There was no fear; none! Was not Jân-Ali-shân-_sahib_--he pointed into the night--there to be reckoned with still? And had it been possible during that nine long months for any black face--even Mohubbut's, which had remained outside after he had put the _mem_ inside--to win in to the Garden Mound? So, hovering between past and present, the old man who had been '_khânsâman_ to Ricketts-_sahib bahadur_ who was killed,' chattered of safety---- Until the Garden Mound was reached, and then---- Then he stood in the dim moonlight--helpless--bewildered--importance gone! For where was safety, where was Jân-Ali-shân? Ruins, and flowers! Only one thing as it had been forty years before. The English flag! He headed straight for it comforted, the importance returning. 'The _mem-sahiba_ need have no fear,' he muttered glibly; 'was not Mohubbut _khânsâman_ to Ricketts-_sahib bahadur_ who was killed?--but the _mem_ was not. Ah! no!' Yet, once more, the wide ruined doorways of the Residency upset the unstable balance of the half-crazy old man's confidence. But only for a moment. The next, he had lost even importance in quick decision, as the sound of running footsteps, of men's voices, rose against the background of faint elusive cries and distant disturbance which had been with them, fitfully, in their flight. 'Quick, _Huzoor_, quick! they come! Have no fear! The _mem_ was never killed! yet they came before!' And Viva, tarlatan in ribbons, almost fainting with fear, followed blindly; then sank behind a heap of stones that lay--part of a ruined stair--in the lowest story of the turret. Only just in time; for the voices were close at hand, the steps upon the outside stair that led to the roof. 'Lo! we can do so much, if naught else,' came savagely: 'we can end their boast, brothers!' The voice was an educated one, and there was some answering laughs, as five or six white figures passed upwards. 'Have no fear, _mem-sahiba_!' whispered the toothless comforter. 'Jân-Ali-shân will settle _them_.' Apparently he did; or some one else carrying on the tradition of the dead man who lay in the Hollow of Heroes; for almost ere the last climber could have reached the top, they were down the narrow stairs again helter-skelter. 'Trra!' said one vexedly. 'To think they should not have forgotten that! Truly, it is ill doing aught against them, and they so wise! Let us go back to the city--there be plenty of fools there.' 'Said I not so?' whispered the toothless comforter triumphantly, as the steps died away. 'He hath sent them forth discomfited. It was even so before, when Mohubbut was _khânsâman_ to Ricketts-_sahib_ who was killed--but the _mem_, was not.' Mrs. Chris, however, was past comfort. Had they come back again she would not have stirred; and she sat in the darkness behind the heap of stones, shuddering and sobbing, too terrified even to hear that monotonous refrain--'Have no fear! Have no fear!'