He had regained his memory of her
as a good woman, striving upward and onward; and already he had
invested her with the glory of those whom death has already claimed
from us.
Nehal Singh started from his painful reverie, conscious that some one
had entered the room and was watching him. He turned and saw his chief
captain standing respectfully before him, and, though it was a man he
liked and trusted, it seemed to him that the gaunt, soldierly figure
had taken on the form of an ugly, threatening destiny.
"All is ready, Great Prince," the native said, salaaming. "Every man
is at his post. We do but await thy orders."
Nehal did not answer. His hands clasped and unclasped themselves in
the last agony of hesitation. The moment had come, the inevitable and
irretrievable moment which had loomed so long upon his horizon. Even
now he hardly knew what it was to bring him. The forces warring in his
blood were locked in a death struggle. At last he nodded and his lips
moved.
"It is well. In half an hour--I will come to them. In half an
hour--the attack will begin."
"Sahib--is it good to wait? The dawn cometh, and with the dawn--"
Nehal Singh lifted his hand peremptorily.
"In half an hour," he repeated.
The man salaamed and was gone. Nehal Singh stood there like a pillar
of stone. It was over. In half an hour! And yet, at the bottom of his
heart, he knew that he had delayed--purposely, but to no end but his
own increased suffering.
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