Meanwhile the rites proceeded, and the recitations. Moro Trimmul was declaiming, with unusually excited gestures and eloquence, the impassioned passages which had been assigned to him, often interrupted by the cries of "Jey Kalee! Jey Toolja!" and the clapping of hands which proceeded from the people whenever a favourite sentiment or allusion to the glorious days of Hindu power occurred in the text. Before concluding his part, which was the last of the night's performance, he had withdrawn to the back of the temple, and beckoned to Gunga, and a brief colloquy passed between them.

There was no faltering in the purposes of either. Gunga had noticed the departure of Anunda and Radha with exultation which she could hardly conceal. She had gone to Tara after she resumed her position at the shrine, touched her feet, and thanked her for remaining. Other priestesses, too, had crowded round her, and, excited as they were, all united in determining that the last procession should be unusually remarkable.

"See," said Gunga, as she came to him, "all is ready. There is no one by the door inside; but try it, and ascertain who are outside. Be thou ready only, and trust to me for the rest. Nay, I will come with thee—look!"

The place was dark, for there was no illumination behind the temple, and by its mass a broad shadow was thrown on the recess in which the door was situated. The girl stepped into it, followed by the Brahmun, and opened the door slightly. A number of dark forms were sitting without on a small terrace, from whence descended a flight of steps into the ravine. One rose. "Wagya!" she said in a low voice.

"I am here, lady," he replied; "is it time?"

"Not yet. When the next procession passes round the corner yonder, come out to look at it; you will not be noticed. Have you the blanket?"

"It is here," he said, holding one up; "and they are all ready yonder," and he pointed to the trees, where there was a dull glow as of the embers of a small fire—"palankeen, horses and all."

"Be careful of her as you carry her out," she continued. "If she is hurt——"

The man laughed. "There is no fear," he said; "she will be carried daintily like a child, and cannot struggle in this."

"Good," she replied; "now be careful, and watch."

"Art thou satisfied?" she continued to Moro Trimmul, who had remained behind the door.

"Yes; thou art true, Gunga. I am true also, and here is the zone; put it on, and let it shame hers," he replied, taking the ornament from underneath his waist-cloth where he had concealed it.

"Ah!" she cried, taking it and clasping it round her waist, "thou art——"

"What is that?" he cried, interrupting her and catching her arm; "there is some disturbance without. What can it be? Listen!"

"I will look," she said; "stay thou here."

She turned the corner of the temple, but could proceed no farther. Every one had risen: and there was a wild, struggling, heaving mass of people before her, from among which piercing shrieks of women and children, mingled with hoarse cries of men, were rising fast in a dreadful clamour: while several shots, discharged in quick succession at the gate above, seemed to add to the general terror and confusion.

"They are fighting at the gate!" cried a man near her; and a cry of "the Toorks, the Toorks!" followed in agonizing tones from the women.

Gunga did not hesitate. She, perhaps, of all that crowd, was the most collected. Darting to Moro Trimmul she said hastily, "Do not move—I will bring her;" and so passed round to the back of the temple. As she did so, she met Tara and several other girls, some screaming, others silent from terror, but evidently making for the postern.

"My father! O Gunga, my father!" cried Tara piteously, "come with me, we will find him. Come; I have none but thee, Gunga, who dare seek him; come with me!"

"Yes," she said, "round this way; I saw him a moment ago. Come, we will get down the steps; I know the way up the mountain from below. Come!" cried Gunga with a shriek; and seeing that Tara hesitated, and that people were crowding through the vestibule into the dark portion of the court, and hiding themselves among the cloisters,—she caught her arm and dragged her forward.

Moro Trimmul saw the action, and, unnoticed in the confusion, seized Tara from behind and bore her to the postern. The girl's shrieks seemed to ring high above all others in that horrible tumult, but they were quickly stifled in the blanket thrown over her, while she was borne rapidly down the steps by those stationed there, to whom Moro Trimmul resigned her.

"Thou canst not return, Moro," said Gunga, who had closed and locked the door unobserved and flung away the key; "let us fly for our lives. Hark! they are fighting within, and may follow us."

"O for my sword to strike in once for those poor friends!" cried Moro Trimmul with a groan. "They have been seeking me, and the rest will suffer. What art thou but liar and murderess, O Toolja! that thou dost not protect thy votaries? must they perish in thy very presence?"

"Hush, and come fast," cried Gunga, dragging him down the steps. "Fool, wilt thou die with the rest? Away! mount and ride for thy life; I will bring her after thee."

The Khan and his companions, as they had arranged, separated into three bodies as they reached the town; and as they filed off to the right and left in succession, the Khan, with the Peer and others, rode into the gate, and secured it. They had met no one outside the town; inside were a few of the royal soldiery on duty, who, themselves surprised, could have made no opposition, even had the Khan been an enemy.

