The old man stopped short, crouching down by the balustrade, listening, his eyes shining in the dim twilight; but no other sound was heard, and he rose quickly, ran softly down, and with trembling hands opened the door.
Mr Girtle came slowly out, looking sad and depressed, and laid his hand upon the Indian’s shoulder.
“You mean to watch, then,” he said.
The Indian nodded quickly, his eyes gazing searchingly at the lawyer the while.
“Are you going in, or here?”
“My place was at the Sahib’s door.”
“Good!” said the solicitor, bowing his head; and he returned to the drawing-room, Ramo watching him suspiciously till the door closed.
As he stood there, the dusky tint of the robe he now wore seemed to lend itself to the surrounding gloom, being almost invisible against the portal, as he remained there with his fingers nervously quivering, and his face drawn by the agitation of his breast.
He shook his head violently the next moment, clasped his hands together, and sank down once more upon the lion-skin mat, bent to the very floor, more like some rounded mass than a human being: while the great centaur was indistinctly seen, with his raised club, as if about to repeat the blow that had crushed the old Indian into a motionless heap.