He had turned towards me, and in the moonlight I could see those clear eyes of his shining as if the light had come into them again.
"Not yet, Huzoor! But it may be the next one for all we know."
What a gruesome idea! Hark! There it was again; loud, louder, loudest, and then silence.
"That came from the city, Huzoor. It comes and goes often, for the law-courts have it in grip. Perhaps that is worse than Death."
"Then you recognise footsteps?"
"Surely. No two men walk the same; a footstep is as a face. Sometimes after long years it comes back, and then you know it has passed before."
"Do they generally come back?"
"Those from the city go back sooner or later unless Death takes them. Those from the wilderness do not always return. The city holds them fast, in the palace or in the gutter."
Again the voice seemed to me not to belong to the still figure beside me. "It makes a devilish noise, I admit," I said, half to myself; "but--"
"Perhaps if the Huzoor listened for Death as I do he might keep awake. Or perhaps if my lord pleases I might tell him a story of footsteps to drive the idle dreams from his brain till the hour of that snorting demon comes in due time?"