"Possibly Ananda has joined his father," suggested Bopaul, who refused absolutely to believe in the theory of suicide.
"Not he! The stick fell too long and too heavily—for we all took turns—to leave him with strength or spirit to run away again. After we had finished with him he could not stand."
Bopaul turned away; he was disgusted with the openly expressed brutality of the speaker; and he was profoundly sorry for his friend. All along he had feared that something of this kind would occur. The ways of caste families were familiar to him. His own people would have pursued the same course had he become an apostate from Hinduism. He stopped to ask another question.
"You are sure that he was unable to leave the compound after——" he paused, unable to frame the expression. The other understood.
"Quite certain; the man was too sore to put one foot before the other," he replied with a hard laugh.
"How do you suppose he got to the well?"
"On his hands and knees, of course."
"And the widow ceremonies will take place three days hence?"
"Without fail, knowing how set upon the business Sooba is."
Bopaul walked back to his sister deep in thought. The news troubled him. He was helpless in the matter, and could do nothing. He wished that he had brought more pressure to bear upon his friend when the offer came from Alderbury. That was a golden opportunity missed that was not likely to occur again—always supposing that Ananda was still alive. That he was dead, and by his own hand, was impossible of belief the longer he considered it.