With a sigh of impatience he turned, and in
the same instant became once more aware that he was not alone.
For a moment he perceived nothing save the shadows and the unsteady
flickering of the yellow torchlight. Then his vision cleared and he
saw and understood, and an exclamation burst from his horrified lips.
It was a woman who stood out against the darkness, her body clothed in
rags, the hair, grey and thin, hanging unkempt about her shoulders,
the face turned to his that of some being risen from a tomb. There
seemed to be no flesh upon the high cheek-bones nor upon the hands
that were stretched toward him; only the eyes were alive with an
unquenchable fire which burned upon him with a power that was
unearthly. She staggered a few steps and then sank slowly to his feet,
her hands still outstretched. He knelt down and supported the sinking
head upon his shoulder.
"Who art thou?" he whispered in Hindustani. "Where hast thou come
from? Tell me thy history."
A look of intense pain passed over her features. Slowly and with a
great effort her lips parted.
"I am English--let me speak in English. I have only a few minutes--I
am dying."
He looked about him, seeking something with which to moisten her dry
lips, but she clung to him with an incredible strength.
"No, no, I must speak with you. Up to now I have lived in an awful
nightmare--amidst ghastly phantoms who pursued and tortured me.
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