Musselmen and Sikhs looked at one another with fierce suspicion.
"Where," their faces asked, "are his accomplices?" And no look of doubt
fell on his denouncer. The Rajah's rage increased every moment, adding
to the commotion which delayed the fulfilment of his commands. To
enhance the confusion, the party of horsemen now returned. They pressed
around, hearing and giving tidings. In the tumult Bertram reached
Atma's side, but before he could speak, Atma whispered in his ear, "Meet
me in the Moslem Burying ground to-morrow night." Then with a sudden and
strong effort, swift as a bird, he freed himself from the excited
uncertain grasp that held him, and springing upon a horse he was off on
the wings of the wind. A score of men scrambled to their saddles, but
they were in confusion, and their horses were tired, whilst Atma had
mounted a fresh horse just brought forward for his own safe escort to
prison. In the disorder, he gained a few priceless moments of time, and
threading well his way between the groves that dotted the plain, he was
soon lost to view.
CHAPTER XVII.
How fair is Night, how hushed the scene,
Earth's teeming hosts are here no longer seen,
Only a chosen few,
A happy few,
The blooming cereus and the blessed dew
Ordained have been
To weave beneath the solemn moon and still,
Some holy rite, some mystic pledge fulfil.
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