The Mahratta horsemen did not perceive the snare which had been laid for them: they concluded that the fire was accidental (and opportune, since it showed them the way to their plunder), and on they came at a fast gallop,—fifty perhaps: wild figures they would have been deemed at any time,—how much more so when, brandishing their long spears, and with loud shouts, they dashed forward! The light shone broad on their muffled faces and on the gay red housings of their saddles, and glanced from their spear-points and other weapons.

‘Hurree Bol!’ cried the leader to his men, turning round on his saddle, waving his sword, which all could see was dim with blood.

‘Hurree! Hurree Bol!’ arose the cry from fifty hoarse voices, which mingled with the quick trampling of the horses.

‘Now!’ cried the Khan.

‘Wait one instant, for the sake of Alla!—let them come up,’ exclaimed Kasim.

They were close to the burning hut, when Kasim, whose matchlock had been steadily aimed, resting upon the parapet, fired. The leader reeled back in his saddle, waved his sword wildly in the air, and fell.

‘Bismilla-ir-ruhman-ir—!’ shouted the Khan; the rest of the invocation being lost in the loud report of the cannon. With it were the flashes and reports of a dozen other matchlocks; and as the smoke cleared away, they could plainly see four of the men on the ground struggling, and two or three others apparently badly hit supporting themselves in their saddles.

‘Give me another gun, another gun!’ cried Kasim; ‘there is no time to load. Another gun, I say! Will no one hand me one?’ he continued, vainly endeavouring to load his own quickly.

‘Do you not hear?’ exclaimed a female voice near him; and as he turned to look, he saw a figure snatch one from a villager, and hand it to him: as she did so, her veil dropped—it was Ameena!

‘Come on, ye base born!’ cried the Khan, who was pointing the remaining jinjall at the group, which, staggered by their loss, had halted for a moment. ‘Come on, ye sons of dogs,—come on ye kafirs and idol-worshippers,—come and taste of death from the hands of true believers! Ha! do ye hesitate? then ye shall have it again, by Alla!’ and he fired. ‘Look you, Meer Sahib,’ he cried in exultation; ‘two are down—another! by the Prophet, well shot!’

‘Here is another gun, Meer Sahib,’ said the same sweet voice; and the lady handed him one.

‘What, thou here, my pearl! Shabash! thou shouldst have shot too if thou couldst hit. So, thou wouldst not remain below; no wonder, with those screaming women: and thou art welcome here too, if thou darest to look on, and see those murdering villains go down like sparrows. Another, by Alla! See, the dog fairly rolls over and over! Why do ye not come, O valiant eaters of dirt? By your souls, come on,—we have more for ye!’

‘They have had enough, I think, Khan,’ said Kasim; ‘they are drawing off.’

And they were indeed. The plundering band, unprovided with matchlocks, could make little impression on a village so well defended, and hastily turned about their horses; those who had remained below were informed of this by the PatÉl, who had descended; and, led by him, quickly advanced to the edge of the village, from whence they could fire without exposing themselves.

‘Who will strike a blow with Kasim PatÉl?’ cried the youth, who was not now to be controlled. ‘Come, who will?—there are the horses saddled below.’

In vain was it that the Khan held him for an instant, and he heard the voice of gentle entreaty from the lady: he hurried down the steps, followed by several of the Khan’s men, and throwing themselves on their horses they dashed after the fugitives.

They soon cleared the village, and what followed was intensely watched by the Khan and Ameena.

‘Holy Alla, protect the youth!’ ejaculated the lady.

‘Ameen!’ cried the Khan; ‘look! he is upon them now, and Dilawur-Ali, Moedeen, and Fazel after him. See—one goes down beneath that cut!’ for they saw the sword of Kasim flash in the light. ‘He is by another; the fellow cuts at him. Well parried, by the Prophet! now give it him! A curse on the darkness,’ he continued after a pause, as, shading his eyes with his hand, he endeavoured to pierce the thick gloom. ‘Canst thou see, Ameena?’

‘No, my lord. I lost him as you did—Alla be his shield!’

‘To be sure he is: what could those cowards do against such an arm and such a heart? I tell thee, girl, we had eaten dirt but for him.’

Ameena sighed; she remembered the excited cries of the young man and his flashing eyes, as she handed him the gun. ‘He is a brave youth,’ she said.

