“I am very glad, Captain Wyatt,” he said in conclusion, “and I want you to accept the little present I have brought in honour of the occasion.”
“Oh, there was no need for that, sir,” said Wyatt roughly.
“But I think there is, and I hope you will not refuse it.—Mr Darrell, will you unroll it and give it to your friend for me?”
“Of course, sir,” replied the lad; and his heart beat with something like envy as he unrolled a beautiful Lahore shawl and took out a magnificent, carved tulwar, whose hilt was of silver inlaid with delicate traceries of gold, while the scabbard was deadened silver, ringed with gold and ornamented with emeralds.
“Oh!” cried Wyatt, “this is far too rich an ornament for me, sir. I beg you will not press me to keep it.”
“But I do press it,” said the Rajah warmly. “It is no ornament. Take it and draw the blade.”
Wyatt obeyed, and as he looked down he saw that indeed it was no ornament, but a deadly weapon, with a magnificent damascened blade, and keen as a razor.
“It is light in the hand, and a stroke from that would lay one of my enemies dead at your feet. Keep it for my sake. I may want you to defend me again.”
“I’ll keep it, Rajah,” said Wyatt, sheathing the beautiful weapon; “but I would have fought for you just as well without it.”
“I know that,” replied the Rajah. “Now take me in to see Captain Hulton and my friend the doctor. I am truly glad that they are recovering from their wounds.”
Wyatt led the way to Hulton’s room, bearing with him his present; and when the Rajah at last took his leave, he attended him to his elephant, and then, with the sword still in his hand, walked beside him to the gate, afterwards taking the weapon into Dick’s room, where the two carefully examined it and had a long talk about the beauty of the gift.
“Yes, on state occasions, for show. It would be no use to me on service. I should never get used to such a hilt. The grip is too small, but it would be just the thing for you. I’ve a good mind to give it to you.”
“You can’t,” said Dick. “It would be unfair to the donor.”
“Humph! yes, I suppose so. Well, I could lend it to you; there would be no harm in that. It just fits your girlish hand. There, hang it up.”
“Any one of the niggers who are always hanging about the gateway. I often feel a bit nervous about my gun and other tackle. Let’s hang it up here over the other things. It will help to make quite a trophy.”