So, swiftly, the prayers went on, and old Akbar paused in his rockings to say "Amen" with the others. He had learnt thus much in these latter days of grace.
The last one came as a step resounded down the passage; Lance Carlyon's step as he sought the light he had seen--sought his Captain. He seemed to bring a breath of fresh air into the passion-laden atmosphere, a solid reality into the shadows.
"Vincent!" he cried, as he caught sight of the scarlet and gold. "Thank God! you're here. The troopers have seized the Fort--" He paused suddenly, horror-struck at what had caught his eye. "I beg your pardon--I didn't know--is she--is she--hurt?--"
Vincent stood up suddenly. "Hush! that has nothing to do with it. Leave that to me. The troopers have risen? When?"
Lance, with his eyes still on that pitiful sight, shook his head.
"There was a pistol-shot--you must have heard it!"
"Heard it!" echoed Vincent, wildly. "Yes! I heard it. Go on! What then?"
"I don't know--I know nothing in this infernal nightmare that's got hold of us all!" cried Lance. "I only know that if we don't get to the gaol before they do--they've gone to set the prisoners free--there will be the devil of a row. So you must come at once, Vincent--you must come at once!"
Captain Dering gave an irresolute look at the dying girl. She had saved his life--he loved her--could he leave her? Was anything worth that sacrifice?
"You must go!" said a stern voice. It was Father Ninian's, who had taken Vincent's place and was now holding Laila in his arms. "You must go, Captain Dering, and prevent worse from befalling; if you can--if you can!" There was almost a triumph in his voice.