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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"

But
when I heard your voice--when I heard you give that order, I awoke.
The dreams vanished, I heard and understood--and remembered!" She drew
herself upright and, for a moment spoke with a penetrating clearness.
"Not in half an hour--never! Withdraw that order! If you go against
them you are accursed. Lay down your arms! You must--you know you
must! You dare not--" She clung to his arm and her eyes seemed to burn
their way into his very soul. "I tell you--to turn traitor is to
inherit an endless hell--"
"A traitor!" he echoed. Something clutched at his heart, a sort of
numb suspense which became electrified as he saw a new expression
flash into her face.
"Yes, a traitor!" she whispered. "That was what I was. I was
English--yes, English in spite of all, but in my bitterness I turned
from my people. I let myself be taken alive. I would not share the
fate of those who had once been dear to me. My whole life has been the
punishment. They tortured me and then came the dreams--the awful,
hideous dreams. I was always looking for you, always calling for you.
And they laughed and mocked at me. Only one man did not laugh--" her
voice grew doubtful and hesitating, as though she were groping in the
shadows of her memory. "He did not laugh. He promised to help me but
he never came again--and I died--yes, I died--but I saw your face, I
heard your voice--and I came back from death--to save you!" Once more
her vision cleared and her voice grew steadier.


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