Scenting danger and fearing a trap he stood still in the middle of the courtyard.

The uproar continued and drew nearer.  Suddenly it was dominated by a blood-curdling shriek of agony.  Through the wide gateway he saw five or six men fleeing across the farther courtyard, which was surrounded by a high wall.  Behind them rushed a huge tusker elephant, ears and tail cocked, eyes aflame with rage.  He overtook one man, struck him down with his trunk, trod him to pulp, and then pursued the others.  Some of them, crazed with terror, tried to climb the walls.  The savage brute struck them down one after another, gored them or trampled them to death.

Three terrified wretches fled through the gateway into the courtyard in which Dermot was standing.  One stumbled and the elephant caught him up.  The demented man turned on it and tried to beat it off with his bare hands.  With a scream of fury the maddened beast drove his blood-stained tusk into the wretch’s body, pitched him aloft, then hurled him to the ground and gored him again and again.  The dying shriek that burst from the labouring lungs turned Dermot’s blood cold.  The body was kicked, trampled on, and then torn limb from limb.

The two other men had dashed wildly across the courtyard.  One reached the small door and was beating madly on it with bleeding knuckles, but it remained implacably closed.  The other, driven mad by fear, was running round and round the courtyard like a caged animal, stopping occasionally to raise imploring hands and eyes to the windows of the Palace, which were now filled with spectators.  Even the roofs were crowded with natives looking down on the tragedy being enacted below.

Dermot realised that he had been trapped.  There was no escape.  He looked up at the Rajah’s windows.  One had been pushed open, and he thought that he could see the Dewan and his master watching him.  He determined that he would not afford them the gratification of seeing him run round and round the walls of the courtyard like a rat in a trap until death overtook him.  So, when the elephant at last drew off from its victim and stood irresolute for a moment, he turned to face it.

It seemed to him that he heard his voice called, faintly and from far away, but all his faculties were intent on watching the death that approached him in such hideous guise.  Dermot’s thoughts flew to Badshah for a moment, but swung back to centre on the coming annihilation.  With flaming eyes, trunk curled, and head thrown up, the elephant charged.

For one brief instant the man felt an insane desire to flee but, mastering it, he faced the on-rushing brute.  A minute more, and all would be over.  The soldier was unconscious of the shouts that rent the air, of the spectators crowding the balconies and windows.  He felt perfectly cool now and had but one regret—­that he had not been able to see Noreen again, as she had wished, before he died.