A few scattered shots here and there, which were further and further removed every moment, showed that the marauders were retreating, and soon the men began to return one by one; in a few minutes they saw Kasim Ali and his companions approaching quietly, which assured them there was no more danger, and that the party had retired beyond the limits of safe pursuit.

‘Come down and meet them, fairest,’ said the Khan; ‘they who have fought so well for us deserve a warm welcome.’

As Kasim and his companions rode up, they were greeted with hearty congratulations on their success, and all crowded round him so thickly, that he had much ado to force his way to where the Khan stood. But he reached him after some little elbowing and good-humoured remonstrance; and just at that moment, a torch which had been lighted was raised above the heads of the crowd; it disclosed his figure, apparently covered with blood.

‘Holy Alla, he is wounded!’ exclaimed the lady; ‘he will bleed to death!’ and she moved as though she would have advanced.

‘Tut, tut, foolish one!’ cried the Khan, holding her back; ‘it ought to be gladness to thee to see the blood of thine enemies and mine. Thou art not hurt, Kasim?’

‘A trifle, I believe, Khan—a slight wound on my chest from one of the rascals, which hath bled somewhat and stained my clothes; but he paid dearly for the blood he drew.’

‘I’ll warrant he did; and as for thy wound, we must see to it. I have some skill in such matters, and perhaps the Khanum will be able to find an old sheet or something to tie it up. So sit down here; and do thou, Ameena, search for some rags. Well, so thou canst give an account of some of them, Kasim?’

‘Of two, Khan Sahib; one fellow I cut down as we started—he is living, I think—the other fought better.’

‘And is dead for his pains; well, I do not begrudge thee this cut, it will do thee no harm. See, here is the Khanum with the rags—never mind her, this is no time for ceremony with such as thou. Ho! Daood, Zoolficar, some water here! and do you, Kasim, take off that vest, we shall soon see what has happened. A trifle, a trifle, after all. Alla be praised!’ he continued, when the garment was removed, and the broad and muscular chest of the young man exposed to view; ‘a few days will heal it up.’

But Ameena thought otherwise; she had heard of wounds, but this was the first she had seen; and a gash which, though not deep, extended half across the chest of the young man, was in her eyes a more serious matter than her lord appeared to think. She felt very faint and sick as she looked upon it, but rallied on perceiving that Kasim considered it a trifle, as indeed it was, and readily assisted to bind it up.

She was very near him, and it was exquisite pleasure to feel her gentle touch upon his shoulder, as she assisted to hold the bandages which the Khan passed round his chest; he fancied too that once her glance met his, and he could not help trying to catch it again: he succeeded at last, through the veil. Her lustrous dark eyes flashed very brightly; he could not see their expression, but it was certain to him that they had sought his own, and met them.

‘We want still another handkerchief, or something, to tie over all,’ said the Khan when he had finished; ‘hast thou one, Ameena?’

‘I have—here it is,’ she replied; ungirding one from around her waist. ‘The Meer Sahib is welcome to it.’

‘I owe a thousand obligations,’ returned Kasim; ‘if I were your brother you could not have done more for me: how unworthy am I to receive such attention—I who am but your servant!’

‘Do not say so,’ cried both at once; ‘thou art far more than this to us.’

‘Ah!’ thought Kasim, ‘I am but a moth playing around a lamp, tempted by bright and dazzling light, and hardly as yet warned. I am a fool to think on her; but can I ever forget her face as she stood yonder and cheered me by her presence?—the second time I have seen it, but perhaps not the last.’ The Khan roused him from his reverie.

‘Lie down,’ he said; ‘there will be the less flow of blood.’

Kasim obeyed readily; for the same fair hands that had helped to bind his wound had also spread a soft mattress for him, and placed a pillow for his head. Perhaps the loss of blood had affected him a little, for in a few moments he felt drowsy and gradually fell asleep; and Ameena sate watching him at a little distance, for the Khan had gone to see what had been done with the bodies of those who had fallen.

But, as is often the case after violent excitement, his sleep, though at first heavy and profound, did not long continue thus. Perhaps too the wound pained him, for he was restless, and moved impatiently from side to side.

The Khan was long absent, and Ameena still kept her watch; she might have withdrawn, yet there was something so exciting and novel to her in her position—it was a source of such quiet delight to her to watch the features of him who had saved her life, and now had been wounded in her defence,—and she was so thickly veiled that he could not see her even were he awake—that she remained.

