"And his wife?" asked the chief, "Anunda Bye?"
"Seek her at her house," said the man, turning away. "She was not here, nor Radha Bye either. His daughter Tara was here, but no one knows what became of her."
It was enough. The Shastree was dead. Another man who advanced from behind the shrine said the same, and Fazil need ask no more. He looked around—the place was slippery with blood, and dark, except for a dim lamp in the shrine. He looked in,—the altar was bloody, and the image, its rich clothes torn and dabbled in blood, lay beneath, on its back, as it had fallen. The dim ray of the lamp fell upon it, upon a few gold ornaments still about its neck and arms, and upon the weird ruby eyes, that seemed to him to glow with a fiendish expression of malice.
"Evil spirit," he said, turning away, "if thou art in being among the devils, thou art at least helpless to rise, or to avenge thyself—lie there for ever. Why does the blessed Alla suffer thy abomination?"
"Come away," cried Pahar Singh to the young man. "Faugh! the place is evil; come—go not near the Mother, she may hurt thee."
"Do you believe in her?" asked Fazil.
"I fear her," was the reply; "she is very greedy and very terrible: she takes life for life, and more besides. Come—we will see after these women: I know the Shastree's house."
Life for life, and more besides! Those words came back with a strange vividness upon Fazil's memory in after times. Then, they but excited a shudder of regret at the superstition which suggested them.
"O that I had come up here, instead of going below!" said Fazil to his companion. "Had I but known the place, I would have done so. O my father, why was this done?"