For a moment the natural presence of mind which Fazil possessed deserted him, and his brain seemed to reel under conflicting thoughts, and the weight and importance of the secret of which he had become possessed. Should he disclose himself to the King as he passed out, and urge him to allow Pahar Singh to be taken? The retinue which awaited the monarch would be enough to surround the temple, and the robber's capture or death was certain. It was a deed to do to prove his devotion, and the country would be free of a bold and mischievous marauder, who plundered it up to the gates of the city. But the King's promise to the outlaw was for the time sacred, and there was, perhaps, further service to be done by the man, which could not be delayed. As regards the Wuzeer and his family, also, he must avow his knowledge of the secret to the King, when he might be charged as his spy, and so share the Wuzeer's fate. These thoughts checked the impulse which had so nearly carried him on,—it might have been to destruction.

"Shall we follow him? shall we speak to the King?" asked Bulwunt hurriedly, observing Fazil's irresolution. "Say quickly, Meah,—we have not a moment to lose."

"No, no! we are better here," replied Fazil. "The avowed knowledge of that secret might chance to be our death-warrant; and has not the King given him kowl? Let us watch still—we may gather further particulars; but to follow the King is madness. Listen! they are speaking." Again, therefore, they resumed their respective positions.

A few sticks had been thrown on the embers, and Maun Singh was kneeling down and blowing them into a flame, which, bursting through them in small flashes with every breath, partially illumined the figures around it and the blackened walls of the apartment. Pahar Singh sat with the gold coins before him, counting them one by one. A large portion were already laid on one side, which he proceeded to drop into the bag. The expression of his coarse and savage features could now be distinctly seen; for not only was the light from the fire becoming steady, but he had removed from his original position, so that he sat with his face nearly full towards Fazil, though from Bulwunt Rao he was more concealed than before. It was a face which, once seen, could never be forgotten. Men saw it and quailed before it: women saw it and shuddered: and Fazil remembered how often old Goolab, when he was yet a child, had frightened him by the mention of Pahar Singh: while tales of his occasional frays and bloody deeds were of everyday report in the bazar.

There, then, he sat. Turban he had none: his matted hair, twisted into a rough rope, was tied in a knot on the crown of his head, and covered with ashes, showing the high narrow forehead—on which, though crossed by deep wrinkles, the forked veins, swelled by his excitement, stood out like ridges, betokening passions wild, fierce, and uncontrollable. The eyes, always bright, glittered restlessly and suspiciously from beneath the heavy brows, to which, and to the lids, the white ashes, smeared on his face from time to time as he sat, had adhered; and his hard grin disclosed the prominent eye-teeth, which he chose to call tusks, in allusion to his name.

When we last saw this face at Itga, it was excited, but there was a softening influence exercised by the presence of his adopted son, and Pahar Singh was under some restraint. Now there was none, and it was difficult to recognize the features at all under his disguise, which served to increase the natural ferocity of the expression.

His rough moustaches, of a sandy-brown colour at the ends, mingled with a straggling scanty beard, were usually parted in the middle, and turned over his ears; but now, being loosened, they were tied together in a knot under his chin, in the most approved Jogi fashion. His broad chest was covered with grizzled hair of the same peculiar colour as his beard; and his chin, originally fair, had become of a deep brown, except where it retained some of its original colour. His arms, which had appeared so muscular when he suddenly started up to threaten the king, seemed even longer and more powerful, as he sat stretching out one over the blaze, while the fingers of the other hand played among the gold pieces before him. Pahar Singh's countenance was now very repellant. It seemed to Fazil that mercy could never issue from those pitiless lips which, with the full nostrils distending and contracting rapidly under the action of feelings not yet expressed, produced an effect which fascinated, while it shocked one unused to it.

"Lallajee," he said, every now and then looking up: "O friend, dost thou love gold? See, this is red and pure—ah, yes, lovely—and so it need be, coming out of the King's mint direct. More than ten thousand rupees, too, they said. Well, there are just five hundred and fifty ashruffees. That is—how much, Maun Singh? thou art a better accountant than I am."

"Somewhere about eleven thousand rupees, I believe, Maharaj," said his follower.

"Well, that will do, Lallajee," continued Pahar Singh. "That is my share for taking care of thee, thou knowest, and getting thee a good market for thy papers. The gods be praised! I vow ten of these to the Holy Mother's necklace at Tooljapoor," and he took up ten pieces of the number that remained.