Rapidly her mind brought before her the events of the last few days. Her own young life in the world had hardly begun, and yet more dangers had been present to her than she had ever pictured to herself, rife as her imagination had been upon the subject when she left her home. She had been already rescued from death, now perhaps from violence; and he who had been the sole instrument of her protection in the one case, and who had fought under her own eyes in the second, lay before her. She had hardly heard him speak, yet she thought she could remember every word he had spoken; and then came vividly to her remembrance the glance, the earnest hurried glance, which told her would have dwelt longer had it dared. And as she remembered this, her heart fluttered under sensations very new and almost painful to her; she could not define them,—but involuntarily she drew nearer to the sleeping youth and watched the more.

She saw his brow contracted as if with pain; and, as he every now and then stirred and the light fell on his features, she could observe his lips move as though he spoke, but she could not catch a word. For a few minutes it was thus, but at last he spoke interruptedly; it was of war, of the fight he had lately been engaged in; and she could distinguish a few words, defiance to the marauders, encouragement to the men around. Then there was another pause, and he slept peacefully, even as a child. ‘May he rest safely, O Alla!’ she said.

But again he dreamed; sounds escaped him,—low mutterings which were undistinguishable; she bent her ear even closer;—she could not hear aught for awhile that she understood, but at length there was one word which made her very soul bound within her, and caused in the moment a feeling of choking and oppression in her throat almost unbearable,—‘Ameena!’ it was repeated twice distinctly, yet very softly.

‘Holy Alla! he knows my name!’ she said mentally; ‘he thinks of me—I am present to his sleeping fancies amidst war and turmoil which still pursue him. How could he have heard my name?’

But the voice of the Khan was heard at some little distance, and interrupted her chain of questions. ‘He must not find me here,’ she thought, rising hastily, and gently stealing from the spot into the place which had been screened off for her occupation. Indeed for the last few moments hidden thoughts had suddenly sprung forth, and she could hardly await unconcernedly, beside the sleeping youth, him who now sought her.

The Khan passed Kasim. ‘He sleeps well,’ he said to Daood, who was with him; ‘hath any one watched by him?’

‘No one, Khodawund: the men were all with my lord.’

‘That was ill; one of ye should have remained; where is that idle cook? he hath no need of rest; let him sit up here, if he can keep his eyes open; and do ye all take what sleep ye can, for we shall start, Inshalla! ere noon to-morrow.’

‘You are to remain with Kasim Sahib,’ said Daood to the cook, rousing him, ‘and not to stir till morning breaks, or he awakes—dost thou hear?’

‘I do, good Daood; but methinks thou mightest sit with me too, seeing that it is near morning. By thy beard, I do not like being alone.’

‘O coward! thou art not alone; see, thou hast the hero of the night lying beside thee—one who has slain some men since he last ate; whereas thou hast not even slain a fowl. I tell thee there is no danger: yonder is my bedding—I shall not be far off if thou wantest me.’

Soon all was silent around, even the village dogs had ceased to bark; the clamour of women and of crying frightened children had subsided; and, except the watchfires in several parts, which threw up their strong red glare against the sky, around which most of the villagers were assembled in groups, nothing indicated that any conflict or alarm had taken place. Scattered about, the Khan’s attendants and servants lay wrapped in their sheets in deep sleep. The horses even, apparently secure of rest, had lain down, and all was still, except one of the horses which had been captured, which every now and then sent up a shrill neigh that sounded far and near in the stillness of the night. But above, on the tower, the PatÉl and several of his best men still kept watch.

Kasim slept still restlessly, and often sighed and muttered in his sleep. ‘His thoughts are with the battle,’ thought Zoolficar; ‘they say it was a brave sight to see the Mahrattas go down one by one before his aim: he shot them as he would deer in the jungle—may their mothers be polluted! Alla! Alla! guide us safely now; this is the third alarm we have had in this accursed country—but hark! What was that he said?—Ameena! again Ameena!—the Khanum—why should he dream of her? Poor youth, he would have been a fitter mate for her than that man of camps and battles. But it may not be of her he dreams—perhaps he has some one he loves of the same name. Ay, it is very likely; so dream on, Meer Sahib, may thy slumbers be lighter!’

But they were not; after little more than an hour’s restless slumber, he awoke, and found the worthy functionary by his side.

‘How! thou here, Zoolfoo! art thou not sleepy?’

‘It was my lord’s order that I should watch you, noble sir, and I only obey it. Methinks you have rested but indifferently, for your sleep has been disturbed, and you have been speaking.’

