"Has it gone, child ?" I gasped. Kitty only wept more bitterly.
"Has what gone, Jack dear? what does it all mean? There must be a mistake
somewhere, Jack. A hideous mistake." Her last words brought me to my feet--
mad--raving for the time being.
"Yes, there is a mistake somewhere," I repeated, "a hideous mistake. Come and
look at It."
I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along the road up
to where It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak to It; to tell It
that we were betrothed; that neither Death nor Hell could break the tie
between us; and Kitty only knows how much more to the same effect. Now and
again I appealed passionately to the Terror in the 'rickshaw to bear witness
to all I had said, and to release me from a torture that was killing me. As I
talked I suppose I must have told Kitty of my old relations with Mrs.
Wessington, for I saw her listen intently with white face and blazing eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Pansay," she said, "that's quite enough. Syce ghora lao."
The syces, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with the recaptured
horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of the bridle,
entreating her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was the cut of her
riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word or two of farewell
that even now I cannot write down.
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