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 "Don't cry; if you do so, I will instantly throw you down."

The amazement of Bimala gifted with presence of mind lasted but for a moment. She understood the soldier's meaning when he spoke a second time. Just behind her was the verge of the roof; before her stood an armed soldier; soldiers, she knew, were no idle talkers, nor was the threat so hard of execution either. Revolving all this in her mind, the sensible woman said,

"Who are you?"

"Where's the need of your knowing me?" replied the soldier.

"Why have you come here into the castle?" asked she. "Don't you know that thieves are led to the stake?"

Soldier. "I am no thief, fair one."

Bimala. "How have you entered the castle?"

Soldier. "Through your own kindness—-when you left the window open, I came in; and have come up here in your wake."

Bimala struck her forehead with her hand.

"Who are you?" again asked she.

"Why should I now hesitate to make myself known to you?" said he. "I am a Pathan."

Bimala. "This is not enough—you are a Pathan by race; but who are you?"

Soldier. "By God's grace, my name is Osman Khan."

Bimala. "I have never heard of any such person."

Soldier. "Osman Khan, the general of Katlu Khan."

Bimala trembled. She burned with the desire of escaping any how and informing Virendra Singha of the tidings. But there was absolutely no way of her doing so, for before her stood the general obstructing her passage. Seeing no alternative, she thought that so long as she could keep him engaged in talk,