"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 then
the report of a gun, and Bertram fell back with a groan. A shriek of
triumph rose at a distance. "The traitor Atma is dead!" A noise of the
flying feet of Lal's minions and then silence. Atma stood alone. With
anguished heart he raised the unconscious head which his own love had
lured to destruction. To his unspeakable joy the eyes opened, and the
loved voice faintly strove to bid him fly. The effort made him swoon
again, and when he next revived it was to ask for water. Atma ran to a
rill which he had noted before, and speedily returned with a draught.
After drinking, Bertram raised himself slightly, and directing his
friend's attention to the body of the servant-maid he whispered: "With her last breath she bade me search the tomb." Until now Atma had
not observed that they were in the shadow of Sangita's tomb. The vines
were 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 trailing
vines aside to allow the moonlight to penetrate he looked in. A moment
later he had entered. He remained long, so long that Bertram, uneasy and
suffering, called him again and again, but without response. Half an
hour--an hour passed, and then he feebly and painfully crept to the
doorway 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, and
lifeless, a girl attired in bridal finery, with jewels gleaming on her
dark hair and on her stiffening arms. It was Moti.
Ah, the worms were gloating,
This is by-and-bye.