Less than an hour was occupied in passing the four miles which brought him back to the ruined temple, where he parted with his friends when he went forth to ransom them.
"Can anything have happened to them?" he asked himself, drawing near and conscious of the same vague uneasiness that had troubled him more than once since he saw them.
When he left Ghoojur camp, it was with no thought of stopping at the ruins, but now when they loomed up in the moonlight the desire to enter was irresistible. He strode across the plain until he stood in front of the shaded entrance, through which he, Dr. Avery and Harkins had fled in such hot haste before the pursuing Ghoojurs. The silence of death rested upon them, and the hot air did not rustle a leaf.
"They have gone," reflected Luchman, walking slowly through the arched way; "that which resistance could not do has been done by the Star of India. They have been led out of the valley of death and Heaven will deliver them from further trouble."
His soft footstep gave out a faint echo as he walked toward the interior. A few seconds took him to the larger apartment, where most of the time had been spent by the besieged. The interior was dark, and he guided himself by the sense of feeling.
He pronounced the names of the missionary and Dr. Avery, but there was no answer, as he did not expect there would be. However, as he carried a small box of lucifer matches, brought all the way from Calcutta, he struck one and held it above his head.
The apartment was empty, the prostrate idol lying where it had been overturned by the visitors. There was hardly a sign that the place had been trodden by human feet for a hundred years.
By the aid of the flickering light, Luchman looked at the door opening into the other room—the tomb of George Harkins.
Should he enter that?
Not often did Luchman waver, for he was quick to make up his mind on any matter; but he now hesitated.