'Lateef! Help!' moaned Khôjee, who was clinging frantically, uselessly, to one corner of the lone white veil. 'She is mad! the ring!--I had to dress--and she too---for the Lord-sahib--and it was not there! I told you how it would be--it is the ring!'
An awful laugh echoed through the courtyard.
'Yea! the ring! the ring!' repeated Noormahal mockingly. 'Sa'adut's ring--the Ring of Kingship. Liar! Lo! I could kill thee for the lie. It is not there--Noormahal! Mother of Kings, dost hear? It is not there--it was not there when I went to find it.'
There was self-pity, amazement, now, in the voice which had begun so recklessly, and Jack Raymond--watching the figure with every nerve and muscle tense for action--breathed a quick breath of relief; for self-pity meant almost the only hope of averting the mad leap there was so little chance of preventing.
But Lateefa's high voice followed sharply, almost exultingly--
'What then?' he cried, 'when I have it safe! Yea! Mother of Kings! The ring is safe. I swear it. I have it yonder in the bazaar--in the Nawâb's house--I----'
He paused, compelled to silence by her face, by the outstretched hand which, falling from its appeal to high Heaven, pointed its finger at him accusingly.
'Dost hear him?' she asked mincingly, and Jack Raymond instinctively moved a step nearer. 'He, the pandar, hath the ring safe; safe in the bazaar; safe in the Nawâb's house; safe for the Nawâb's bride----'
'Look out!' shouted Jack Raymond, dashing forward, for he knew what that thought would bring.
But he was too late. With one cry of 'Liars,' one horrid laugh, the slender white figure leaped into the air, the veil--detained uselessly in Khôjee's helpless hold--falling from the small sleek head; and the Nawâbin Noormahal, the Light-of-Palaces, went down as she had stood, mocking, defiant, into the depth of the well; the last thing seen of her, those wild appealing hands.