"Go," he urged in an imperative whisper, "if thou wouldst save thy life and that of others. Come, get upon thy feet. Fly to the Rani's presence, and disclose to her this accursed plot. Remember that the meeting place is the tomb of Firoz Khan at one hour before midnight, to-morrow. I would come with thee but my bones are old, and must remain to screen thy flight." Bipin crawled on his hands and knees to a little distance, and then rising, ran as fast as his corpulency would permit, back in the direction of the city. Of that journey he retained afterwards little recollection. More than once he fell over some obstacle in his path, to rise with bruised limbs and resume his terror-hounded course. He lost his slippers in a ditch, and his turban in a thicket, into which he had strayed in the darkness. Whether he entered the city by a gate or scaled the walls he knew not, but panting, scratched, and with disordered garments, the worthy secretary did at last reach the palace, and struggle in by the astonished servants. At the hour of Bipin's return, the Rani was entertaining her court with a _natch_ in one of the gardens. Among others, Ahmad Khan had availed himself of an invitation to be present, leaving his guest, Prasad, in a better humor than he had displayed for some days past. As a sign of reviving spirit, he had even promised the Mohammedan to take part in a boar hunt on the following morning. He had scarcely mentioned the Rani's name since the astrologer's visit of the day before, except to remark that he believed Mohurran Goshi's pills and charms were assisting him to control his passion. By the light of torches the girls had delighted their audience with several exhibitions of their art. In an interval refreshments of sweetmeats and sherbet were being served, when the strange figure made by Bipin Dat broke through the half circle formed by the girls and musicians. Out of breath, with his dress in the utmost disorder, he waddled to the Rani's position, and with a groan sank down at her feet. "Why, what is the meaning of this"? asked the Rani in accents of surprise. "Truly, O Bipin, thou must have been chased by the terrible white fox of which thou livest in such dread." "O great Lady," moaned Bipin, casting his hands upward despairingly. "Alas! we are all, every one of us, now dead." "Dead"! exclaimed the Rani. "Not quite dead yet, I think, good Secretary." "_Ah, hae, hae_"! Bipin continued to moan piteously. "Dead, all dead," he groaned; "or before another moon has set, most assuredly we all will be." "Now what dost thou mean by this nonsense"? demanded the Rani impatiently. "Speak, what has reduced thee to such a condition of distress. Thou art interrupting the pleasure of my guests." A groan as if drawn from the pit of his stomach came forth from Bipin's lips. "O Rani," he spoke hoarsely. "The accursed Prasad Singh, may God send his soul into the body of a scorpion for ten thousand years, he--he----"