"Afzul!" The old martinet's face grew dark. "The only Afzul I knew was a runaway and a deserter. Art thou he?"
"Ay! Khân _sahib_," replied the man calmly. "I ran away because I had sold my life to Marsden _sahib_, and I wanted to buy it back again. I have done it, and I am free."
"Marsden _sahib!_ 'Tis long since I heard that name. Allah be with the brave! Pity there was none to stand between him and death as on that day when my son died."
"Thou liest, Khân _sahib_. I stood in my brother's place. Marsden _sahib_ is not dead. I left him three days ago at Saudaghur."
"Not dead? This is a tale! A prisoner no doubt. _Inshallah!_ my blood scents something worth words. Here, Fâtma, take the child; or, stay, it's best he should hear too. Such things sink through the skin and strengthen the heart. And bring food, woman, what thou hast, and no excuses. A brave man stomachs all save insult."
So, with the child on his knee, the old soldier listened to Afzul Khân's story, while in the dark room beyond the women positively shed tears of shame over the poor appearance which the plain _bajra_,[6] cakes, unsweetened, unbuttered, presented on the big brass platter.
"There is the boy's curdled milk," suggested his sad-faced mother. "He will not mind for a day."
"Peace, unnatural!" scolded the grandmother. "The boy's milk, forsooth! What next? Women nowadays have no heart. A strange man, and the boy's milk forsooth!"
Haiyât _bibi_ blushed under her brown skin. Hers was a hard life with her husband far over the black water, and this stern old man and woman for gaolers. But the boy was hers; she hugged that knowledge to her heart and it comforted her.
The evening drew in, the child dozed off to sleep, but not one jot or tittle of adventure was to be passed over in silence. "_Inshallah!_ but thou didst well!" "God send the traitors to hell!" "Ay! Marsden _sahib_ was ever the bravest of the brave!" These and many another exclamation testified to the old campaigner's keen interest. But when Afzul began tentatively to question him about the blue envelope, the light died from the hollow eyes. Raby _sahib?_ Nay, he knew nought, save that the people said it was the _mem-sahib's_ money he was spending in this new talk of indigo and what not. He wished them no ill, but Murghub Ahmad, far away in the Andamans, had saved the _mem_ from insult,--perhaps worse--and she had given evidence against him in the trial. He wished no man ill, but if what the people said was true, and Raby _sahib's_ new dam would prevent the river from doing its duty, then it would be a different matter. Ay! the new factory was but ten miles up the river, but no one lived there as yet.