"Hail!"
His voice had echoed into silence before Nehal Singh moved. Then he
lifted his hand in greeting.
"Hail, Englishman!"
"You know me," Nicholson went on, drawing nearer. "I am Nicholson,
Captain Nicholson of the--Gurkhas."
"I do not know you." There was a pitiless finality in the few words
and in the gesture which accompanied them.
Nicholson lifted his head to the light.
"Nehal Singh, you lie. I was and am your friend."
He heard a stir behind him, and his instinct, doubly sharpened, felt
how a dozen hands had flown to their weapons. Then again there was
silence. His eyes had not flinched in their challenge.
"I have no friends among traitors and cowards."
The insult left Nicholson calm. Something in the tone in which the
words were uttered, something that rang more like a broken-hearted
despair than contempt, touched him profoundly.
"Thou hast the power to say so, Rajah," he answered quietly. "I am
alone and unarmed."
The reproach went home to its mark. He saw the Rajah's hand tighten on
the sword-hilt and a deeper shadow pass over the handsome features.
"Thou art right," Nehal Singh said. "I have misused my power, and that
I will not do. Whilst thou art here thou needst fear neither insult
nor danger."
"I fear neither," was the answer. A bitter, scornful smile lifted the
corners of the set lips.
"So thou sayest." Then, with a gesture of impatience, he went on:
"Thou hast sought me here, and it is well.
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