The Risaldar bowed low again.

“I would speak with that ayah, heavenborn!” he muttered, almost into his beard.  She could hardly catch the words.

“I can’t get her to speak to me at all tonight, Mahommed Khan.  She’s terrified almost out of her life at something.  But perhaps you can do better.  Try.  Do you want to question her alone?”

“By the heavenborn’s favor, yes.”

Ruth walked down the room toward the window, drew the curtain back and leaned her head out where whatever breeze there was might fan her cheek.  The Risaldar strode over to where the ayah cowered by an inner doorway.

“She-Hindu-dog!” he growled at her.  “Mother of whelps!  Louse-ridden scavenger of sweepings!  What part hast thou in all this treachery?  Speak!”

The ayah shrank away from him and tried to scream, but he gripped her by the throat and shook her.

“Speak!” he growled again.

But his ten iron fingers held her in a vise-like grip and she could not have answered him if she had tried to.

“O Risaldar!” called Ruth suddenly, with her head still out of the window.  He released the ayah and let her tumble as she pleased into a heap.

“Heavenborn?”

“What is that red glow on the skyline over yonder?”

“A burning, heavenborn!”

“A burning?  What burning?  Funeral pyres?  It’s very big for funeral pyres!”

“Nay, heavenborn!”

“What, then?”

She was still unfrightened, unsuspicious of the untoward.  The Risaldar’s arrival on the scene had quite restored her confidence and she felt content to ride with him to Jundhra on the morrow.

“Barracks, heavenborn!”

“Barracks?  What barracks?”

“There is but one barracks between here and Jundhra.”

“Then—­then—­then—­what has happened, Mahommed Khan?”

“The worst has happened, heavenborn!”

He stood between her and the ayah, so that she could not see the woman huddled on the floor.

“The worst?  You mean then—­my—­my—­husband—­you don’t mean that my husband—­”

“I mean, heavenborn that there is insurrection!  All India is ablaze from end to end.  These dogs here in Hanadra wait to rise because they think the section will return here in an hour or two; then they propose to burn it, men, guns and horses, like snakes in the summer grass.  It is well that the section will not return!  We will ride out safely before morning!”

“And, my husband—­he knew—­all this—­before he left me here?”

“Nay!  That he did not!  Had I told him, he had disobeyed his orders and shamed his service; he is young yet, and a hothead!  He will be far along the road to Jundhra before he knows what burns.  And then he will remember that he trusts me and obey orders and press on!”

“And you knew and did not tell him!”

“Of a truth I knew!”