"Here, Bhiku, bring the lamp here," roared the sardar once more, "the woman has hid herself beneath the taktaposh." Bhiku brought the lamp, trimming it well. Rajmohan followed; all then bent down to look beneath the taktaposh for the affrighted fugitive, when lo! nobody was there.
Lifting the lamp high they could see by its improved light every corner and angle of the room, but Matangini was nowhere.
"The door! the door!" exclaimed Rajmohan, "look! it is unbarred. I had barred it when I entered. She has fled."
Matangini had indeed fled. Profiting by the mutual quarrel [of the robbers who] were too deeply engaged in their own [life] and death struggle to remember her whom less brutal hearts could never forget, Matangini had stolen away unperceived to the door, which she had quietly unbarred, and it is to be doubted if far more clamorous proceedings on her part would have attracted the attention of combatants so busily engaged.
"Run, run after her," said the sardar, "she will ruin us."
"Yes, run" said Rajmohan. "But hark you, none but I lift a finger against my wife. I will kill her when she is found, or if I do not, kill me as you proposed. But no one else must touch her. Haste, I will precede you."
The three rushed out. The skies were still murky and continued drizzling. The fair fugitive was searched for in every direction. Day was