"Nay, valiant sir," interposed the Lalla: "that is your Excellency's share in the bag yonder. These are mine, not half, as we agreed, but enough perhaps for the poor Lalla. It would be no merit for my lord if he were to give to the goddess——"

He could not finish the sentence, whatever it might have been intended to mean, for the rude interruption—"Ill-begotten!" cried the robber, snatching a brand from the fire and striking the Lalla's hand, which had advanced towards the heap,—"dare to touch the gold, and thou diest! That for the like of thee!"

"I am your slave," whimpered the man, wringing his hand; "but why did my lord strike so hard?"

"Listen to the coward, brother," said Pahar Singh with a sneer; "a woman would not whine like that. Now, thy share, Maun Singh."

"Of course," said that worthy, "after being dallal in the matter, and putting my head into jeopardy, running after that mad Secretary into the very palace—where, had any one chanced to recognize me, I should have been cut down or speared like a mad dog—truly, considering the risk, and that day and night's ride to boot, mine comes next. Ah! thou art a just man, O Jemadar."

"Well, then, hold out thine hand, brother," returned Pahar Singh, taking up a few coins and dropping them into his hand. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Good gold, good gold, Lallajee!" he said, looking up: "but it is of no use giving it to him: he will only spend it on women and liquor. Better I should have the rest, who can take care of it, Lalla, and give it him as he needs it—dost thou not think so? Yet, stay, I may as well—nine, ten, that's two hundred rupees, brother—enough for thee. Who would have thought of a bundle of old papers bringing so many bright ashruffees. And after all, O Lalla—by your head—were they true or false, O mean thief?"

"True; I swear by your head and eyes, by the holy Krishna and his temple at Muttra. Canst thou doubt, after what has passed, O Jemadar?" cried the Lalla earnestly.

"Nay, how could I understand thy jabbering of Persian? That was no honest talk, Maun Singh; they meant to cheat us by it, and this slave joined in it. Twenty-one, twenty-two,"—he was counting the remainder of the gold, and dropping the coins into his own bag as he spoke, "twenty-three. Dost thou think, O Lalla, that I am a cheating Mutsuddee, like thyself?—twenty-four, twenty-five.—Ill-begotten clerk, say—am I—Pahar Singh—a liar and a thief like thyself?"——

"May I be your sacrifice, Maharaj, no," cried the Lalla, terrified at his manner, and watching, with evident and ill-concealed uneasiness, coin after coin disappearing into the bag. "Why should my lord be angry if I spoke in Persian?"

"Ho, ho, thou art frightened again—art thou? Well, perhaps thou couldst not help the Persian, as the letter had to be read; but I understood it all the time, O Lalla. Thou couldst not have cheated me—listen!" he continued in that language, speaking it with a broad Mahratta accent; "what part of this sum dost thou expect for thy share—twenty-six, twenty-seven. There is yet much, Lalla. What sayeth the poet Saadi? Expectation——No matter, I forget the verses we used to learn at school. How much?"

"Nay, Maharaj, I know not," returned the man in a bewildered manner. "My lord said half would be mine, and the Meerza told us there were more than ten thousand rupees."

"Good, O Lalla, thou patron of valiant men like me: but dost thou expect it? Five thousand rupees! dost thou think that such a sum will come to thee?" and his hand passed to the hilt of his sword.

"My lord! noble prince! I—I—I," stammered the now trembling wretch. "I—I—mean the promise to me. Nay, look not so, Maharaj," as he observed the robber's face distorted with suppressed rage, the veins of his forehead swelled, and white foam gathering about the corners of the mouth. "Nay, look not so angry! Behold, I kiss your feet: I am a very poor man, and a stranger;" and he joined his hands in supplication as he rose from his heels partly to a kneeling posture. "Would my lord ever have known of the value of those papers had I not told it? Would they not have been thrown away, scattered to the winds, if my poor life had been taken at Itga?"

"My promise!—my promise to thee, O son of a base mother! Didst thou not swear to me they would be worth thousands?—lakhs!" cried the robber, raising his voice and gesticulating violently, as he now took up the gold pieces by handfuls, and thrust them into the bag. "A lakh of rupees! and here are only a few paltry coins, for which thou hast brought me fifty coss! What will Anunt Geer of Kullianee say to this poor instalment on his debt? Thief! get me the rest—the rest of the gold they have put aside for thee. Didst thou not promise a lakh?"

