"Why, what is the meaning of this"? asked the Rani in accents of surprise. "Truly, O Bipin, thou must have been chased by the terrible white fox of which thou livest in such dread."
"O great Lady," moaned Bipin, casting his hands upward despairingly. "Alas! we are all, every one of us, now dead."
"Dead"! exclaimed the Rani. "Not quite dead yet, I think, good Secretary."
"Ah, hae, hae"! Bipin continued to moan piteously. "Dead, all dead," he groaned; "or before another moon has set, most assuredly we all will be."
"Now what dost thou mean by this nonsense"? demanded the Rani impatiently. "Speak, what has reduced thee to such a condition of distress. Thou art interrupting the pleasure of my guests."
A groan as if drawn from the pit of his stomach came forth from Bipin's lips.
"O Rani," he spoke hoarsely. "The accursed Prasad Singh, may God send his soul into the body of a scorpion for ten thousand years, he—he——"
At the mention of the Hindu noble's name, the Rani started and gazed inquiringly upon Bipin, who hesitated, as if he knew not how to commence his horrifying disclosure.
"Well," urged the Rani. "Well, what of the noble Prasad Singh. What knowest thou of him"?
"Oh! great Rani. He—the accursed Prasad Singh plotteth——"