"Send a mounted man to bring back the Maharaja at once," she said, as soon as the Dewan came up. "We have all entreated him to stay, Rani Mother," said the Dewan, "but he refused to turn back." "Send word to him that the Bara Rani is ill, that she is on her death-bed," cried my sister-in-law wildly. When the Dewan had left she turned on me with a furious outburst. "Oh, you witch, you ogress, you could not die yourself, but needs must send him to his death! ..." The light of the day began to fade. The sun set behind the feathery foliage of the blossoming __Sajna__ tree. I can see every different shade of that sunset even today. Two masses of cloud on either side of the sinking orb made it look like a great bird with fiery-feathered wings outspread. It seemed to me that this fateful day was taking its flight, to cross the ocean of night. It became darker and darker. Like the flames of a distant village on fire, leaping up every now and then above the horizon, a distant din swelled up in recurring waves into the darkness. The bells of the evening worship rang out from our temple. I knew the Bara Rani was sitting there, with palms joined in silent prayer. But I could not move a step from the window. The roads, the village beyond, and the still more distant fringe of trees, grew more and more vague. The lake in our grounds looked up into the sky with a dull lustre, like a blind man's eye. On the left the tower seemed to be craning its neck to catch sight of something that was happening. The sounds of night take on all manner of disguises. A twig snaps, and one thinks that somebody is running for his life. A door slams, and one feels it to be the sudden heart-thump of a startled world. Lights would suddenly flicker under the shade of the distant trees, and then go out again. Horses' hoofs would clatter, now and again, only to turn out to be riders leaving the palace gates. I continually had the feeling that, if only I could die, all this turmoil would come to an end. So long as I was alive my sins would remain rampant, scattering destruction on every side. I remembered the pistol in my box. But my feet refused to leave the window in quest of it. Was I not awaiting my fate? The gong of the watch solemnly struck ten. A little later, groups of lights appeared in the distance and a great crowd wound its way, like some great serpent, along the roads in the darkness, towards the palace gates. The Dewan rushed to the gate at the sound. Just then a rider came galloping in. "What's the news, Jata?" asked the Dewan. "Not good," was the reply. I could hear these words distinctly from my window. But something was next whispered which I could not catch. Then came a palanquin, followed by a litter. The doctor was walking alongside the palanquin. "What do you think, doctor?" asked the Dewan. "Can't say yet," the doctor replied. "The wound in the head is a serious one." "And Amulya Babu?"