“We found it in the early dawn,—Kasya and I. We found the body of Ragunáth, dead, in the champak bushes, by the water-palace. He was lying in his blood.—And Ahalya and Fidá had not come back from him. They were gone. Soon everything must be known; and I should surely be betrayed to my death when Kasya learned the things that I had done; for there was a little Arab slave—Ahmed—who also knew. Therefore, by night, I stole away from Mandu, and out—out—into the hills, carrying the ruby with me. Blood was upon it. Blood it had brought, and with the fire of blood it gleamed. I dared not part with it. It ate into my flesh, and yet I could not sell it. I suffered from heat and from cold, from hunger and thirst and nakedness, while I bore on my body this great wealth. For thirty years, hermit, I have wandered over the earth, carrying fear with me. Each man has worn for me the mask of Rama. Each bite of food has had for me the flavor of poison. I have wandered the Vindhyas over, from east to west, from Dumoh to Khambot. And ever Mandu has drawn me back toward her. Terror and death have dogged my footsteps; yet have I lived long, till I am very old. Suffering, hardship, sickness, most hideous remorse—all these I have known, and still have clung to life. My spirit was broken long ago; but I have not wanted to die. I should have fought with any that threatened to take life from me. Tell me, Wise One, what is this love of living? Why have I, most miserable of creatures, clung so long to it? “But behold—behold—the face of Rama stares at me, from the shadow yonder! Back, Rama! Back yet for a little! Back!” For a second, the old man lifted himself from the bed, and levelled a tremulous hand at the haunting visage. Then he fell, weakly, and for a long time was still. Oman, sitting beside him, still under the spell, could not speak. Finally Churi himself broke the silence again, this time in a voice that had faded to a thin whisper: “I am dying, hermit. Rama’s face grows brighter in the gloom. The visage is less fearful, now. My madness is gone. I see clearly. But for many years I have been mad. It is the ruby. It holds evil in it for all but the race of Asra. I had dreamed of returning it to them. But thou, who hast sheltered me and fed me, to thee I say: the ruby is cursed. I warn thee of it. Better burn it on my body.—Hark!—hark!—the drums of Rama! I am dying, hermit. Take me by the hand!”