The man was crazed with love, and the girl intoxicated with the drug, and they were perched up there above the world alone, in the stillness of the Indian night.

He hastily wrapped her in the cloak, and taking her into his arms, hid her face against his shoulder, and stood for a moment staring out towards the spot from whence had come the ill-omened jackal cry.

“Not yet,” he whispered.  “Not yet!”

Sure-footed as a goat he carried her down the winding stairs out into the moonlight, and across the terrace, and up the marble steps, and placed her upon the wide marble seat, and sat sideways upon it behind her, unwitting of the miserable wretch who watched from between the cypress trees.

Leonie sat quite still until the mystery of the place, or whatever it is, entered into the innermost recesses of her being; and she held out her arms to the light burning day and night above the dead lovers, and sobbed.

Madhu Krishnaghar laid his hand upon hers on the cold marble of the seat, and lost himself in ecstasy at the tears which welled into the strange gold-green eyes and fell, then opening the collar of the white linen coat, he lifted a necklace of priceless pearls over his turban and passed it over the girl’s head, holding it lightly until one end had slid down into the scented laces of her bosom where lay a cat’s-eye on a golden chain.

“Thou white doe,” he said, “thou virgin snow,” and added fiercely, “give me the rose from above thy heart, that I may press it to my couch.”

Obediently Leonie gave it, faded and warm, and looked at him with a strange little gleam of anger in her eyes; and he, understanding that the effect of the drug was passing, and that wrath maybe would follow love, led her by the hand down through the double row of cypress trees towards the gate.

Alas! a twig cracked under the wretched shudra’s foot, snapping with the report of a pistol in the stillness of the night; and the man, feeling the hands of his gods upon him, fled like a hunted hare towards the gate.

Madhu Krishnaghar, with his face one blaze of fury, stood still and called.

“Rama,” he called.  “Rama, hold,” and as the wretched creature, forgetting the animal in his fear, sped past him, Rama curled his trunk swiftly about him and jerked him to a standstill.

Useless to strive against that strength; useless to fight against the gods or raise his voice in shrieking prayer.

For had he not looked upon the unveiled face of his master’s woman.

Slowly Madhu Krishnaghar led Leonie up the marble steps and stopped.

“Thou dog,” he said gently, “thou low-caste dog!”

Then he drew Leonie into his arms and covered her completely with the heavy coat.

But the man, submitting to fate with the terrible resignation of the East, let fly one last poisoned arrow.

“The dog goes to his death,” he cried.  “But behold, the shame of the lord is great, for have not the eyes of the low-caste dog rested upon the woman’s face.”