"Yes. But I see that you did not lie. I am still thirsty, sahiba."

He held out both hands, and she could see them dimly. There were no chains on them, and he was not bound in any way. She gave him the jar.

"Let me pa.s.s out again before you drink," she ordered. "It is not known that I am in here, and I would not have it known."

She could have bitten out her tongue with mortification a moment afterward for letting any such admission escape her. She heard him chuckle as he drank--he choked from chuckling, and set the jar down to cough. Then, when he had recovered breath again, he answered almost patronizingly.

"Which would be least pleased with you, sahiba? The Rangars, or thy father, or the other Englishman? But never mind, sahiba, we are friends.

I have proved that we are friends. Never have I taken water from the hands of any man or any woman not of my own caste. I would have died sooner. It was only thou, sahiba, who could make me set aside my caste."

"Let me pa.s.s!"

She certainly was frightened now. It dawned on her, as it had at once on him, that at the least commotion on his part or on hers a dozen Rangars would be likely to come running. And just as he had done, she wondered what explanation she would give in that case, and who would be likely to believe it. To have been caught going to the cell would have been one thing; to be caught in it would be another. He divined her thoughts.

"Have no fear, sahiba. Thou and I are friends."

She did not answer, for words would not come. Besides, she was beginning to realize that words would be of little help to her. A woman who will tell nothing but the truth under any circ.u.mstances and will surely keep her promises is at a disadvantage when conversing with a man who surely will not tell the truth if he can help it and who regards his given word with almost equal disrespect.

"I have no fear, sahiba. I am not afraid to open this door wide and make a bid for liberty. It would not be wise, that is all, and thou--and I must deal in wisdom."

His words came through the dark very evenly--s.p.a.ced evenly--as though he weighed each one of them before he voiced it. She gathered the impression that he was thinking for his very life. She felt unable to think for her own. She felt impelled to listen--incredulous, helpless, frightened,--not a little ashamed. She was thinking more of the awful things those Moslem gentlemen would say about her should they come and discover her in Jaimihr's cell.

"Listen, sahiba! From end to end of India thy people are either dead, or else face to face with death. There is no escape anywhere for any man or woman--no hope, no chance. The British doom is sealed. So is the doom of every man who dared to side with them."

She shuddered. But she had to listen.

"There will be an army here within a day or two. My men--and I number them by thousands--will come and rip these Rangars from their roost.

Those that are not crucified will be thrown down from the summit, and there shall be a Hindoo shrine where they have worshipped their false G.o.d. Then, sahiba, if thou art here--perhaps--there might--yet--be a way-perhaps, yes?--a way, still, to escape me?"

She was trembling. She could not help beginning to believe him. Whatever might be true of what he said was certainly not comforting.

"But, while my army comes in search of me, my brother Howrah will be making merry with my palace and belongings. There will be devastation and other things in my army's rear for which there is no need and for which I have no stomach. I detest the thought of them, sahiba.

Therefore, sahiba, I would drive a bargain. Notice, sahiba, I say not one word of love, though love such as mine is has seldom been offered to a woman. I say no word of love--as yet. I say, help me to escape by night, when I may make my way unseen back to my men: enable me to reach Howrah before my dear brother is aware of my trouble and before his men can start plundering, and name your own terms, sahiba!"

Name her own terms--name her own terms--name her own terms! The words dinned through her head and she could grasp no other thought. She was alone in a cell with Jaimihr, and she could get out of it if she would name her terms! She must name them--she must hurry--what were they? What were her terms? She could not think.

"Understand, sahiba. Certain things are sure. It is sure my men will come. It is sure that every Rangar on this rock will meet a very far from pleasant death--"

He grinned, and though she could not see him grin, she knew that he was doing it. She knew that he was even then imagining a hundred horrors that the Rangars would endure before they died. She might name her terms. She could save them.

"No!" she hissed hoa.r.s.ely. "No! They are my terms! I name them! You must spare them--spare the Rangars--spare every man on this hill, and theirs, and all they have!"