He had now lashed himself into a fury, which had been his object evidently from the first; and he struck the Lalla with his clenched hand violently upon the head, so that he fell backwards, and lay apparently stunned; but it was only fear.

"He will kill him—not that he does not deserve death, the mean hound!" said Fazil Khan, hurriedly to his companion. "When was Pahar Singh ever known to spare a victim? What is to be done, Bulwunt? shall we attack them?"

"Alas, Meah!" returned the other, "what can be done?—a sound, a word, and the man is dead. We cannot reach them; and the door was closed and barred when the others went. Ai Bhowani! ai KhundÔba! ai BhugwÂn! save him! O, that I had brought my gun with me, or even a pistol, Meah; but he dare not kill him; he is only frightening him out of the money. Hush, and listen!"

"Raise him, brother," continued Pahar Singh to his companion, laughing; "we will soon see whether this fear is true or feigned; or is the coward soul really gone out of his body?"

"Nay, Jemadar, but he breathes," said Maun Singh, raising the Lalla. "Speak, O Toolsee Das! art thou alive?"

"My lords! O my lords!" gasped the terrified wretch; "what have I done? what have I done? why am I beaten?"

"My thousands, I tell thee!" cried the robber hoarsely. "Where are the papers that were to bring me thousands? Thou hast concealed them to sell to others. Liar! liar, and base-born coward, as thou art!—--Enough, Maun Singh," he continued, in another language, which was not understood either by Fazil Khan or his companion, and which both often thought of afterwards; "he must die; the goddess has sent him; he must die for her, lest he lead other men astray."

"Ay, he is good Bunij, Jemadar," returned the man coolly. "Methinks this would have saved trouble long ago, and your worship's getting into a passion. We ate the goor this morning——"

"Surely, brother, but no blood. I would not soil my sword with carrion like him; and yours is a certain hand with the handkerchief."

What words can describe the terror of the devoted wretch? He could not speak or cry out. Of what use if he had? He knew the temple was far from men's abodes, and the wind moaned hoarsely in the trees above, as the branches swayed to and fro before a brisk gale now rising with the clouds. He tried to swallow, but in vain. He sat paralysed, as it were, his eyes wandering vacantly from one to the other, while his lips were tightened into a ghastly simper of fear. Neither of the men spoke; but Maun Singh was carelessly twisting a handkerchief into a peculiar form, and tying a knot at the end of it. "Thou wilt not feel it, Lallajee," he said jocularly, but in the strange tongue; "my hand is sure, and I am the best Bhuttote in Allund."

What the Lalla understood or guessed it was impossible to conceive; but Fazil felt assured that murder was to be done. "By Alla and his Prophet!" he said to Bulwunt, "come what may of it, are we men to stand by tamely and see foul murder committed before our eyes? Were the wretch a hundred times more liar and coward, one good blow should be struck against that ruffian. Ho, Pahar Singh! Maun Singh!" shouted the young Khan before he could be prevented by his companion. "Hold! would ye do murder?"

"Hur, Hur, Mahadeo!" cried his companion at the same moment, and both rushed to the place where, on the side they had been standing, the wall seemed the lowest; but it was still too high to be reached without a scramble over rough stones, which delayed them longer than they had thought. The top once gained, they leaped into the enclosure with drawn weapons; but as they did so, Fazil saw one man on the top beyond, another climbing up, aided by his companion. For him and Bulwunt Rao to rush across the court was the act but of an instant; yet they were too late: the Jogi—Pahar Singh—had escaped, and his companion was in the act of dropping down, when, aided by a bound, the well-aimed weapon of the young Khan reached him. Where or how Fazil Khan had wounded the robber he knew not; but when he examined his bright blade, there was a broad stain upon it which could not be mistaken. As he looked, hesitating whether he should leap down and follow, he could just distinguish two figures dimly, running at desperate speed through the trees across the plain, which were quickly lost in the gloom.

Bulwunt Rao was at his side. "Another moment and we should have had both: the gods have protected them; and it is of no use following, Meah," he said.

"No, no, they are gone," returned Fazil; "it is useless to follow: better for us to see after that poor wretch yonder—the villains may have murdered him, after all;" and they hastened to him.

