_"Jey Bhowani!_ give me strength, give me courage! For if I fail ..."
He glared at her passionately, clutching his bosom; then, pressing the
necklet to his lips, he concealed it again, and bent, whispering
urgently:
"Listen again--I reveal it to you without price or hope of reward, for
I know there is no love in your heart to give, Miska; I know that it
takes you out of my sight for always. But I tell you what I learn in
the house of Abdul Rozan. Your life is your own, Miska! With the
needle"--yet closer he bent to her ear and even softer he spoke--"he
pricks your white skin--no more! The vial he sends contains a harmless
cordial!"
"Chunda Lal!"
Miska swayed again dizzily, clutching at the Hindu for support.
"Quick! fly!" he said, leading her to the door. "I will see _he_ does
not pursue!"
"No, no! you shall shed no blood for me! Not even _his_. You come
also!"
"And if he escape, and know that I was false to him, he will _call me
back,_ and I shall be dragged to those yellow eyes, though I am a
thousand miles away! _Inshalla!_ those eyes! No--I must strike swift,
or he robs me of my strength."
For a long moment Miska hesitated.
"Then, I also remain, Chunda Lal, my friend! We will wait--and watch
-and listen for the bells--here--that tell they are in the grounds of
the house."
"Ah, Miska!" the glance of the Hindu grew fearful--"you are
clever--but _he_ is the Evil One! I fear for you. Fly now. There is
yet time .
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