"Truly are those thy terms, sahiba?"

"Truly! What others can I ask?"

"They are granted, sahiba!"

"Oh, thank G.o.d!"

She knew that he was speaking at least half the truth. She knew his power. She knew enough of Howrah City's politics to be convinced that he would not be left at the mercy of a little band of Rangars. She knew that there were not enough Rangars on the whole countryside to oppose the army that would surely come to his rescue. And whether he were dead or living, she knew well enough that the vengeance would be wreaked on every living body on the hill. Alwa might feel confident, not she. She trembled now with joy at the thought that she--she the most helpless and useless of all of them--might save the lives of all.

But then another phase of the problem daunted her. She might help Jaimihr go. He might escape un.o.bserved with her aid. But then? What then? What would the Rangars do to her? Had she sufficient courage to face that? It was not fear now that swept over her so much as wonder at herself. Jaimihr detected something different in her mental att.i.tude, and, since almost any change means weakness to the Oriental mind, he was quick to try to take advantage of it. He guessed right at the first attempt.

"And what wilt thou do here, sahiba? When I am gone, and there is none here to love thee--"

"Peace!" she commanded. "Peace! I have suffered enough--"

"Thou wilt suffer more, should the Rangars learn--"

"That is my business! Let me pa.s.s! I have bargained, and I will try to fulfil my part!"

She stepped toward the door, but he held out both his arms and she saw them. She had no intention of being embraced by him, whatever their conspiracy.

"Stand back!" she ordered.

"Nay, nay, sahiba! Listen! Escape with me! These Rangars will not believe without proof that thou hast saved their lives by bargaining.

They will show thee short shrift indeed when my loss is discovered. Come now and I will make thee Maharanee in a week!"

"I would be as safe with one as with the other!" she laughed, something of calm reflection returning to her. "And what proof have I in any case that you will keep your word, Jaimihr-sahib. I will keep mine--but who will keep yours, that has been so often broken?"

"Sahiba--"

"Show me a proof!"

"Here--now--in this place?"

"Convince me, if you can! I will give myself willingly if I can save my father by it and these Rangars and Mr. Cunningham; but your bare word, Jaimihr-sahib, is worth that!"

She snapped her fingers, and he swore beneath his breath. Then he remembered his ambition and his present need, and words raced to his aid--words, plans, oaths, treachery, and all the hundred and one tricks that he was used to. He found himself consciously selecting from a dozen different plans for tricking her.

"Sahiba"--he spoke slowly and convincingly. In the gloom she could see his brown eyes levelled straight at hers, and she saw they did not flinch--"there is none who knows better than thou knowest how my brother and I stand to each other." She shuddered at the reiterated second person singular, but he either did not notice it or else affected not to. "Thou know est that there is no love between him and me, and that I would have his throne. The British could set me on that throne unless they were first overwhelmed. Wert thou my legal wife, and were I to aid the British in this minute of their need, they would not be overwhelmed, and afterward they would surely set me on the throne. Therefore I pledge my word to lead my men to the Company's aid, provided that these Rangars ride to my aid. My brother plans to overcome me first, and then take arms against the British. If the Rangars come to help me I will ride with them to the Company's aid afterward. That is my given word!"

"Then the throne of Howrah is your price, Jaimihr-sahib?"

"Thou art the price and the prize, sahiba! For thee I would win the throne!"

She actually laughed, and he winced palpably. There was no doubt that he loved her after a manner of his own, and her contempt hurt him.

"I have said all I can say," he told her. "I have promised all I can promise. What more is there to say or offer? If I stay here, I swear on the honor of a Rajput and a prince of royal blood, that every living man and woman on this rock, excepting thee only, shall be dead within a week. But if I escape by thy aid, and if, at thy instance, these Rangars and their friends ride to my help against my brother, then I will throw all my weight--men and influence--in the scale on the British side."

"And--?"

"And thou shalt be Maharanee!"

"Never!"

"But in case that the British should be beaten before we reach them, then, sahiba! Then in case of thy need!"