The flickering blaze was still playing about the little fire, and served them with enough light to distinguish the objects by it, disclosing, too, more of the apartment or verandah than they had yet seen; and as both entered the place at the same moment, a cry of execration burst simultaneously from them.

"The villains have been too sure! While we scrambled among those stones they killed him. See, here is an ugly gash, Meah!" said Bulwunt Rao.

"That would not kill him," said Fazil, stooping to raise up the body—"and he is quite warm. I most fear this cloth about his neck; but look for some water. I would not have him die. So now—dash some in his face—his heart beats, too—he lives, Bulwunt Rao!"

"Praise to Narayun! there is at least a chance for him," cried Bulwunt. "Awake—arise, O Lalla! and fear not," he continued to the wounded man; "your enemies are gone, and you are with friends who can protect you. Here, drink some water. I am a Hindu who give it; and speak, O man with a small liver!"

These cheering words, accompanied by a few gentle blows on his back, and a little water forced into his mouth, restored something like consciousness to the wretch. He opened his eyes and stared wildly about, and into the faces of those who stood over him: then he put his hand to his throat as if it hurt him.

"Ay, I dare say," continued Bulwunt—"I dare say they hurt thee badly; but fear not, Sree SwÂmi has sent you friends; drink, and it will do you good. Tut, man, you need not be particular about caste; here is my junwha, and there is no need to ask further. That's well—can you speak?"

"Ye are not they," said the Lalla huskily, and in a low tone. "Friends, how came ye here? Hai, Hai!—alas, where is my gold? and where are the robbers who would have killed me? May their mothers be defiled!"

"Perish the gold, meanhearted," cried Fazil; "with thy soul hovering betwixt life and death, is thy first thought for thy gold?"

"I worship thy feet, brave Gosai," returned the Lalla; "but it was all I had, for which I had risked much. Hai, Hai! it is all gone now, and I am in a strange place without a copper or a friend;" and he turned to the wall and sobbed bitterly.

"It was a round sum to lose, certainly," said Bulwunt; "but thy life is safe, and thou hast only to steal again, Lallajee!"

"Better to have died—better to have died, sirs!" cried the man distractedly. "When shall I see so much gold again? Look, noble sirs, is all gone? has he taken all?"

"It was here they counted it," said Fazil; "look about—a piece or two may be found; or they may have dropped some in their flight."

Bulwunt blew a dry stick into a blaze, and looked around. He was fortunate—a few coins had escaped Pahar Singh, which he gave to the Lalla, who tied them up in his waist-cloth.

"Look for more—look yonder, kind sir; and the blessings of a poor Khayet be on you both," returned the Lalla. "My eyes are dim: alas!" he exclaimed, as he put his hand to the back of his neck and felt blood,—"I am killed—I am dying!"

"Peace, fool!" cried Fazil impatiently, "a child would have cut deeper: it has been a strange escape. Give me your scarf—I will tie up the wound."

"And here is some more money for you, too, Lallajee," said Bulwunt, who had now returned, having picked up several gold pieces in the line which Pahar Singh had taken across the court. "There may be more, and if you come to-morrow early, you may find them."

"But now we cannot wait, Lalla," added Fazil; "there is no further fear of your life. The clouds are gathering fast, and there will be rain; we will see you safe to a guard-room, and I will have you cared for in the morning; or you can sleep here if you like."

"Ah, leave me not, gentlemen! I am poor and in great pain," replied the man. "My clothes and horse are a long way from hence: how shall I get to them? Take me with you and I shall live, else he will find me out and kill me—that Pahar Singh."

Supporting the wounded man between them, the two friends unfastened the door of the courtyard and passed out. The glare and noise of the bazar seemed only at a short distance, and knowing that a strong guard was placed at night near the end nearest the city, they went to it as directly as they could. A few questions were carelessly asked as to the cause of the wound, and as vaguely answered. A traveller found wounded, who had been robbed, was probably cause enough to account for his condition.

"We cannot delay, Lalla," said Bulwunt, in answer to his cries that one at least would stay with him. "We have far to go, and the night is passing fast. The clouds, too, are gathering, and the thunder is growling in the distance. Hark! there will be a storm. Come, Meah," he whispered, "we may miss him whom we seek. See that the man's wounds are dressed, Duffadar," he continued aloud to the officer of the guard, "and let him sleep here."