CHAPTER XXVIII.
"I DID NOT SAY THAT, SAHIB!"
George Harkins was dead.
Blue eyed Jennie, in far away England, standing in the door of the vine clad cottage and shading her vision with her hand, would look longingly toward the stormy Atlantic, in the hope of seeing that form which when it went away carried her own true heart with it; but never should she see it again. Like the countless multitudes in this sad and sorrowing world, he had gone merrily forth to return nevermore.
Dr. Avery, with the laugh on his lips, shook the massive shoulder, when the body pitched forward upon the face, limp and nerveless. Then his heart stood still with horror and he shuddered to his very soul.
Tenderly raising the head again he found that the pulse had done beating, though the body was still warm.
So brief was the time between the noise which was heard by the party within and the hurrying out of Dr. Avery that Harkins could have been dead only a few minutes. The friend, shocked beyond expression, was bending over the dead body, when the crack of a pistol broke the stillness, followed by a tumbling and tearing of the shrubbery overhead, and then another body slumped down through the vegetation end over end, and struck the floor of the passage way, sprawling in front of the horrified surgeon, who recoiled with a gasp.
"Heaven save me! That is Luchman!"
"No, sahib; here is Luchman!"
The words were spoken by the guide, who dropped as lightly as a feather from the same support whence fell the dead man.