‘Ah well, I have but few secrets,’ he said gaily, ‘so I fear not for the words; and in truth this cut is rather painful, and too tightly bandaged. See if thou canst find a barber, Zoolfoo; I will have these straps undone.’

‘If my lord will trust me,’ replied Zoolfoo, ‘I will ease his pain. Ere I was a cook I was a barber; and Hyderabad is not an indifferent place to learn how to dress wounds. Mashalla! our young men are rare hands at street brawls.’

‘Well, do thy best—at this hour it will be hard to find any one.’

Zoolfoo was as good as his word. In a short time the bandages were arranged more easily, as the bleeding had stopped in a great measure, and Kasim found himself refreshed by the change. A hooka too was not to be despised, and this Zoolfoo soon brought from among his stores.

Gradually Kasim lead him to talk of his city, of his home, of his family; he earnestly wished to know more particulars of the Khanum, of her early life, and her ill-assorted marriage. Zoolfoo mentioned his sister.

‘Ay, her who thou saidst was servant in the Khanum’s family.’

‘The same: she was the Khanum’s nurse for awhile, and she is very fond of her.’

‘Why did she not bring her then?’

‘She wished to come, but the Khan said she would be a trouble on the road, and he left her behind; but—’

‘Perhaps the Khanum did not wish it?’

‘Not wish it? Sir, she was grieved to part with her, for she had tended her from her birth, and loved her as her own daughter.’

‘Then you have often heard of her?’

‘I have, a thousand times. My sister was her own attendant, and never quitted her till the hour of her departure.’

‘Know you then how she came to marry the Khan? You said once before that he was of no family.’

‘I will tell you,’ said the cook. ‘Her father is a Munsubdar,^[20] of Nizam Ali’s court nominally he has good pay, and one or two villages to support his rank; but he was expensive in his youth, for he was a gay man, and perhaps not over scrupulous. Gradually the difficulties of the Government caused all the salaries of the officers to fall into arrears. Then came with that a train of distresses; the elephant was sold, some jewels pledged,—then some horses went, and their servants were discharged. There were heavy mortgages made upon the villages, and other difficulties occurred; the interest accumulated, and the creditors grew very clamorous; some more jewels were sold, and they were quieted for awhile; but lately they were in distress, I heard,—indeed my sister told me her pay and that of other servants had been reduced, and that the family denied themselves many luxuries to which they had been accustomed. This daughter, Ameena, was marriageable, and her great beauty was known; they had many offers for her, but they looked high; they thought the Huzoor^[21] himself might ask for her, and that the fortunes of the house might rise; and while this was going on, the Khan Sahib, who had his emissaries abroad to look out for a beautiful wife, heard of her. He offered himself immediately; his low birth was not thought of, for he had great wealth and bestowed it liberally, and finally the marriage took place with much pomp. The poor child was dazzled; and you see her here, Meer Sahib, exposed to all the vicissitudes of travelling in unsettled times,—one day drowned,—another, attacked by those villainous Mahrattas,—whom your worship has freed us of,—when, rose as she is, she never ought to have left the zenankhana of a youthful and valiant lord.’

Kasim sighed involuntarily. ‘It was a base thing,’ he said, ‘to sell one so fair and young.’

‘It was, Meer Sahib,—you have rightly called it a sale; for the Khan had to pay off a heavy mortgage upon two of the villages, which has restored the family to affluence: however the thing is done now, and there is no helping it. I pity the poor Khanum, however, for she has to face two old wives, who will not thank the Khan for bringing one so young and beautiful to his house.’

‘You should keep a watch over her yourself, Zoolfoo.’

‘I will, so may Alla give me power!’ he said earnestly; ‘she does not know me as yet, but I will soon contrive to let her know, and thus I may be able to serve her at a pinch.’

‘And, remember, I am ever ready to aid you,’ said the young man; ‘I have saved her life once, and, by the blessing of Alla, no harm shall come to so fair a creature while I have power to help her.’

Just then the morning, which had been long in breaking, showed pretty plainly; and Kasim arose, and performing his ablutions, cried with a loud voice the Azan, or call to prayers. This too aroused the Khan, and joined by several others, they repeated, as indeed was their wont, their prayers together.

‘I am as stout as ever, Khan Sahib, I thank you,’ answered Kasim in reply to the many inquiries of the former; ‘the wound pained me a trifle, and your good Zoolficar, who is very expert, loosened the bandages for me; since then it has been quite easy. But how say you—march or halt, which shall it be?’

