The Sirdar's Oath Part 22

Hilda Clive dropped her veil as she came into the presence of the chiefs. They returned her salaam gravely, eyeing her with the same furtive curiosity as that which she felt with regard to them. What stately men they were, she thought. The very simplicity of their snowy garments and beautifully-folded turbans added a dignity from which any barbaric splendour of jewels and colours would have detracted. So this was Mushim Khan, she thought, instinctively recognising the Nawab. He was indeed a n.o.ble-looking man--and, although cold and stern at that moment, his face was not a cruel one--and the same held good of the others. Surely she would obtain that for which she was here.

And how came it that she was here? Simply one of those strange impressions of prevoyance to which she was at times given. It had been borne in upon her with a vivid and startling suddenness that the missing man was in great peril; so incisive and convincing indeed was this impression as to dispel forthwith the idea that he was a courteously-treated prisoner of war in the hands of a generous and honourable enemy. She, and she alone, had power to save him. All Orientals were fond of money, she had heard--fortunately, she had plenty. She would literally redeem him, would buy his release, even though it cost her every farthing she had in the world.

The plan once conceived, she lost no time in carrying it out. She said no word about it to anybody, for fear of being interfered with, but, leaving a note for the Tarletons, she started off with Mehrab Khan for the Nawab's stronghold.

The Baluchi had raised no objection. He took it as quite a matter of course that she should require him to accompany her alone into the midst of a hostile tribe. So, having adopted the Gularzai attire and being well armed, he had brought her in safety hither.

But now poor Hilda found herself in a quandary at the off-set. Her knowledge of Hindustani was of the slightest, and Mehrab Khan's knowledge of English _nil_. She could make him understand her in ordinary matters, but as an interpreter she feared he might prove of little use. But here aid came from an unlooked-for quarter.

"If you will allow me to be your interpreter, madam, I will strive to convey to my father what you wish to say."

Hilda stared. It was Shere Dil Khan who had spoken, and his English was well-nigh faultless. She thanked him, and then without waste of words set forward the object of her visit. But it was hardly necessary for him to interpret the Nawab's reply. She knew that it was a stern and emphatic refusal.

"Who is this woman, and what is she to the prisoner?" asked Mushim Khan.

"Is she his wife?"

This, though more courteously rendered, brought the colour to Hilda's face, and she replied that she was not--but only a distant relation.

She thought it was time delicately to hint at the question of ransom.

Delicately--yes--because there was that about these stately chiefs that seemed to render the subject as difficult of approach as though they were Europeans of social equality.

"I know that it is not unusual, Sirdar Sahib, to ransom prisoners of war," she said. "This I am prepared with. Will a lakh of rupees satisfy the Nawab?"

"I cannot put that to my father," said Shere Dil Khan.

"Is it not enough? Well, name your own price." Her colour came and went, and she spoke eagerly and quickly.

"It is not that, but--"

"Well, put it, put it!" returned Hilda, unable to restrain an impatient stamp of the foot. "Put it, I entreat you."

He looked at her hesitatingly for a moment, then complied. A change came over the features of Mushim Khan as he listened, and his eyes fairly blazed with wrath.

"Am I a vile Hindu trader to be approached with such an offer?" he said.

"Is the blood of my brother--the ignominy of his death--a mere question of rupees, of a lakh more or less? Tell this woman that all the rupees in the treasury of the _Sirkar_ for a hundred years would not redeem the man whose father put to death with ignominy one of our house. He dies at sunrise to-morrow. As for her, she came alone and trusting to my protection. Praised be Allah, it shall be extended to her, and to her attendant. Let refreshment be given her, and with my safe conduct let her depart."

This Shere Dil Khan duly rendered. But Hilda did not move. Great tears rose to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"He must not die, ah--he must not die," she said. "Listen, Sirdar Sahib. Tell the Nawab I offer him all I have in the world, five lakhs of rupees, in redemption of this life. See, I have braved all and every danger, and travelled alone here to save it. He is brave, he must be generous. Oh, make him relent."

Animation made all the difference in the world to Hilda Clive's appearance. When she was animated to this extent she was beautiful-- moreover, the Gularzai dress became her well. Shere Dil Khan looked at her with pity and concern. But the faces of the other two remained hard as granite.

"I have said and I have no more to say," answered the Nawab, when this had been translated to him. "He dies at sunrise. I have sworn it. And now, let her depart."

Hilda stood for a few moments in silence, her great eyes fixed upon the Nawab's face. Then she said,--

"May I not see him? May I not bid him farewell? That will not break the chief's oath."

Mushim Khan pondered for a moment and frowned. The terrible vendetta spirit had entirely warped his nature, which was not naturally a harsh or cruel one, rendering him utterly merciless. But he answered,--

"She can see him until the hour of prayer. Then she must depart as she came."

Hilda thanked the Nawab, then, having directed her Baluchi escort to wait for her there, without the loss of a moment, turned to follow Shere Dil Khan, who had been chosen to accompany her. As they drew near the place of Raynier's confinement he said,--

"I have been ordered to be present throughout your interview, but I will not carry out that literally. You shall see your relation alone. This is the place."

She entered the door he held open, then closed it behind her. She and Herbert Raynier were alone together.

"Great Heavens!" cried the latter, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with amazement. "Great Heavens! Hilda!"

"Yes, Hilda," she answered, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g again.

He had never seen her like this, and down went every barrier of conventionality. He had risen to his shackled feet, and now without further words she was locked in his close embrace.

"How and when did they capture you?" he asked at length.

"They did not capture me: I am free."

"Free?" And his glance rested on her Gularzai attire, and seemed to freeze.

"I am a thought reader, remember," she said, with a wan smile, as she followed his glance. "No, it is not as you think. I put on this disguise for safety's sake." And then, in as few words as possible, for time was valuable, she told him of her plan, and how it had failed.

"But it has not failed," he answered emphatically. "It has given me the sight of your dear self once more. Oh, darling, to think that you should have undertaken such a thing--and for me. There is no other woman under the sun who would have done it."

"Not if she--"

"Say it, say it," he urged, holding her more closely.

"Loved you. There. I will say it. I would say anything now. Listen, Herbert, can nothing be done? Can we not bribe some of them? I have money--plenty of it. Think quickly--time is so short. This one who speaks English so well, the Nawab's son. Is he to be bought?"

"Oh, then he does speak English?"

"Yes. Shall I offer him what his father refused? Shall I? Shall I?"

"What did his father refuse?"

"All I am worth--five lakhs of rupees. He said a million would be equally useless."

"Hilda! You did not do this?"

"I did. I would not have told you at any other time. But now--nothing seems to matter. Nothing--nothing."

Words failed him, failed them both--but their understanding was complete; even as it had been during their wanderings together. Then nothing had been said, but every tone, every glance, had been an understanding in itself. And time was so precious.

"Listen, Herbert. I have a plan. You shall put on my clothes, and pa.s.s out instead of me. By stooping a little you can diminish your height.

And the veil will do the rest."

"And these?" he said, clinking his fetters.