But before they could obey, a white figure sprang up from behind a cluster of rocks. Quick as thought followed a flash, a report, a heart-piercing scream; and the men, with a cry of "Ghazi! Ghazi!" unceremoniously set down their mistress and fled. The fanatic fled also, certain of a passport into Paradise; and as Evelyn Desmond fell back among her cushions, a shadow, that had not been there before, crept slowly across the shoulder of her muslin dress. The oncoming darkness mattered nothing to her now; and she herself, a mere atom of life, blown out like a candle, mattered less than nothing to the desert and the imperturbable hills. But justice does not invariably tarry. The arm of the Lord is not shortened, though in these days of omniscience man has a larger faith in his own; and the Ghazi, heading post-haste through the dusk plunged unwittingly into a group of villagers and cattle returning home. A short scuffle ensued, shouts and the tramping of feet--sounds which brought the flying jhampanis back in a twinkling, surcharged with voluble valour and explanations. Resistance was useless. Moreover, to the fanatic, death is the one great gift. With stoical indifference the man found himself overpowered and disarmed. Zealous villagers, unrolling turbans and kummerbunds, made fast his arms, bound him securely about the waist and neck, and in this ignominious fashion led him back to where Evelyn Desmond lay untroubled and alone. The jhampanis shouldered their burden once more; and fell to discussing, in lively detail, the hanging and subsequent burning that awaited the Taker of Life, who walked unconcernedly in their midst. CHAPTER XXXIV. C'ETAIT MA VIE. "C'etait toute petite, ma vie: Mais c'etait ma vie." --ANATOLE FRANCE. "Honor, come out! I want you." Desmond's voice, followed by a peremptory rap on the door, startled the girl back to a realisation of the flight of time. The sun had set, and a grey light filled the room. Without a passing thought of the tears upon her face, she lowered the bolt and confronted Evelyn's husband. "Ladybird isn't back yet," he said quickly. "It'll be dark in ten minutes. I _must_ know where she went to, and go after her myself." Honor bit her lip. To tell him at such a moment would be madness; yet he was in an ill mood to oppose. "Can't you send the orderly?" she asked, with something less than her wonted assurance. "No. I am going myself. This is no time to fuss over trifles. Something may have gone wrong----" "Hush,--listen! What's that?" The shuffling and grunting of jhampanis, and the thud of the lowered dandy, were distinctly audible in the stillness. "There she is!" Desmond said eagerly; and a moment later the blood in his veins was chilled by a long-drawn wail from the verandah. "Hai--hai--_mere Memsahib murgya!_"[33] [33] My mistress is dead.