‘Let us take counsel of the PatÉl, he seems a decent fellow,’ returned the Khan, ‘and abide by his advice,—he knows the country.’

He was summoned, and the result of the consultation was advice to them to depart immediately. ‘I am disinterested, noble sirs,’ he said; ‘for if otherwise, my own fears would prompt me to make you stay by me; but after your conduct last night I put myself and my village out of consideration.’

‘And the men, Meer Sahib?’

‘I had half engaged them yesterday, when the alarm was given; how say you, PatÉl, can we have them?’

‘Surely, surely! half of those I have shall accompany you; for I fear no further molestation.’

They were summoned, and at once expressed their readiness to go; after this, the preparations were soon completed, a hasty meal of kicheree^[22] was cooked and eaten, and, girding up their loins carefully—seeing that their arms were properly loaded—making every preparation for defence, if necessary,—the party assembled to start.

Nine of the Mahrattas had fallen in the attack; of these, two lived, desperately wounded; five horses had been secured, two had been killed, and the remainder had been carried off by the horsemen.

The horses the Khan appropriated to his own use, and generously gave what plunder was found upon them and on the bodies to be divided among the sufferers of the village they had seen burned, directing the PatÉl to account for the sum. He had in vain attempted to press it upon Kasim.

Now, therefore, our travellers are once more upon the wide plains, moving warily and close together: altogether they are twelve good horsemen, and, with the six or seven villagers, armed with long matchlocks, and the grooms mounted on the ponies which the servants had ridden, present a very formidable appearance; while the dry gravelly road allows them to push forward at a good pace without interruption.

The road from Bellary to the Mysore country appears flat, but in reality is not so; the land rises in long and gentle undulations some thousand feet in the course of about one hundred miles,—that is, from the town of Bellary to where it enters a rugged pass between some mountains, one side of which is formed by the rough and stony back of the fort of Pencondah. As the traveller advances from Bellary, he sees these undulations, each of many miles perhaps in length; and when arrived at the top of one, expecting to descend, he finds another spread out before him, perhaps of equal length, the summit of which he must reach in like manner. The difference this causes in the climate is most remarkable; a few days’ travel produces an entire revolution; and from the steaming heat of the Carnatic, at Bellary and above it, the traveller as he proceeds southward breathes a purer, cooler, and more genial atmosphere.

The heat which had existed where we began our narrative, and which rendered travelling irksome, had now given place to coolness, which even at near midday made them glad to wrap shawls or other warm garments around them; and thus, while it invigorated man and beast, enabled them to push on rapidly without fatigue.

They had travelled for two days without alarm, and were within an easy distance of the entrance of the pass, when, on arriving at the top of one of the summits we have mentioned, they saw with some alarm a body of horse before them, scattered, and apparently on the same track as themselves.

‘It is the Mahrattas!’ cried the Khan.

‘True,’ said Kasim; ‘but I fear them not now—we are too strong; see, the rogues turn!’

‘They do,’ said the Khan; ‘but never fear, let us spread out a little on each side; they think us some small party, whom they can plunder with impunity.’ The little manoeuvre was done, and had an instant effect. The Mahratta horsemen, who were coming down about a mile distant at the gallop, suddenly halted, held a hurried consultation for awhile, and then struck off to the right, down a road which lead to the westward, and, having gone a good distance, quite out of shot, again halted.

‘They are wary fellows,’ said Kasim, ‘and have profited by our former lesson; but as we pass them we will fire a shot or two: that will teach them their distance, or I am mistaken.’

It was done, and had the desired effect; the horsemen moved further away, though they travelled in a parallel line. Shots were, however, discharged from time to time; and the whole party, including the lady, were amused at their consternation, as they scattered at every discharge.

Gradually, as they neared the pass, the Mahrattas dropped behind; and after they had entered the rocky valley, the first turn shut them from their view altogether.

‘Now we are properly on our own ground,’ said the Khan, ‘and soon we shall see one of the frontier posts; there we shall be secure from all alarms, and from thence to the city there is no fear.’

As he said, after a short travel further, they approached a strong village, well garrisoned; and here, after their many perils and escapes, they rested safely for three days ere they pursued their journey; indeed Kasim’s wound needed rest.

The information the Khan gave was acted upon, and a party of horse scoured the country in every direction, but without success; the marauders had made their escape, and were no more seen.