears started suddenly to his eyes. "Do not say that! I am a poor hunchback, who cannot say fine words, what is the use of my talking? If you mistrust me, bid me go. I will return to him who gave me to you—better that, than be doubted. Enough, shall I go?"

"No, stay," continued Fazil; "I will trust thee. Tie thy horse there, and give him some fodder from the bundle yonder.... That is well. Now go to the KuchÉri; say to the NÄik, that Fazil Khan Meah wants the bundle of things given to him by JÁnoo NÄik, and he is to give it."

"And what if JÁnoo is there, master? he will not allow it."

"That is why I do not go myself," said Fazil; "but if there is any difficulty I will come. Show this as a token, and it will suffice," and he took off his signet-ring.

"I will bring them without this, Meah, and yet I take it. Tell some one to mind the mare, else if she hears the horn she will break her rope;" and the man, throwing his coarse black blanket over him, shambled off at a quick pace towards the town. It was but a short distance. Fazil waited there looking at his own horses which were picketed in the street. He had no desire to rejoin his father, who was quietly smoking within. Fortunately, too, the priest rode up; said he wanted a hookah, dismounted, and went into the Mutt. He would be company enough.

Fazil watched the street narrowly. Had he done right in sending Lukshmun—ought he not to have gone himself? He could yet go if there were refusal, but there might be no occasion. In a little time, less then he had supposed possible, he saw the hunchback coming up the street at a sharp run, and as he reached Fazil, he put into his hand a heavy bundle of what felt like ornaments of gold and silver, tied in a cloth which was spotted with blood.

"Shabash!" cried Fazil, "it was well contrived. How didst thou get them?"

"JÁnoo NÄik is an ass, and the father of all the asses in Tooljapoor. I know him of old," returned Lukshmun. "He was there sitting like a scared owl on the steps of the KuchÉri. 'Come and drink,' says he to me. 'I will,' said I; 'wait, I have a message from the master to deliver.' Then I went in, and said to a Karkoon, 'Give me what JÁnoo gave just now, the people are come for it.' He could not go in there, for he is a Mang. 'Take them,' says a Karkoon, opening a box; 'I don't like to touch them, they are bloody.' So I took them out, master, and here they are. As I passed JÁnoo, I gave him a rupee, and told him to go to the Kullal's and get some drink ready, while I delivered my message—and he is gone. O, the owl, the owl! he will be drunk by this time; but, master, that man is as true as steel, and put these in trust; they were not loot to him. Wilt thou sell them here? No, not here?"

"Sell them!" cried Fazil, laughing; "no, surely—why?"

"O, the master never does—he always keeps the gold and silver, and buys them at his own valuation; but he gives us a share, nevertheless, and I shall miss mine of last night's work:—better, however, that the women have it."

"Ah! friend, I fear thou wilt have no such luck with me," returned the young man. "That is no loot, however; it will only go to its owner."

"Ah, Meah, I understand now," said the man quickly. "Yes, for her. Poor child! poor child! and when she sees the blood!—better throw that cloth away, and tie them up in a clean handkerchief."

"No," said Fazil, "keep it. It is evidence of the worst, and she needs to know it; but let us count them. Thirteen, you see, gold and silver; and look, there is blood on these anklets—let it stay. Yes, now I will trust thee."

Just then the Khan and the priest came out of the court, both accoutred for the march.

"I was seeing to the horses, father," said Fazil, in anticipation of his father's remarks, "and questioning this gift of Pahar Singh's; look at him—a strange being, is he not?"

Lukshmun advanced, prostrated himself, kissed the Khan's feet, but said nothing. The priest was acknowledged by a distant but respectful reverence only, and the hunchback seemed to regard him with antipathy.

"Strange enough, son," said the Khan, looking at him from head to foot: "ask thy mother about his horoscope when we get to camp. He may be lucky, after all—these hunchbacks often are so."

"My lord," said Lukshmun pleadingly, joining his hands, "all the Brahmuns like to try their hands on my nativity, and they all say I am lucky. For I am a twin, and they never could make out exactly which of the two was the eldest born; but they believed Rama was, who was always unlucky, and had a bad wife and worse children, and he was shot yesterday; so the bad luck and bad stars—sun and moon, and all—went with him; and now your slave is the luckiest of men, since he is the property of the noble Afzool Khan and his son Fazil. Surely the stars sent him."

"Thou hast a bold tongue," said the priest. "Peace, be silent."

"Ah, Maharaj!" returned the man, "holy men like you and the Brahmuns think too much upon divine glories, to mind what a poor fool like me says. I, too, know my prayers already, and shall become a Mussulman, when I have heard a few more of your reverence's sermons. O, they are wonderful! Bismilla—ir-rahman-ir-raheem!—--"

"Come," said the Khan, "they are beating the NagÁrÁs everywhere, and as all are ready, we need not delay." So, mounting their horses, which were being led about, they rode on to the plain where the men were assembling fast, and closing in heavy masses upon their several standards. In a few minutes, the Paigah of Afzool Khan, Moro Pundit being in the midst closely guarded, moved on down the pass, followed by the Abyssinian cavalry; and their bright steel morions, gay scarves, trappings and standards, gleamed in the blazing sunshine. Yet it was not hot enough to be oppressive; a fresh westerly wind had arisen, driving before it large masses of fleecy cloud, which, as they passed, threw broad chequers of light and shade over the plain, rustling among the tall ripe corn, which bowed before it in golden wavy ripples, and refreshing the men who, though few had slept, were as yet unconscious of fatigue under the excitement they had gone through.

The people of the town watched the long line, that, owing to the rough nature of the road, straggled down the pass, with thankful hearts for deliverance from further molestation; and as the last of the men disappeared behind a shoulder of the mountain, a faint shout of "Jey Kalee! Jey Toolja!" rose from a group of men, consisting of the Nimbalkur and other chiefs who were assembling at his house. Others clustered about the edge of the tableland, and when they saw the long line emerge upon the plain beyond the groves and gardens of Sindphul, and heard the loud booming notes of the NagÁrÁs growing fainter in the distance, many a heart breathed a prayer of thanks for deliverance, intermingled with defiance and deep curses on those from whose violence they had suffered.

In the temple a group of priests were sitting about the shrine weeping, and the image of the goddess still lay on its back, the ruby eyes flashing in the glare of the lamps now lighted about it. No one, as yet, dared to touch it, without some preliminary ceremonies of deprecation of her wrath. Within, the blood had been washed away—but without, in the court, it still lay in patches, blackening and cracking in the sun.