“We are lost, we are lost, unless that man’s cry is stopped!” Haidee moaned, wringing her hands distractedly; then getting near to Martin, she whispered-- “In your comrade’s belt is a dagger; get it--quick.” The Sepoy heard these words, and tightened his grasp, if that were possible, on Harper’s arms, and rolled over and over with him, crying the while with a stentorian voice. Not a moment was to be lost. There was no time for false sentiment or considerations of mercy. Martin, urged to desperation, flung himself on the struggling men, and getting his hand on the throat of the Sepoy, pressed his fingers into the windpipe, while with the other hand he sought for Harper’s belt. He felt the dagger. He drew it out with some difficulty. He got on his knees, his left hand on the fellow’s throat. As the three struggled, the Sepoy’s back came uppermost. It was Martin’s chance. He raised his hand, the next moment the dagger was buried between the shoulders of the native, who, with a gurgling cry, released his grip, and Harper was free. As he rose to his feet, breathless with the struggle, Haidee seized his hand, and kissing it with frantic delight, whispered--“The Houris are good. The light of my eyes is not darkened. You live. Life of my life. Come, we may yet escape.” She made known her thanks to Martin by a pressure of the hand. Another brilliant flash of lightning showed them the stilled form of the Sepoy. A deafening crash of thunder followed, and the rain came down in a perfect deluge. The storm was a friend indeed, and a friend in need. It no doubt prevented the cry of the now dead man from reaching those for whom it was intended, as, in such a downpour, no one would be from under a shelter who could avoid it. The howling of the wind, and the heavy rattle of the rain, drowned the noise of their footsteps. Drenched with the rain, her long hair streaming in the wind, Haidee sped along, followed by the two men. She led them down the avenue of banyans, and then turning off into a patch of jungle, struck into a narrow path. The lightning played about the trees--the rain rattled with a metallic sound on the foliage--heaven’s artillery thundered with deafening peals. Presently she came to a small gateway. She had the key; the lock yielded. “There is a guard stationed close to here,” she whispered: “we must be wary.” They passed through the gateway. The gate was closed. They were in a large, open, treeless space. Across this they sped. The lightning was against them here, for it rendered them visible to any eyes that might be watching. But the beating rain and the drifting wind befriended them. The open space was crossed in safety. “We are clear of the Palace grounds,” Haidee said, as she led the way down a narrow passage; and in a few minutes they had gained the walls of the city.