“Nay, I must speak now, for soon it will be too late. Six days we have been hiding here and there, O doctor lady, my lord and his three servants and I, and this evening we were in the shadow of the oleanders beside the gate. Thence we saw the Kumpsioner Sahib return to his house with a light carried before him, and presently there came out a young sahib with a _chit_ in his hand, and crossed the courtyard. Then my lord said, ‘It is time,’ and two of his followers slew the guard at the gate, while he and the third flung themselves like tigers upon the accursed Sikh on the verandah, and killed him without a cry. I, who had crept after them, saw the Kumpsioner Sahib sitting at a table with the light in front of him, and a pistol at his right hand--for truly he feared my lord, even in his own house--and I saw also that my lord had crept in like a cat, and was stretching out his hand over his shoulder for the pistol. But as he took away the pistol, the Kumpsioner Sahib saw his hand, and turned round and sprang up. Then one of the other men blew at the lamp to put it out, and the light burned low. And my lord laughed and said in the Persian tongue, ‘We meet at last, O Barkaraf Sahib. Thou didst indeed believe that victory was thine, but if Nāth Sahib’s sister is not for me, neither is she for thee. Death is thy bride.’ At first it seemed to me that the Kumpsioner Sahib was about to speak, but he stood up straight with his arms folded, and said nothing, until my lord added divers other taunts, when he said, ‘Take not the name of that lady upon thy lips, O low-born one. Dost thou fear to strike me, who am here unarmed, that thou speakest evil of a woman who is absent?’ Then my lord struck him with his dagger, and the lamp went out, and they all fell upon him, and stabbed him many times. And coming out, my lord found me, and said, ‘Go through the midst of the Sarai, and cry out aloud for the doctor lady, that she may come out and we may slay her and her son, and it may be the accursed Nāth Sahib himself also.’ But I would not, O doctor lady, and therefore it was that my lord stabbed me, and that I die now at his hand.” With a sudden convulsive movement, she tore away Georgia’s hand from the wound, and struggled to her feet, then staggered and fell. Georgia caught her in her arms, but the dressing had been dislodged, and the blood streamed forth again as the dark head dropped heavily on her shoulder. They buried the Commissioner in the little cemetery at Alibad, and for days people went about saying that it was the irony of fate that his grave should be next to that of General Keeling. It was Georgia who chose the spot, however, and she thought otherwise.