ed them. She forgot that it had been built by her own
resentment and anger, and that she had eluded his attempts to approach her.
Even now she felt that she could not speak to him before others.

Growing desperate, she had that morning snatched at the opportunity to ask
him for an interview. Chunerbutty, who seemed always to cling to her now
with the persistence of a leech, had as usual been with her, but his
attention had been distracted from her for a moment. She hoped that the
Hindu had not overheard her. Yet what did it matter if he had? Dermot had
understood and nodded, as he passed on with the old, friendly look in his
eyes. Perhaps all would come right.

She had seen him leave the lounge after lunch, but she remained there
confident that he would return. She felt she could not talk to the others
so she withdrew to a table near one of the shuttered windows and pretended
to read the newspapers on it.

Payne was there, deep in the perusal of an article in an English journal on
the disturbed state of India. Mrs. Rice, impervious to snubs, was trying to
impress the openly bored Ida with accounts of the gay and fashionable life
of Balham. The men were scattered about the room in groups, some discussing
in low tones the occurrences of the day before at the _Moti Mahal_, others
talking of the illuminations and fireworks which were to wind up their
entertainment in Lalpuri on this the last night of their stay. For all were
leaving on the morrow.

Suddenly there was a wild outcry outside. Loud cries, the shouts of men,
the terrifying trumpeting of an elephant, resounded through the courtyard
below and echoed weirdly from the walls of the buildings. A piercing shriek
of agony rang high above the tumult of sound and chilled the blood of the
listeners in the lounge.

Payne tore fiercely at the stiff wooden shutters of the window near him,
which led out to the long balcony. Suddenly they burst open and he sprang
out.

"Good God!" he cried in horror. "Look! Look! Dermot's done for!"

* * * * *

The soldier had followed Rama, who led him through an unfamiliar part of
the Palace along low passages, down narrow winding staircases, through
painted rooms, in some of which female garments flung carelessly on the
cushions seemed to indicate that they were passing through a portion of the
_zenana_. Finally they reached a marble-paved hall on the ground-floor,
where two attendants, the first person