Atma - A Romance

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 overwhelming

stroke of calamity. It was midnight, and the moon shone on the old

Moslem Burial Place, where he awaited the coming of Bertram. The trees

cast long black shadows, and here and there the monuments gleamed like

silver. His mind had not yet grasped the full enormity of the conspiracy

of which he was the victim, but he knew that the perfidy of Lal and the

loss of the Sapphire meant death to his hopes of winning victory for the

Khalsa. But his heart was strangely still. He had been waiting since

sundown, but he did not doubt his friend, and interrupted his

meditations every now and then to look expectantly in the direction

whence he knew he must come. At length a figure emerged from the

darkness and silence at the further end of a long avenue leading from

the entrance, and Atma knew the form and step grown in those past days

of pleasant intercourse so dear and familiar. He went to meet his

friend; Bertram's face was graver than he had known it in the past, and

the 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 on

their way to Lahore, where I must join them. I could not go without an

effort to meet you here, not only because you bade me, but I also

desired it, for I have been full of distressful perplexity, refusing to

doubt 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 of

day."

Bertram smiled. "True, the candour of your ingenuous gaze does much to

reassure me. I gather from your brief reply to my brother officer that

loyalty to your nation and faith forbids you to speak openly, but surely

this much you can tell me, for I ask concerning yourself alone:--Can it

be that you who have seemed an embodiment of truth and candour have all

this time been contemplating the destruction of your host, and my

destruction also," he added slowly, "whose hand has so often been

clasped in yours? Truth and Purity seemed dear to you, Atma Singh. Can

it be possible that you and I have together searched into heavenly

truth, while one of us held in his heart the foulest treachery?"