When the cowardly Mezza heard this he whined for mercy, begging that he might be shot instead of hanged; for death by the rope precludes a Mohammedan from all hope of heaven. But his prayer was unheeded. A rope was speedily produced, and thrown over the limb of a banyan tree; a running noose was placed round the neck of the villain Mezza, who rent the air with his howls. A dozen hands grasped the slack of the rope, and instantly the coward’s body was dangling in the morning breeze. It was a summary act of vengeance, as daring as it was just.[2] Walter rode back to the barracks in company with the men, who were enthusiastic in their praise of Gordon’s bold deed. When he reached Harper’s bungalow, he was shocked to hear that Mrs. Harper was very ill. “If I fall, you will be a brother to my wife?” were the last words of his friend, as he parted from him the previous night on the Delhi road. And, with these words ringing in his ears, he sought the presence of Mrs. Harper. She was deathly pale, and terribly ill, but she sprang towards him, and clutched his hand. “God be praised, Walter, that you have come!” she cried. “But my husband, my sister, my mother--where are they?” “You must not distress yourself like this,” he answered evasively, and trying to lead her back to the couch. “Do not keep the news, however bad it is, from me. Better to know the worst at once, than suffer the nameless agony of suspense, when the fate of one’s dearest relatives is in question. My husband--what of him?” “When I parted from him last night, I left him in perfect health. I have no doubt he would reach Delhi in safety.” “Bless you for that news! And my sister--what of her?” Gordon grew pale; strong man as he was, the tears gathered in his eyes, into his throat came a sensation as if a ball had suddenly been placed there, and was choking him; for his love for Flora Meredith was as strong as it was honourable. And as he thought of what her fate might be, his emotion overpowered him. “You do not answer,” cried Mrs. Harper, excitedly, as she noticed the red fade from his face, and a pallor spread over it. “Does she live? Speak, I conjure you.” “She lives,” he answered, sorrowfully. “Lives! and yet she is not with you!” Mrs. Harper almost shrieked, as a terrible thought flitted through her brain. “Do not excite yourself, Emily, I beg, for you are endangering your life. Your sister lives, but has been abducted by Jewan Bukht.” With a cry of despair, Mrs. Harper fell upon her knees on the floor. Gordon raised her gently, and carried her to the couch. He then procured smelling-salts and water. “You are better now,” he remarked, as he saw the ashen paleness give place to a faint flush. “Yes, yes. I can bear the worst. Go on; my, my poor mother--does she live?” “Alas, no! A quick and merciful death has spared her all misery.” Mrs. Harper bowed her head upon her hands and wept.