Down the centre street, which was also empty, except of stragglers coming from the temple, the horsemen poured, now pressing on fast from the rear; and a body of them, dismounting in the centre of the town, rushed forward down the bazar to secure the entrance to the temple. Then some people, who were advancing, saw danger, and hastened to warn those in charge to shut it, turning back with loud shouts, others coming on. A party of the Nimbalkur's men, who were in attendance with their chief's horses, and were around the entrance within, mounted the small bastions at the sides, while others shut the doors.

Those who reached them first were Pahar Singh and Ibrahim Khan, with some of the Abyssinians and other followers, mingled together, each striving to be foremost.

"Open the gate; we mean no harm," cried Pahar Singh in Mahratta; "we are on the King's service, and if you resist, your blood be on your own heads!"

"We will admit no one," cried a voice from the bastion. "Go! ye are robbers, and we will fire on ye."

"I say it again," returned the chief, "we are a thousand men, and I cannot save you if you hesitate. Open the gate!"

There was no reply, but several matchlocks were pointed from the parapet above, which was loopholed.

"Hast thou the axe, Rama?" asked the chief.

"It is here," said the man, drawing a heavy axe-head from his waist: and, coolly fitting a helve to it, lifted it above his head. "Shall I?"

"Strike!" cried Pahar Singh.

Several heavy blows fell on the gate, and a man called out from the bastion, "Desist, or we fire."

But Rama heeded no warning. Again two crashing blows, struck with his full force, had splintered some of the wood-work, and he had uplifted his arm for another, when one of the men at a lower loophole fired. Rama swayed to and fro for a moment, and, falling heavily to the ground, the blood gushed from his mouth in a torrent.

Pahar Singh did not speak, but he gnashed his teeth in fury. Rama, of all his inferior followers, was the one most devoted—and was brave to recklessness. The chief saw that the shot must have been deadly. He might have shared the same fate; but the men without, his own as well as the Abyssinians, returned the fire, and distracted the aim of those within.

"By——" and the oath was lost in the clamour—he cried, putting his sword between his teeth, seizing the axe, and striking at the door with his whole force, "ye shall die, sons of vile Mahratta mothers. Every one of ye shall howl in hell for that poor fellow."

Blow after blow followed; and as the panel near the lock broke under them, a number of the chief's men and the Abyssinians rushed against the door, which gave way under their combined weight and force, and entrance was effected.

On the noise of the first shouts reaching them, the Khan, the priest, and others, rushed down the street, and arrived at the scene of action. The firing was increasing, and several of the Khan's followers and Abyssinians had fallen. Some were already dead, others wounded; and, wedged as they had been in a mass, every shot had told on them, while those who defended the gate could not be seen. Its being forced, however, changed the feature of the contest; and the Khan, who, in the heat of the excitement, forgot his caution and warning to the men, now shouted his battle-cry; while the priest, struggling in with the rest, cried to the men—"Bismilla!—in the name of God and the Prophet—slay, slay—ye true believers! Heed not death—ye will be martyrs! Let not the Kaffirs live, who have killed the faithful. Send them to hell, to perish with their devil's idols. Kill! kill!"

With such cries, had men of Islam been hounded on by their priests before. Was he to be less? Here, in the very holiest of infidel temples, should the might of Islam be felt.

But, in truth, the men needed but little excitement; what was there before them was enough. Who did not remember that it was a JÉhÂd, a war of the faith, which had been preached to them daily? Who did not remember that to slay infidels in war earned the blessing of the Prophet and paradise? So, with Pahar Singh leading them, his sword between his teeth, and striking down men right and left with every blow of his axe, the infuriated soldiery rushed in a body down the steps and into the large court below.

Who can describe the scene? Shrieking women and helpless men strove to fly before them, but in vain; and the bloody work of their enemies, as they pressed forward, hewing with their long sharp weapons at the unresisting masses, was quick and deadly. Pahar Singh saw Nimbalkur and several other chiefs standing resolutely before the entrance to the shrine, sword in hand, awaiting the onset. "Yield," he cried, "your lives will be spared; why shed blood? Jey Rao, be wise, down with your sword;"—and for an instant the parties stood opposite to each other glaring defiance. But bloodshed was not yet to be stayed. Some of the infuriated Abyssinians again dashed into the mass of the people with a shout of "Deen, Deen!" striking indiscriminately at all before them, and the Mahratta chiefs were swept into the temple. As they were followed, Vyas Shastree, who, remembering his old skill in weapons, and unable to control himself, had seized sword and shield and mixed with the rest,—struck at a huge negro who was foremost, and wounded him severely.

