“Another body here!” he said, and some one brought forward a torch. To their astonishment, it was a woman who lay before them, dressed in rich native garments, which, with the coarse _chadar_ covering her face, were soaked with blood. She had been stabbed in the breast, but was still breathing heavily. Sending a messenger for Dr Tighe, they went on, in growing dread as to what they might find. Their fears were justified. On the verandah lay the Sikh sentry, stabbed in the back, and on the floor of his office was the body of the Commissioner, hacked and disfigured almost beyond recognition with a hundred wounds. It did not need the verdict of Dr Tighe to assure the men who stood round that life was extinct. “What can have been the reason? Why the Commissioner and not North?” were the questions that passed from mouth to mouth, as Dick tore down a curtain and laid it reverently over the body, with the help of Dr Tighe. “Perhaps the woman can tell us something. She seems conscious now,” said some one, but when the doctor knelt down beside her she pulled her veil feebly over her face, moaning out a name the while. “She won’t let me touch her. She’s a _pardah nishin_,” he said, rising. “It’s the doctor lady she’s asking for, Major.” Dick went himself to fetch his wife, and the men stood aside a little as Georgia tried to stanch the gaping wound, which was draining the poor creature’s life away. The woman herself laughed weakly. “It matters not, O doctor lady. I shall follow my lord.” “You are little Zeynab?” asked Georgia gently, looking into the drawn face. “I am that luckless one, O doctor lady, and I die thus for the sake of the kindness thou didst show me many years ago.” “Don’t talk now,” said Georgia. “Tell me afterwards.” [image: images/img_324.jpg caption: “STRETCHING OUT HIS HAND FOR THE PISTOL”]