Moreen made no reply.
“All of them there”—he indicated the direction of the native servants—“know this place. They are already afraid, and, with those from the village coming to warn us, they get more afraid still. This is a haunted place, Mem Sahib.”
Moreen sat up, shaking off something of the lassitude which possessed her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“In that jungle,” replied Ramsa Lal, “there is buried a temple, a very old temple, and in the temple there is buried one who was a holy man. His spirit watches over this place, and none may rest here because of him——”
“But the men of the village came here,” said Moreen.
“Before sunset, Mem Sahib. No man would come here after dark. Look! you will see—they are frightened.”
Languidly, but with some awakening to the necessities of the situation, Moreen stepped out of the tent and looked across to where, about a great fire, the retinue huddled in a circle. Ramsa Lal stood beside her with something contemptuous in the bearing of his tall figure.
“A spell lies upon all this valley, Mem Sahib,” he said. “Therefore it is called the Valley of the Just.”
“Why?”