During one of these intervals the door opened, and a Mohammedan sepoy entered bearing a little bread and a brass vessel containing water.

Tynan devoured these to the last drop and crumb.

"Who are you?" he asked the man. "Tell me, where am I?"

The sepoy answered not a word and left the room. The food and drink had done the ensign good, brain and body becoming more brisk. He rose groaning from the bed and tried the door. It was locked, and he understood at last that he was a prisoner. A tremor ran down his back, and he felt cold, though the room was like a hothouse. A captive among the mutineers! Horrible prospect! But why should they have brought him here? he asked himself. Why not have straightway killed him? Could it be that they meant to torture him? The wretched boy groaned aloud, and in a frenzy of rage and despair kicked and beat the door, though every blow was anguish.

He had not long to wait. Muhammed Baksh, his host, called angrily to Ghulam Beg, the silent waiter, and together they entered the room and began to belabour the unlucky ensign with long bamboo canes.

Tynan fiercely sprang at his assailants, but being in no condition to do battle, he was soon driven ignominiously into a corner, where he cowered and shrieked for mercy. One of his tormentors pointed to the bed; Tynan crawled upon it, and without having spoken a word the two quitted the room.

Again the boy rose and dragged himself towards the window, where his last spark of hope died out. The shutters were clamped down, and even had he been fit and strong he could not have removed them without the aid of tools. He sank down upon the charpoy, a prey to the most realistic horrors that could be conjured up by a dull imagination. How long he lay there, miserable in mind and aching all over, he knew not.

It seemed that whole days must have passed before the silent Ghulam Beg brought in a meagre supper. Worn-out nature then reasserted itself; as he lay on the bed his aching head seemed to grow larger and larger, filling all the room, and soon he was lost to consciousness.

Aroused by the entrance of his breakfast of chupattis and water, he implored the sepoy to speak to him and let him know his fate. But the man might have been a mute. Without a word, or gesture, or sign of comprehension Ghulam Beg left the prison-chamber, and another day of horror was passed, and a night in which blessed sleep almost forsook the captive boy.

The sound of a key creaking in the rusty lock aroused him, and he rose to his feet as the sepoy attendant brought in the unappetizing fare.

Behind him Pir Baksh stalked in, his arm in a sling, his cruel eyes leering horribly as he gazed upon his victim.

"I trust, Ensign Sahib," said he with much politeness, "that my servant has been courteous and attentive, and has not disturbed your repose by chattering too much. I am greatly honoured that the heaven-born should deign to share our humble roof, and I trust that our guest has been comfortable."

The unceasing pain and the solitude had taken most of the spirit out of poor Tynan. Instead of resenting this insolence he implored the brute to tell him what his fate was to be.

"Ungrateful Feringhi!" exclaimed the subadar indignantly. "Not a word of thanks for my hospitality! Art thou aware that I have saved thy life?"

"Indeed, subadar, I thank you," said Tynan humbly.

"And I thank thee," said Pir Baksh, pointing to his injured arm, and continuing:

"Yea, I thank thee for this, and for many an hour of pain. 'Twas a clever trick to blow up the arsenal, but thou didst little think, infidel dog, that there would be a heavy price to pay. Thou didst reject my offer of terms, and all that I have suffered since, aye, and double and treble that, thou shalt know before death shall mercifully release thee."

Tynan trembled in every limb, and weakly replied:

"It was not I who blew up the magazine. I was against the deed. And dost thou not remember, subadar, that I would have surrendered to thee had not the other prevented me?"

"Well, he is dead, and thou shalt pay for the sins of thy brother."

"Nay, spare me, and my father will pay thee well."

A sudden thought seemed to strike the subadar. He reflected for a few moments before answering the appeal.

"Wilt thou swear thou hadst no hand in the explosion?" ha asked, after a pause.

"I will--indeed, I swear it."

"I must needs think it over," said Pir Baksh musingly. He quitted the room, leaving the boy torn by conflicting emotions. The consciousness that he had not played a manly part, the conviction that his rival Ted Russell would never have been so weak, gave a sharper point to his fears and troubles. On the other hand, had he not been given a faint hope of escape? Do not judge the lad too harshly. It was not death alone, but the prospect of torture that had unnerved him; and remember that the pain of his injuries and the workings of his imagination during the past two days of solitary confinement were calculated to break the spirit of any man above the average, and poor Tynan had hardly the makings of a hero in his character. His case was one for pity rather than contempt.