"Dog of a Kaffir," cried the man, grinding his teeth, "get thee to hell!" and had not his arm caught that of a fellow-soldier who was near, depriving the cut of its force, Vyas Shastree had spoken no more. As it was, the blow descended upon his bare head,—he fell senseless among the crowd of dead and dying,—and those who entered the temple, trampled over him as one of the slain.

Pahar Singh's object was to save the shrine if possible, but he felt himself helpless against the crowd of Moslems who, headed by the priest, now filled the vestibule, shouting their fanatic cry of "Deen, Deen!" Life was dear to him, dearer than the idol, for which, in truth, he had no particular veneration, though he had dread. "If thou canst not save thyself, Mother," he muttered, "I am not going to die for thee," and, stepping aside, the men of Islam pressed on.

The priest was among the foremost to enter the sanctum, where two old Brahmuns, cowering beside the altar, were instantly slain; and, seizing the necklaces of pearls and precious stones, he tore them away from the neck of the image, with one hand flinging them out among the people, while with the other he overthrew it, and, trampling it underfoot, spat upon the face in scorn and contempt.

If the men in the temple courts, impelled by religious fury, showed no mercy, and, hunting unresisting men and women into dark corners, slew them indiscriminately till the areas were filled with dead and dying, lying in heaps as they had fallen by the sword or had been trampled down; those who had remained outside were, in their turn, no more humane. Under the cry of "Deen, Deen!—for the faith, for the faith!" more cruelty was perpetrated in Tooljapoor than it has ever since forgotten; and daylight revealed a scene of plunder, rapine, and destruction, such as may be conceived—but hardly described.

Anunda and Radha were safe at home, as we have already related; when, after an indistinct murmur, for which she could not account, the shots at the temple gate were suddenly heard; and, looking from the terrace, they saw the confusion in the court commence. Both were brave, but the terror of Anunda for her husband and Tara, was fast paralysing her senses.

"I will die here," she said; "take the wealth and jewels and leave me. Escape as thou canst, Radha; hide thyself, Moro will come and seek thee."

But Radha would not leave her; and, descending to the lower apartments, they sat cowering in their chamber, shivering at every sound, and, having extinguished the light, remained in utter darkness.

"Lady, lady!" cried a man's voice in the outer verandah; "where art thou?"

"It is JÁnoo NÄik, the Ramoosee," said Anunda in a whisper. "God reward him for coming; he is true; Radha, let us go with him."

"Lady, lady! the house is not safe! come, come," continued the man earnestly; "leave all—my people will guard it—only come. Your honour is more than wealth, and you can only save it by flight."

The terror of violence brought them forth. "Follow me," he said; "here are twenty men to guard the house—no one will molest them."

The women followed silently, sobbing as they went. The Ramoosee led them northwards out of the town to the edge of the great ravine, and descended a steep path, which they knew led to a spring in one of the broad steps or ledges of the mountain, near which was a recess in the rock familiar to both. "Stay here," he said; "no one can see you. I must return: here, I should only betray you."

"At least, take away our ornaments," said Anunda; "we dare not keep them. Keep them thyself, or hide them somewhere;" and the women hastily took off all they wore, and laid them on the ground before him.

JÁnoo sat down on his hams, and counted them deliberately. "There are thirteen pieces, large and small, gold and silver together. Yes, they are safe with me. Now, take my blanket, though it be a Mang's; sit in it till daylight. Ye can bathe afterwards and be clean. I will come early if I can, and take ye down the hills to Afsinga, or else send my son."

So saying, and without waiting for a reply, he left them, ascended the path rapidly, and disappeared over the ledge of the mountain; and the women remained, shivering with fright and cold, and listening in terror to the shots, which rose above the confused roar of screams and shouts proceeding from the town.

On the other side, in the ravine, the progress of the band who carried off Tara was but a short one. Struggling vainly with her captors, she found resistance hopeless. Borne in the arms of two men, others held her hands and feet; and over her one of the thick coarse blankets of the common people had been thrown, which prevented cry of any kind. Tara felt that the men were gentle with her, and in spite of her terror, she retained her senses completely. She was aware that she was taken down the steps, and hurried along rapidly at a run; then there was a pause, and she was thrown into—rather than placed in—a palankeen, the doors shut to violently, and kept closed. They were carrying her away. Who could it be but Moro Trimmul, that was to leave that night? Even now her father might hear her screams, and terror lent strength to her voice; but in vain—succour from him was indeed hopeless.

As may be supposed, nothing had prevented the progress of the party under Fazil and Gopal Singh; and the latter, a pleasant companion, had amused the young Khan with anecdotes of his uncle, and of their border life. He knew the ground perfectly, and they soon reached their destination; and while part of his men were drawn up between the rivulet and the pass, and some even ascended the pass itself, he conducted Fazil into the temple glen, which turned to the right out of the main ravine. At its mouth was some level ground, and the horsemen had just occupied it when the attack began above.

