Though loth to delay, Gilbert could not very well refuse. It was still quite early, and it would not take more than half-an-hour to reach Pokharia. The khansamah was already laying the table on the verandah, and preparing chottâ hazari.[10] Mr. Macgregor was impatient, for he was very angry. These continual raids of the Dacoits, though they did not personally attack him, kept the whole country in a state of turmoil. He was a large tea-planter, a widower, and Vansie, the girl we have just introduced to our readers, was his only child. She was tall and lithe, only sixteen years of age, and yet she was a perfect woman, with a delicate olive complexion, of that peculiar whiteness consequent upon the climate. Her features were straight and delicate, the lips well cut and marvellously red; her eyes were dark, with a certain languor in them, made more so by the long curled eyelashes, and delicately-pencilled eyebrows. Gilbert thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.
"Why do you go to Pokharia; the men are sure to have escaped, and we know Hari Rām is far away by this time," she said to her father.
"That's not so certain," he answered; "he's pretty daring, and is as likely as not to remain in the neighbourhood out of bravado."
Vansie pouted.
"Well, I think it's a horrid thing to be chasing a man who, after all, does us no harm."
"Do you call it doing no harm attacking the superintendent?" said her father. "Nonsense, Vansie; it's ridiculous for you to stand up for a thief and a robber!"
The girl moved away from the table, with a smile on her lips.
"Well, one thing is certain: you're not likely to catch him," she said. "I'll go and order the rooms to be got ready for the gentleman," and nodding to Gilbert as if they were old friends, she entered the house.
At that moment the horses came round.
"If you're ready we'll start at once," said Mr. Macgregor. "But you have not yet told me your name."