The House of the Falcon
were nearing the outbuildings where the palace stables were located. Figures of natives gave back respectfully at her approach. She heard voices, in the darkness, almost drowned by the rising wind.
A lantern, held by a bearded Kashmiri, flashed in her face. She could no longer make out the form of the orderly, and paused, uncertain. The rumble of wheels sounded in front of her.
Two horses trotted out of the gloom. The lantern flickered away from the girl, not before she had seen the bulk of a wagon and the white tunic of its driver.
Then powerful hands grasped her from behind. She was lifted bodily from the ground. A deep voice grunted a command, at her ear.
Other hands groped for her from above. Startled, the girl cried out.
"Rawul Singh!" And again: "Rawul Singh!"
There was no answer. The wind had ceased abruptly, and the night was still. Edith felt herself drawn into the vehicle. She struggled, knowing that this could not be the Fraser-Carnie carriage. A hand, rough and odorous, pressed over her mouth, and she was laid swiftly on some yielding substance.
Again the voice spoke angrily. A whip flapped. Edith was conscious that the wagon lurched forward, gathering speed. She heard the beat of hoofs, and struggled again, violently, in the hands that held her.
The cart shook from side to side. Edith was dumbly surprised that it should be so dark—until she heard tree branches brush over a covering of some kind, near her head. Her blunted senses told her that she was held firmly, a man's powerful knee prisoning her legs.
By now the wagon must have attained swift headway. It jolted and bounced painfully.
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