She was breathing quickly, and
her eyes were bright with a reckless, feverish excitement. But the
hand that held the revolver pointed at the men behind him was
steady--steadier than his own.
Nehal Singh motioned back the two natives who had advanced at his
order.
"You play a dangerous game," he said, "and, as before, your strength
lies in my weakness--in my folly. But this time you can not win. My
word is given--to my people."
"I shall not plead with you," she returned steadily, "and you may be
sure I shall not waver. I am not afraid to die. I had hoped to atone
for all the wrong that has been done you with my love for you, Nehal.
I had hoped that then you would turn away from this madness and become
once more our friend. To this end I have not hesitated to trample on
my dignity and pride. I have not spared myself. But you will not
listen, you are determined to go on, and I"--she caught her breath
sharply--"surely you can understand? I love you, and you have made
yourself the enemy of my country. Death is the easiest, the kindest
solution to it all."
Nehal Singh's brows knitted themselves in the anguish of a man who
finds himself thwarted by his own nature. He tried not to believe her,
and indeed, in all her words, though they had rung like music, his
ear, tuned to suspicion, had heard the mocking undercurrent of
laughter. She had laughed at him secretly through all those months
when he had offered up to her the incense of an absolute faith, an
unshared devotion.
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