"It is I, mem-sahib," answered Sher Afzul, her Punjaubi Mahommedan butler. He had been in her service for five years and was devoted to her and hers. He was carrying a rifle, for his master at his request had long ago given him arms to protect his mem-sahib. Before her marriage he had once fought almost to the death to defend her when her brother's bungalow had been attacked by rebels during a rising.
"It would be well to go into the house and put out the lights, mem-sahib," he said quietly in Hindustani. "There is danger to-night."
As he spoke he extinguished the lamp on the verandah and closed the doors of the house. A second armed servant came quietly on to the verandah and the butler melted into the darkness of the garden; but they heard him go to the gate as if to guard it.
"You had better go inside, Muriel," said Mrs. Dermot, but made no move to do so herself.
The girl did not appear to hear her. She was listening intently for any sound from the Fort. But silence had fallen on it.
"Muriel, won't you go into the house?" repeated her hostess.
"Eh? What? No, I couldn't. I must stay here," replied Miss Benson impatiently. In the black darkness the other woman could not see her; but she felt that the girl's every sense was alert and strained to the utmost. She moved to her and put her arm about her. Against it she could feel Muriel's heart beating violently.
Suddenly from the Fort came the noise of heavy blows and a crash, instantly followed by a shot and then fierce cries.
"Oh, my God! What is happening?" murmured the girl, her hand on her heart.
Presently there came the sound of running feet, and heavy boots clattered up the rocky road towards the Mess past the gate.