I will go alone if we hear
more."
Another shriek rent the air, and he hastened forward, Atma proceeding
slowly in the same direction by a more circuitous way. He was stunned by
what he had just heard. It seemed to him that the shriek which had
broken into the midst of Bertram's communication had been his own, and
that it was being repeated on all sides. In reality the only sound that
now disturbed the night was the echo of his own and Bertram's footsteps,
the latter hurried and irregular for the ground was uneven.
A few moments passed and the steps ceased, and Atma standing still heard
a smothered exclamation. Another voice spoke from a distance angrily,
and, fearing for his friend, he now hastened forward rapidly, though
still cautiously. When he reached the spot, he found Bertram kneeling
beside a prostrate female form, a small and childlike figure. The veil,
torn aside, was stained with blood, and Atma's heart stood still, for
the unconscious form was that of Moti's little maid. He failed to see
Bertram's imperative gesture, motioning him back, and Bertram then spoke
in rapid though subdued accents.
"Go back, I entreat you; no one will harm me, but your life is marked--"
He had better not have spoken. There was a cry of fiendish glee and then
the report of a gun, and Bertram fell back with a groan. A shriek of
triumph rose at a distance. "The traitor Atma is dead!" A noise of the
flying feet of Lal's minions and then silence.
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