CHAPTER XVII.
How fair is Night, how hushed the scene, Earth's teeming hosts are here no longer seen, Only a chosen few, A happy few, The blooming cereus and the blessed dew Ordained have been To weave beneath the solemn moon and still, Some holy rite, some mystic pledge fulfil.
That loveliest star fades from my sight, Leaves the fond presence of the doting night, And softly sinks awhile, A little while, Its radiance into brief exile From mourning night. So shall my blissful flame of life expire, So fail from light, and love, and life's desire.
So pondered Atma in that strange calm that follows an overwhelmingstroke of calamity. It was midnight, and the moon shone on the oldMoslem Burial Place, where he awaited the coming of Bertram. The treescast long black shadows, and here and there the monuments gleamed likesilver. His mind had not yet grasped the full enormity of the conspiracyof which he was the victim, but he knew that the perfidy of Lal and theloss of the Sapphire meant death to his hopes of winning victory for theKhalsa. But his heart was strangely still. He had been waiting sincesundown, but he did not doubt his friend, and interrupted hismeditations every now and then to look expectantly in the directionwhence he knew he must come. At length a figure emerged from thedarkness and silence at the further end of a long avenue leading fromthe entrance, and Atma knew the form and step grown in those past daysof pleasant intercourse so dear and familiar. He went to meet hisfriend; Bertram's face was graver than he had known it in the past, andthe kindly eyes were full of questioning.
Atma spoke first, and the joyful tone of his voice surprised himself.Perhaps he was more hopeful at heart than he knew.
"My heart was assured that you would come, Bertram Sahib."
"My English friends," replied Bertram, "have left Jummoo, and are now ontheir way to Lahore, where I must join them. I could not go without aneffort to meet you here, not only because you bade me, but I alsodesired it, for I have been full of distressful perplexity, refusing todoubt you, my friend whom I have believed leal and true."
"But you are grieved no longer," returned Atma. "As your eyes meet mine,their sadness vanishes like the clouds of morning before the light ofday."
Bertram smiled. "True, the candour of your ingenuous gaze does much toreassure me. I gather from your brief reply to my brother officer thatloyalty to your nation and faith forbids you to speak openly, but surelythis much you can tell me, for I ask concerning yourself alone:--Can itbe that you who have seemed an embodiment of truth and candour have allthis time been contemplating the destruction of your host, and mydestruction also," he added slowly, "whose hand has so often beenclasped in yours? Truth and Purity seemed dear to you, Atma Singh. Canit be possible that you and I have together searched into heavenlytruth, while one of us held in his heart the foulest treachery?"
"I know of no treachery to Golab Singh," replied Atma steadfastly. "Asfor you, brother of my love, reflect that the dear hope, faint anddistant though it be now, of the triumph of the Khalsa need not implydisgrace nor disaster to your people, who, unwillingly at first,burdened themselves with the affairs of the Punjaub. The later treacheryat Mooltan has been abundantly expiated by the innocent as well as theguilty."
He stopped abruptly, for a sound like distant sobbing broke thestillness. They listened, but it was not repeated.
"Atma, I believe you. I can perceive your position, and how, sounhappily, you have been able to reconcile insidious intrigue withsentiments of honour and purity. But I have much to tell you, for Iwould warn you against enemies on all sides. Rajah Lal, for some reasonyour mortal foe, has convinced Golab Singh that you connived at hisdeath by means of the poison discovered in the casket." Here theEnglishman's eyes sought Atma's with sorrowful question in their bluedepths, but he received no other response than a frank and fearlessgaze. "He accuses you," continued Bertram, "of conspiring to rob him,Lal Singh, of his bride," Atma started, "for it seems his betrothal wascelebrated during his recent absence from Kashmir. But I have startledyou, Atma Singh, tell me--"
A woman's scream interrupted him. It sounded near by, and both sprangforward, when Bertram, recollecting himself, stayed his companion.
"Halt," he said, "you must remain concealed. I will go alone if we hearmore."
Another shriek rent the air, and he hastened forward, Atma proceedingslowly in the same direction by a more circuitous way. He was stunned bywhat he had just heard. It seemed to him that the shriek which hadbroken into the midst of Bertram's communication had been his own, andthat it was being repeated on all sides. In reality the only sound thatnow disturbed the night was the echo of his own and Bertram's footsteps,the latter hurried and irregular for the ground was uneven.
A few moments passed and the steps ceased, and Atma standing still hearda smothered exclamation. Another voice spoke from a distance angrily,and, fearing for his friend, he now hastened forward rapidly, thoughstill cautiously. When he reached the spot, he found Bertram kneelingbeside a prostrate female form, a small and childlike figure. The veil,torn aside, was stained with blood, and Atma's heart stood still, forthe unconscious form was that of Moti's little maid. He failed to seeBertram's imperative gesture, motioning him back, and Bertram then spokein rapid though subdued accents.
"Go back, I entreat you; no one will harm me, but your life is marked--"
He had better not have spoken. There was a cry of fiendish glee and thenthe report of a gun, and Bertram fell back with a groan. A shriek oftriumph rose at a distance. "The traitor Atma is dead!" A noise of theflying feet of Lal's minions and then silence. Atma stood alone. Withanguished heart he raised the unconscious head which his own love hadlured to destruction. To his unspeakable joy the eyes opened, and theloved voice faintly strove to bid him fly. The effort made him swoonagain, and when he next revived it was to ask for water. Atma ran to arill which he had noted before, and speedily returned with a draught.After drinking, Bertram raised himself slightly, and directing hisfriend's attention to the body of the servant-maid he whispered:
"With her last breath she bade me search the tomb." Until now Atma hadnot observed that they were in the shadow of Sangita's tomb. The vineswere torn from its ancient portal, which hung open on broken hinge.
"Go," said Bertram, but Atma would first staunch and bind his wound.
At length he might leave him, and then lifting the door and the trailingvines aside to allow the moonlight to penetrate he looked in. A momentlater he had entered. He remained long, so long that Bertram, uneasy andsuffering, called him again and again, but without response. Half anhour--an hour passed, and then he feebly and painfully crept to thedoorway of the tomb. He saw Atma prostrate on the damp sepulchral mould,his face buried in his hands, and beside him lay still, and cold, andlifeless, a girl attired in bridal finery, with jewels gleaming on herdark hair and on her stiffening arms. It was Moti.
Ah, the worms were gloating, This is by-and-bye.