Nehal Singh started from his painful reverie, conscious that some one had entered the room and was watching him. He turned and saw his chief captain standing respectfully before him, and, though it was a man he liked and trusted, it seemed to him that the gaunt, soldierly figure had taken on the form of an ugly, threatening destiny. "All is ready, Great Prince," the native said, salaaming. "Every man is at his post. We do but await thy orders." Nehal did not answer. His hands clasped and unclasped themselves in the last agony of hesitation. The moment had come, the inevitable and irretrievable moment which had loomed so long upon his horizon. Even now he hardly knew what it was to bring him. The forces warring in his blood were locked in a death struggle. At last he nodded and his lips moved. "It is well. In half an hour--I will come to them. In half an hour--the attack will begin." "Sahib--is it good to wait? The dawn cometh, and with the dawn--" Nehal Singh lifted his hand peremptorily. "In half an hour," he repeated. The man salaamed and was gone. Nehal Singh stood there like a pillar of stone. It was over. In half an hour! And yet, at the bottom of his heart, he knew that he had delayed--purposely, but to no end but his own increased suffering. With a sigh of impatience he turned, and in the same instant became once more aware that he was not alone. For a moment he perceived nothing save the shadows and the unsteady flickering of the yellow torchlight. Then his vision cleared and he saw and understood, and an exclamation burst from his horrified lips. It was a woman who stood out against the darkness, her body clothed in rags, the hair, grey and thin, hanging unkempt about her shoulders, the face turned to his that of some being risen from a tomb. There seemed to be no flesh upon the high cheek-bones nor upon the hands that were stretched toward him; only the eyes were alive with an unquenchable fire which burned upon him with a power that was unearthly. She staggered a few steps and then sank slowly to his feet, her hands still outstretched. He knelt down and supported the sinking head upon his shoulder. "Who art thou?" he whispered in Hindustani. "Where hast thou come from? Tell me thy history." A look of intense pain passed over her features. Slowly and with a great effort her lips parted. "I am English--let me speak in English. I have only a few minutes--I am dying." He looked about him, seeking something with which to moisten her dry lips, but she clung to him with an incredible strength.