His red-rimmed, sunken eyes gazed like the eyes of a dead man straight into the sunrise.

So motionless were they, so utterly void of expression, that she thought they must be blind.

There was something fateful, something terrible in the aloofness of him.

It was as if an invisible circle surrounded him within which none might intrude.
And close at hand--so close that she could have touched his turbaned head as she stood--the great Sikh bearer, Peter, sat huddled in a heap on the soft green earth and rocked himself to and fro like a child in trouble.

She knew at the first glance that it was he who had uttered that anguished wail.
To him she turned, as to the only being she could trust in that strange scene.
"Peter," she said, "what has happened?
What is wrong?
Where--where is the captain _sahib_ ?" He gave a great start at the sound of her voice above him, and instantly, with a rapid noiseless movement, arose and bent himself before her.
"The _mem-sahib_ will pardon her servant," he said, and she saw that his dark face was twisted with emotion.