"I know of no treachery to Golab Singh," replied Atma steadfastly. "As
for you, brother of my love, reflect that the dear hope, faint and
distant though it be now, of the triumph of the Khalsa need not imply
disgrace nor disaster to your people, who, unwillingly at first,
burdened themselves with the affairs of the Punjaub. The later treachery
at Mooltan has been abundantly expiated by the innocent as well as the
guilty."
He stopped abruptly, for a sound like distant sobbing broke the
stillness. They listened, but it was not repeated.
"Atma, I believe you. I can perceive your position, and how, so
unhappily, you have been able to reconcile insidious intrigue with
sentiments of honour and purity. But I have much to tell you, for I
would warn you against enemies on all sides. Rajah Lal, for some reason
your mortal foe, has convinced Golab Singh that you connived at his
death by means of the poison discovered in the casket." Here the
Englishman's eyes sought Atma's with sorrowful question in their blue
depths, but he received no other response than a frank and fearless
gaze. "He accuses you," continued Bertram, "of conspiring to rob him,
Lal Singh, of his bride," Atma started, "for it seems his betrothal was
celebrated during his recent absence from Kashmir. But I have startled
you, Atma Singh, tell me--"
A woman's scream interrupted him. It sounded near by, and both sprang
forward, when Bertram, recollecting himself, stayed his companion.
"Halt," he said, "you must remain concealed. I will go alone if we hear
more."
Another shriek rent the air, and he hastened forward, Atma proceeding
slowly in the same direction by a more circuitous way. He was stunned by
what he had just heard. It seemed to him that the shriek which had
broken into the midst of Bertram's communication had been his own, and
that it was being repeated on all sides. In reality the only sound that
now disturbed the night was the echo of his own and Bertram's footsteps,
the latter hurried and irregular for the ground was uneven.
A few moments passed and the steps ceased, and Atma standing still heard
a smothered exclamation. Another voice spoke from a distance angrily,
and, fearing for his friend, he now hastened forward rapidly, though
still cautiously. When he reached the spot, he found Bertram kneeling
beside a prostrate female form, a small and childlike figure. The veil,
torn aside, was stained with blood, and Atma's heart stood still, for
the unconscious form was that of Moti's little maid. He failed to see
Bertram's imperative gesture, motioning him back, and Bertram then spoke
in rapid though subdued accents.