With a sharp sense of revulsion, she saw the deformed man squatting close to her, his chuddah-draped head lodged upon his knees.  He did not stir at her coming though she felt convinced that he was aware of her, aware probably of everything that passed within a considerable radius of his disreputable person.  His dark face, lined and dirty, half-covered with ragged black hair that ended in a long thin wisp like a goat’s beard on his shrunken chest, was still turned to the east as though challenging the sun that was smiting a swift course through the heavens as if with a flaming sword.  The simile rushed through her mind unbidden.  Where would she be—­what would have happened to her—­by the time that sword was sheathed?

She conquered her repulsion and approached the man.  As she did so, Peter glided silently up like a faithful watch-dog and took his place at her right hand.  It was typical of the position he was to occupy in the days that were coming.

Within a pace or two of the huddled figure, Stella stopped.  He had not moved.  It was evident that he was so rapt in meditation that her presence at that moment was no more to him than that of an insect crawling across his path.  His eyes, red-rimmed, startlingly bright, still challenged the coming day.  His whole expression was so grimly aloof, so sternly unsympathetic, that she hesitated to disturb him.

Humbly Peter came to her assistance.  “May I be allowed to speak to him, mem-sahib?” he asked.

She turned to him thankfully.  “Yes, tell him what I want!”

Peter placed himself in front of the stranger.  “The noble lady desires your service,” he said.  “Her gracious excellency is waiting.”

A quiver went through the crouching form.  He seemed to awake, his mind returning as it were from a far distance.  He turned his head, and Stella saw that he was not blind.  For his eyes took her in, for the moment appraised her.  Then with ungainly, tortoiselike movements, he arose.

“I am her excellency’s servant,” he said, in hollow, quavering accents.  “I live or die at her most gracious command.”

It was abjectly spoken, yet she shuddered at the sound of his voice.  Her whole being revolted against holding any converse with the man.  But she forced herself to persist.  Only this monstrous, half-bestial creature could give her any detail of the awful thing that had happened in the night.  If Ralph were indeed dead, this man was the last who had seen him in life.

With a strong effort she subdued her repugnance and addressed him.  “I want,” she said, “to be guided to the place from which you say he fell.  I must see for myself.”

He bent himself almost to the earth before her.  “Let the gracious lady follow her servant!” he said, and forthwith straightened himself and hobbled away.