‘Kafir! dare to speak so again, and I will spit on thee.’
‘It would befit thee to do so; but I am silent,’ was Herbert’s reply.
‘Where is the money that thou and that old fool, who is now in perdition, buried in Bednore? Lead me to it, and I will save thy life. The coast is near, and thou canst escape. Fear not to speak,—those around do not understand us.’
‘Thy master has been told by me, by Mathews, who lost his life in that cause, and by every one, that there was none but what he found. We hid no money—thou well knowest this: why dost thou torment me?’
‘Thou wilt remember it in three or four days, perhaps,’ said the man; ‘till then I shall not ask thee again. Go to the company of thy people.’
Herbert’s mind had been strung up to its purpose, and he coveted death at that moment as the dearest boon which could have been granted. But it was denied him; and he could only gather from the leader of the party that further suffering was in store for him. In spite of his utmost exertions to repel the feeling, despondence came over him,—a sickening and sinking of his heart, which his utmost exertion of mind could not repel.
The day passed away, and the night fell. As the gloom spread over their narrow chamber, the men, whom the light had kept silent or cheering each other, now gave way to superstitious terrors; and, as they huddled together in a group, some cried out that there were hideous spectres about them; others prayed aloud; and those who were hard of heart blasphemed, and made no repentance. As night advanced, some yelled in mental agony and terror, and the thought of those who were to die on the morrow appalled every heart. None slept.
Four days passed thus; on every morning a new victim was taken, while the rest were forced to look on. Sometimes he went gladly and rejoicing, sometimes he had to be torn from his companions, who in vain strove to protect him: two suffered passively—two made desperate resistance, and their parting shrieks long rang in the ears of the survivors. On the fourth day the Jemadar arrived. ‘Come forth,’ he said to Herbert, ‘I would speak to thee. Wilt thou be obdurate, O fool? wilt thou longer refuse to tell of the money, and the Sultaun’s benevolence? Bethink thee.’
‘Thou couldst not grant me a greater favour than death,’ said Herbert; ‘therefore why are these things urged? If there was money hidden thou shouldst have it; I know it is thy god. But there is none, therefore let me die. I tell thee once for all, I spurn thy master’s offers with loathing.’
‘Dost thou know what this death is?’ said the Jemadar; ‘thou shalt see,’ And he called to several of the guards who stood around. Herbert thought, as they led him to the brink, that his time was come. ‘I come, I come, Amy!’ he cried aloud—‘at length I come! O God, be merciful to me!’