"No, no!" I exclaimed, "he is nearly finished; let me alone, this work is my own, no one shall interfere." Fortunately, having thrown the man on his face, I was able to kneel on his back, and he was soon past the ability to use his dagger. At last there was one convulsion stronger than the previous ones, and he lay still--he was also dead--my second victim! I arose, breathless and exhausted; and as I looked on the prostrate corpse before me, I felt indeed that there had been danger--that I had escaped from a deadly struggle, and that my art had triumphed over strength. Almost beside the body lay that of the man who had aided me, who had received a desperate wound. All had been so occupied with me, that they had overlooked the poor sufferer; he was lying with his face to the ground groaning. "For God's sake," said I, "turn him round, the wound is in his stomach: can nothing be done for him?" Some of the men accordingly turned him, but it was plain to see that there was no hope of life; the blood poured in a stream both from the wound and from his mouth; he made several attempts to speak, but in vain; he died almost instantly. While I was engaged in the struggle, I several times fancied that the Rajpoot's dagger had reached me, as I endeavoured to avoid it by screwing my body as far away from him as possible; but the excitement was too great for me to feel the wound, if there was any. Yet now on putting my hand to my side, I found, by the blood on my garment, that I was wounded; the blood too was observed by my father. "Protection of God! he is wounded!" he cried. "My son, my son, did I not warn thee? Did I not bid thee beware of that Rajpoot? Thou wast no match for him, my son; and now thou art wounded, and what can be done?" and my father sat down, fairly overpowered with his emotions. I felt that the wounds were but scratches, and hastened to open my vest. "There," said I, showing the wounds, "I said he would do me no harm; and what are these? A thorn from a hedge would have caused a deeper and more painful one." "Shookur Khoda!" exclaimed my father; "you are not hurt after all" (and the old man's eyes fairly ran over with tears as he looked at the wounds); "but I had feared the worst after that horrid sight. Ai, Mahomed! thou wast a faithful servant."