anis back in a twinkling, surcharged with
voluble valour and explanations. Resistance was useless. Moreover, to
the fanatic, death is the one great gift. With stoical indifference
the man found himself overpowered and disarmed. Zealous villagers,
unrolling turbans and kummerbunds, made fast his arms, bound him
securely about the waist and neck, and in this ignominious fashion led
him back to where Evelyn Desmond lay untroubled and alone.

The jhampanis shouldered their burden once more; and fell to
discussing, in lively detail, the hanging and subsequent burning that
awaited the Taker of Life, who walked unconcernedly in their midst.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

C'ETAIT MA VIE.

"C'etait toute petite, ma vie:
Mais c'etait ma vie."
--ANATOLE FRANCE.

"Honor, come out! I want you."

Desmond's voice, followed by a peremptory rap on the door, startled
the girl back to a realisation of the flight of time. The sun had set,
and a grey light filled the room. Without a passing thought of the
tears upon her face, she lowered the bolt and confronted Evelyn's
husband.

"Ladybird isn't back yet," he said quickly. "It'll be dark in ten
minutes. I _must_ know where she went to, and go after her myself."

Honor bit her lip. To tell him at such a moment would be madness; yet
he was in an ill mood to oppose.

"Can't you send the orderly?" she asked, with something less than her
wonted assurance.

"No. I am going myself. This is no time to fuss over trifles.
Something may have gone wrong----"

"Hush,--listen! What's that?"

The shuffling and grunting of jhampanis, and the thud of the lowered
dandy, were distinctly audible in the stillness.

"There she is!" Desmond said eagerly; and a moment later the blood in
his veins was chilled by a long-drawn wail from the verandah.
"Hai--hai--_mere Memsahib murgya!_"[33]

[33] My mistress is dead.

Before the cry had spent itself he was through the "chick," down the
verandah steps at a bound, and bending over his unconscious wife. Her
head had dropped down to one shoulder, and on the other ominous stains
showed darkly in the half light.

"Great God--_murder!_" Desmond muttered between his teeth. "What
devil's work is this?" he added, turning upon the cowering jhampanis.

"Ghazi, Sahib; Ghazi," they told him in eager chorus, with a childish
mingling of excitement and terror; and would fain have enlarged upon
their own valour in pursuing the Taker of L