Only those who would have withstood the temptation have the right to despise him utterly, and they would be the last to do so.

His hopes of mercy were misplaced. The amount of that quality nourished in the breast of Pir Baksh would have shamed a famished wolf. The rascal had changed his tone because he recollected that the greater his victim's hopes, the more poignant would his suffering be on finding himself deceived. Next evening he again visited the prisoner, and brought paper, pen, and ink.

"What was that sound of cheering an hour or two ago?" asked Tynan. He had heard the acclamations that had greeted the arrival of the mutinous Guides, and wondered if help had come.

"It means that we have had reinforcements, and that within twelve hours not one of your friends will be alive."

Tynan looked keenly at the speaker as he continued.

"Perhaps there may be one Feringhi left alive in Aurungpore; it depends on thee. I have been thinking it over, and am inclined to save thy life.

We both hate Russell Sahib, and we may prove useful one to another."

The prisoner's heart began to beat more hopefully, and he expressed his thanks towards the callous brute.

"But on conditions," resumed Pir Baksh. "First, I must have five thousand rupees--a promise in writing for that amount."

"You shall have it," said Tynan eagerly. "My father will not grudge it."

The subadar nodded his head solemnly and went on:

"Secondly, thou must write me a _chit_ in English and Urdu, acknowledging that thou dost owe thy life to my mercy and loyalty."

"I will do that, and never shall I forget thy goodness."

"Thou shalt also write that I, Pir Baksh, was loyal to the Kumpani Bahadur, though forced to appear disloyal. That I tried to restrain the sepoys during the attack on the fortress, and to save the lives of the English officers, but was prevented by the rebels, who threatened to kill me as a traitor ... What! Thou dost hesitate?"

Tynan had turned pale. Could he sign that lying document and be himself a traitor? Had not Pir Baksh shot the colonel?

"No, subadar, I cannot do that," he said, with hesitation, not decision.

"Very good, sahib."

The fierce light that came into the eyes of Pir Baksh sent a thrill of despair through Tynan's breast. He began to find excuses. He told himself that the proposed statement would be partly true, for Pir Baksh had offered to spare their lives. He caught at that weak saving-clause, and enlarged upon it until he had almost persuaded himself that he could only be blamed for exaggeration, not for downright lying. Then he remembered how Pir Baksh, by shooting the colonel, had brought the mutiny to pass, and was guilty of all the bloodshed.

The subadar noted his indecision, and said:

"There will be none to contradict, your countrymen are as good as dead."

"I will write as you say," said Tynan slowly, "if you will swear to save my life."

He had decided. He was ready to sign a paper absolving this villain from the reward of his treachery and blood-guiltiness. And the final inducement had been the assurance that the traitor's plot would be crowned with such success that all Tynan's compatriots would be slain.

And this was the man he was ready to hold up as a loyal subject fit to be rewarded for his fidelity!

"By the Prophet's beard I will do my best to save thee," the subadar declared. "We must escape from the town, or I too shall suffer the penalty."

Seizing pen and ink in feverish haste to get it over, Tynan wrote as the Mohammedan directed him. First, the promise to pay five thousand rupees on one sheet of paper, and then a document that might save Pir Baksh from all consequences of mutiny and murder in the event of his capture by the British. When he had finished, his gaoler took the pen and wrote in Urdu at the foot:--

"I, Pir Baksh, subadar of the 193rd B.N.I., do solemnly promise, on my oath as a Moslem, to do my best to effect the escape of Ensign Tynan of the same regiment, a prisoner among the rebels in Aurungpore. Filled with admiration of his courage in risking his life in the execution of his duty by planning and carrying out the blowing up of the magazine, I also risk my life to save his."

"But I've already told you I didn't do that," the ensign protested, as he read the added words. "It was Russell's doing altogether."

"No need to say so, sahib," said Pir Baksh. "He is dead, and so indeed will all the Feringhis be to-morrow, and no one can claim the credit.