'Hoosanee!' That was the rajah's voice.
'Master,' he cried piteously. 'Are you safe?'
'I am safe. Take this burden from me!'
It was the form, to all appearance lifeless, of a woman. Hoosanee received it into his arms and, followed by Tom and Ganesh, who were nearly exhausted, carried it into the hut and laid it down on the charpoy.
'Light my lamp!' said Tom. 'Now,' he went on, 'go out, both of you, and wait for me.'
They obeyed, and he was left alone with the lifeless form. The face was covered with a veil. He lifted it and gazed down. Yes, it was Vivien Doncaster. Vivien herself—the soft brow—the smiling lips—the merry dimples! The horror of death, which had been swift and sudden, had changed her no more than the horror of guilt in which she had steeped herself. Fair, sweet, innocent, like a sleeping child, she lay before him on the pillow.
With a shudder he dropped the veil. 'Farewell, beautiful witch,' he murmured: 'we meet for the last time. That it was not left to me to kill you, I thank God; but I would not, if I could, bring you back to the life which you have so miserably abused. Farewell! As you lived, so you die—a torment and a mystery.'
As he spoke, he took a letter from his pocket, twisted it into a match, and, having kindled it at the lamp, deliberately set fire to the charpoy in two or three places.
Looking up then, he saw Hoosanee beside him. 'What is it?' he said angrily. 'I thought I told you to remain outside.'
'Master,' answered Hoosanee, 'the English soldiers are coming in through the breach. If we do not wish to die, we must stand aside until you can see the General.'