“Surely, sahiba.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it on my honor.  There is no more sacred oath.”

“Then, listen.  I can help you to escape now.  I have a rope that is long enough to lower you over the parapet.  I am prepared to risk the consequences, but I want to bargain with you for aid for my Countrymen.”

Jaimihr did not answer.

“The Alwa-sahib and his Rangars stand pledged to help your brother!”

“I guessed at least that much,” laughed Jaimihr.

“They would not help you against him under any circumstances.  But they want to ride to the Company’s aid, and they might be prepared to protect you against him.  They might guarantee the safety of your palace and your men’s homes.  They might exact a guarantee from Howrah.”

Jaimihr laughed aloud, careless of the risk of being overheard, and Rosemary knew that Cunningham’s little plan was useless even before it had been quite expounded.  She felt herself trembling for the consequences.

“Sahiba, there is only one condition that would make me ride to the British aid with all my men.”

“Name it!”

“Thou art it!”

“I don’t understand you, Jaimihr-sahib,” she whispered, understanding all too well.

“Follow me.  Come to me in Howrah.  Then whatever these fool Rangars choose to do, I swear by Siva and the Rites of Siva that I will hurry to the Company’s aid!”

Rosemary McClean shuddered, and he knew it.  But that fact rather added to his pleasure.  The wolf prefers a cowering, frightened prey even though he dare fight on occasion.  She was thinking against time.  Through that one small, overburdened head, besides a splitting headache, there was flashing the ghastly thought of what was happening to her countrymen and women—­of what would happen unless she hurried to do something for their aid.  All the burden of all warring India seemed to be resting on her shoulders, in a stifling cell; and Jaimihr seemed to be the only help in sight.

“How many men could you summon to the Company’s aid?” she asked him.

He laughed.  “Ten thousand!” he boasted.

“Armed and drilled men—­soldiers fit to fight?”

“Surely.”

“I think that is a lie, Jaimihr-sahib.  There is not time enough to waste on lies.  Tell me the exact truth, please.”

He contrived to save his face, or, rather, he contrived to make himself believe he did.

“I would need some to guard my rear,” he answered.  “I could lead five thousand to the British aid.”

“Is that the truth?”

“On my honor, sahiba.”

“And you wish to marry me?”

“Sahiba—­I—­I have no other wish!”

“I agree to marry you provided you will lead five thousand men to the Company’s aid, but not until you have done so.”

“You will come to Howrah?”

She could feel his excitement.  The cell walls seemed to throb.