“Tell me all about it,” the ranee said.
“I want to know who you are, and how you came
here as if you had dropped from the skies.”
Ned related their adventures since leaving Delhi,
and then the ranee insisted upon an account of their
previous masquerading as natives.
“How brave you English boys are,” she
said. “No wonder your men have conquered
India. Now, Ahrab, tell these young sahibs what
we propose.”
“We dare not leave you here,” Ahrab said.
“You would have to be fed, and we must trust
many people. We go to Cawnpore to-morrow, and
you must go with us. My son has a garden here;
we can trust him, and he will bring a bullock-cart
with him to-morrow morning. In this will be placed
some boxes, and he will start. You must wait
a little way off, and when you see him you will know
him, because he will tie a piece of red cloth to the
horns of the bullock; you will come up and get in.
He will ask no questions, but will drive you to the
ranee’s. I will open the door to you and
take you up to a little room where you will not be
disturbed. We shall all start first. You
cannot go with us, because the other women will wonder
who you are. Here is some stuff to dye your faces
and hands. I will let you out by a private door.
You will see a wood five minutes along the road.
You must stop there to-night, and do not come out till
you see the ranee and her party pass. There is
a little hut, which is empty, in the wood, where you
can sleep without fear of disturbance. The ranee
is sorry to turn you out to-night, but we start at
daybreak, and I should have no opportunity of slipping
away and letting you out.”
Everything being now arranged, the ranee rose.
Ned reiterating the expression of the gratitude of
his brother and himself, the ranee coquettishly held
out a little hand whose size and shape an Englishwoman
might have envied; and the boys kissed it—Ned
respectfully, Dick with a heartiness which made her
laugh and draw it away.
“You are a darling,” Dick said in English,
with the native impudence of a midshipman, “and
I wish I knew enough of your lingo to tell you.”
“What does he say?” she asked of Ned.
“He is a sailor,” Ned said; “and
sailors say things we on shore would not venture to
say. My brother says you are the flower of his
heart.”
“Your brother is an impudent boy,” the
ranee said, laughing, “and I have a good mind
to hand him over to the Nana. Now good-by!
Ahrab will let you out.”
TREACHERY.
