"Ay, he is good Bunij, Jemadar," returned the man coolly. "Methinks this would have saved trouble long ago, and your worship's getting into a passion. We ate the goor this morning----" "Surely, brother, but no blood. I would not soil my sword with carrion like him; and yours is a certain hand with the handkerchief." What words can describe the terror of the devoted wretch? He could not speak or cry out. Of what use if he had? He knew the temple was far from men's abodes, and the wind moaned hoarsely in the trees above, as the branches swayed to and fro before a brisk gale now rising with the clouds. He tried to swallow, but in vain. He sat paralysed, as it were, his eyes wandering vacantly from one to the other, while his lips were tightened into a ghastly simper of fear. Neither of the men spoke; but Maun Singh was carelessly twisting a handkerchief into a peculiar form, and tying a knot at the end of it. "Thou wilt not feel it, Lallajee," he said jocularly, but in the strange tongue; "my hand is sure, and I am the best Bhuttote in Allund." What the Lalla understood or guessed it was impossible to conceive; but Fazil felt assured that murder was to be done. "By Alla and his Prophet!" he said to Bulwunt, "come what may of it, are we men to stand by tamely and see foul murder committed before our eyes? Were the wretch a hundred times more liar and coward, one good blow should be struck against that ruffian. Ho, Pahar Singh! Maun Singh!" shouted the young Khan before he could be prevented by his companion. "Hold! would ye do murder?" "Hur, Hur, Mahadeo!" cried his companion at the same moment, and both rushed to the place where, on the side they had been standing, the wall seemed the lowest; but it was still too high to be reached without a scramble over rough stones, which delayed them longer than they had thought. The top once gained, they leaped into the enclosure with drawn weapons; but as they did so, Fazil saw one man on the top beyond, another climbing up, aided by his companion. For him and Bulwunt Rao to rush across the court was the act but of an instant; yet they were too late: the Jogi--Pahar Singh--had escaped, and his companion was in the act of dropping down, when, aided by a bound, the well-aimed weapon of the young Khan reached him. Where or how Fazil Khan had wounded the robber he knew not; but when he examined his bright blade, there was a broad stain upon it which could not be mistaken. As he looked, hesitating whether he should leap down and follow, he could just distinguish two figures dimly, running at desperate speed through the trees across the plain, which were quickly lost in the gloom. Bulwunt Rao was at his side. "Another moment and we should have had both: the gods have protected them; and it is of no use following, Meah," he said.