Tippoo Sultaun: A tale of the Mysore war. Taylor Meadows

as indeed it was, and readily assisted to bind it up.

      She was very near him, and it was exquisite pleasure to feel her gentle touch upon his shoulder, as she assisted to hold the bandages which the Khan passed round his chest; he fancied too that once her glance met his, and he could not help trying to catch it again: he succeeded at last, through the veil. Her lustrous dark eyes flashed very brightly; he could not see their expression, but it was certain to him that they had sought his own, and met them.

      ‘We want still another handkerchief, or something, to tie over all,’ said the Khan when he had finished; ‘hast thou one, Ameena?’

      ‘I have—here it is,’ she replied; ungirding one from around her waist. ‘The Meer Sahib is welcome to it.’

      ‘I owe a thousand obligations,’ returned Kasim; ‘if I were your brother you could not have done more for me: how unworthy am I to receive such attention—I who am but your servant!’

      ‘Do not say so,’ cried both at once; ‘thou art far more than this to us.’

      ‘Ah!’ thought Kasim, ‘I am but a moth playing around a lamp, tempted by bright and dazzling light, and hardly as yet warned. I am a fool to think on her; but can I ever forget her face as she stood yonder and cheered me by her presence?—the second time I have seen it, but perhaps not the last.’ The Khan roused him from his reverie.

      ‘Lie down,’ he said; ‘there will be the less flow of blood.’

      Kasim obeyed readily; for the same fair hands that had helped to bind his wound had also spread a soft mattress for him, and placed a pillow for his head. Perhaps the loss of blood had affected him a little, for in a few moments he felt drowsy and gradually fell asleep; and Ameena sate watching him at a little distance, for the Khan had gone to see what had been done with the bodies of those who had fallen.

      But, as is often the case after violent excitement, his sleep, though at first heavy and profound, did not long continue thus. Perhaps too the wound pained him, for he was restless, and moved impatiently from side to side.

      The Khan was long absent, and Ameena still kept her watch; she might have withdrawn, yet there was something so exciting and novel to her in her position—it was a source of such quiet delight to her to watch the features of him who had saved her life, and now had been wounded in her defence—and she was so thickly veiled that he could not see her even were he awake—that she remained.

      Rapidly her mind brought before her the events of the last few days. Her own young life in the world had hardly begun, and yet more dangers had been present to her than she had ever pictured to herself, rife as her imagination had been upon the subject when she left her home. She had been already rescued from death, now perhaps from violence; and he who had been the sole instrument of her protection in the one case, and who had fought under her own eyes in the second, lay before her. She had hardly heard him speak, yet she thought she could remember every word he had spoken; and then came vividly to her remembrance the glance, the earnest hurried glance, which told her would have dwelt longer had it dared. And as she remembered this, her heart fluttered under sensations very new and almost painful to her; she could not define them—but involuntarily she drew nearer to the sleeping youth and watched the more.

      She saw his brow contracted as if with pain; and, as he every now and then stirred and the light fell on his features, she could observe his lips move as though he spoke, but she could not catch a word. For a few minutes it was thus, but at last he spoke interruptedly; it was of war, of the fight he had lately been engaged in; and she could distinguish a few words, defiance to the marauders, encouragement to the men around. Then there was another pause, and he slept peacefully, even as a child. ‘May he rest safely, O Alla!’ she said.

      But again he dreamed; sounds escaped him—low mutterings which were undistinguishable; she bent her ear even closer;—she could not hear aught for awhile that she understood, but at length there was one word which made her very soul bound within her, and caused in the moment a feeling of choking and oppression in her throat almost unbearable—‘Ameena!’ it was repeated twice distinctly, yet very softly.

      ‘Holy Alla! he knows my name!’ she said mentally; ‘he thinks of me—I am present to his sleeping fancies amidst war and turmoil which still pursue him. How could he have heard my name?’

      But the voice of the Khan was heard at some little distance, and interrupted her chain of questions. ‘He must not find me here,’ she thought, rising hastily, and gently stealing from the spot into the place which had been screened off for her occupation. Indeed for the last few moments hidden thoughts had suddenly sprung forth, and she could hardly await unconcernedly, beside the sleeping youth, him who now sought her.

      The Khan passed Kasim. ‘He sleeps well,’ he said to Daood, who was with him; ‘hath any one watched by him?’

      ‘No one, Khodawund: the men were all with my lord.’

      ‘That was ill; one of ye should have remained; where is that idle cook? he hath no need of rest; let him sit up here, if he can keep his eyes open; and do ye all take what sleep ye can, for we shall start, Inshalla! ere noon to-morrow.’

      ‘You are to remain with Kasim Sahib,’ said Daood to the cook, rousing him, ‘and not to stir till morning breaks, or he awakes—dost thou hear?’

      ‘I do, good Daood; but methinks thou mightest sit with me too, seeing that it is near morning. By thy beard, I do not like being alone.’

      ‘O coward! thou art not alone; see, thou hast the hero of the night lying beside thee—one who has slain some men since he last ate; whereas thou hast not even slain a fowl. I tell thee there is no danger: yonder is my bedding—I shall not be far off if thou wantest me.’

      Soon all was silent around, even the village dogs had ceased to bark; the clamour of women and of crying frightened children had subsided; and, except the watchfires in several parts, which threw up their strong red glare against the sky, around which most of the villagers were assembled in groups, nothing indicated that any conflict or alarm had taken place. Scattered about, the Khan’s attendants and servants lay wrapped in their sheets in deep sleep. The horses even, apparently secure of rest, had lain down, and all was still, except one of the horses which had been captured, which every now and then sent up a shrill neigh that sounded far and near in the stillness of the night. But above, on the tower, the Patél and several of his best men still kept watch.

      Kasim slept still restlessly, and often sighed and muttered in his sleep. ‘His thoughts are with the battle,’ thought Zoolficar; ‘they say it was a brave sight to see the Mahrattas go down one by one before his aim: he shot them as he would deer in the jungle—may their mothers be polluted! Alla! Alla! guide us safely now; this is the third alarm we have had in this accursed country—but hark! What was that he said?—Ameena! again Ameena!—the Khanum—why should he dream of her? Poor youth, he would have been a fitter mate for her than that man of camps and battles. But it may not be of her he dreams—perhaps he has some one he loves of the same name. Ay, it is very likely; so dream on, Meer Sahib, may thy slumbers be lighter!’

      But they were not; after little more than an hour’s restless slumber, he awoke, and found the worthy functionary by his side.

      ‘How! thou here, Zoolfoo! art thou not sleepy?’

      ‘It was my lord’s order that I should watch you, noble sir, and I only obey it. Methinks you have rested but indifferently, for your sleep has been disturbed, and you have been speaking.’

      ‘Ah well, I have but few secrets,’ he said gaily, ‘so I fear not for the words; and in truth this cut is rather painful, and too tightly bandaged. See if thou canst find a barber, Zoolfoo; I will have these straps undone.’

      ‘If my lord will trust me,’ replied Zoolfoo, ‘I will ease his pain. Ere I was a cook I was a barber; and Hyderabad is not an indifferent place to learn how to dress wounds. Mashalla! our young men are rare hands at street brawls.’

      ‘Well, do thy best—at this hour it will be hard to find any one.’

      Zoolfoo