Bek, riding up, and at ten paces' distance pulling the trigger!... the
gun went off: and slowly, without a groan, the colonel sank out of his
saddle. His affrighted horse, with expanded nostrils and streaming mane,
smelt at his rider, in whose hands the reins that had so lately guided
him began to stiffen: and the steed of Ammalát stopped abruptly before
the corpse, setting his legs straight before him. Ammalát leaped from
his horse, and, resting his arms on his yet smoking gun, looked for
several moments steadfastly in the face of the murdered man; as if
endeavouring to prove to himself that he feared not that fixed gaze,
those fast-dimming eyes--that fast-freezing blood. It would be difficult
to understand--'twere impossible to express the thoughts which rolled
like a whirlwind through his breast. Saphir Ali rode up at full gallop;
and fell on his knees by the colonel--he laid his ear to the dying man's
mouth--he breathed not--he felt his heart--it beat not! "He is dead!"
cried Saphir Ali in a tone of despair. "Dead! quite dead!"

"So much the better ... My happiness is complete!..." exclaimed Ammalát,
as if awakening from a dream.

"Happiness for you--for you, fratricide! If you meet happiness, the
world will take to Shaitán instead of Allah."

"Saphir Ali, remember that you are not my judge!" said Ammalát fiercely,
as he put his foot into the stirrup: "follow me!"

"May remorse alone accompany you, like your shadow! From this hour I am
not your companion."

Pierced to the very bottom of his heart by this reproach from a man to
whom he had been from infancy bound by the closest ties, Ammalát uttered