It would have been impossible for the bearers of Tara's litter to carry it over that rough path in the dark; and as she had been put into it, a torch was lighted, which was instantly seen by Fazil and Gopal Singh.

"Not a word from any one," cried the latter; "some one is escaping. They cannot get away from us. Now, Meah, be careful."

"Strike, if any one resists," said Fazil to the men about him; "but it is better to take them alive. Look, 'tis a litter—who can it be? Peace, all of you; be silent!"

The gloom of night and some bushes concealed them, and the advancing party saw and suspected nothing. Moro Trimmul was riding in front, Gunga following him. The palankeen was behind with the Ramoosees and servants around it on all sides. The baggage-ponies had already gone on before.

"Stop!" cried Fazil, as he laid hold of the Brahmun, and held his naked sword over him. "Who art thou?—nay, struggle or attempt to escape, and I will kill thee.—A Brahmun? Who art thou?"

Moro Pundit had had no time to dress himself for the journey. His clothes were in the palankeen. Naked to the waist, with his hair streaming about his shoulders, he had come as he had been reciting. He had no weapons, nor means of resistance; and, though a powerful man, was no match for Fazil, who held him like a vice.

"Moro Trimmul, by the gods!" exclaimed Gopal Singh, who recognized him as the light from the torch fell upon him. "Ah, Maharaj!" he added, "you don't know me, but I have seen you before."

"Then we are indeed fortunate, friends," said Fazil joyfully; "and who is in the litter?"

"My wife," said the Brahmun sullenly; "do as ye will with me, but let her and the servants go on."

"Then thou hast married only lately, Pundit?" said Gopal Singh dryly; "thou hadst no wife three days ago. We had as well look at her, at all events, Meah, and prevent her screaming."

"Open the door! release me! release me!" cried Tara from within in piteous accents. "Let me go! let me go! Ah, sirs, for your mothers' honour, release me!"

"Art thou his wife?" asked Fazil, dismounting and opening the door of the palankeen; "if so, fear not, we have no war with women."

"Not so; I am not his wife," cried Tara hastily, disengaging herself from the litter, and throwing herself at Fazil's feet. "O sir, save me! Noble sir, by your mother's, by your sister's honour, save me from him; he would have carried me away. Nay, I will not rise till you tell me you will take me to my father. O return with me and rescue him, else he will be slain! Come, I will lead ye back; he is a priest of the temple!"

"It cannot be, girl," said Fazil, more disturbed by Tara's beauty, and more agitated than he cared to acknowledge to himself. "It cannot be till daylight, and no one will touch your father if he be a Brahmun; so sit in the litter and fear not. And thou art not his wife?" and he pointed to Moro Trimmul.

"O no, my lord," said the girl trembling; "you have been sent by the Holy Mother to deliver me, else he would have carried me away by force. Do not give me to him, I beseech you."

"Fear not," said Fazil; "no harm shall come to thee here. There is more in this matter than we can now find out, friends," he continued to those about him; "but bind that Brahmun on his horse, and tie it to one of your own."

"Ah, sir, I will do that beautifully," cried Lukshmun, "and with his own waist-cloth too. But, friends, see that my wife does not run away, while I am busy for the master there—to my mind she is the handsomest of the two."

It was Gunga who, knowing the path, had turned from it when Moro Trimmul met Fazil, and, slipping from her horse, had tried to escape among the bushes; but the quick eye of Lukshmun had detected her, and he had seized and dragged her forward.

"May earth fall on thee, dog!" cried the girl, struggling with him, "foul hunchback as thou art, let me go."

"Not so," he said, "I know thee, Gunga. My lord, she is one of the Moorlees of the Mother up yonder; and are not all women taken in war slaves?"

"Peace," cried Fazil; "sit quiet there, girl; move not, else I will have thee tied. Ah, that will do, friend," he continued, as Lukshmun finished his careful binding up of Moro Trimmul; "you have not hurt him?"

"Master," replied the man, wagging his head, "it is a plan of my own, and while he is helpless to move, he is in no pain. Is it not so, Maharaj? Now sit quiet on your horse, Punditjee, while I look after my wife; she has a noble gold belt, which she has promised me. Is it not so, O lotos-face?"

"My lord," said Gopal Singh, interrupting, "the disturbance above grows worse—had we not as well send the women and others to the rear? If there is any rush this way, they may come to harm."

"A good thought, friend," replied Fazil.

"It is no use," said Gunga, "the door is locked, and the key was thrown away: no one can escape from thence by this road."

So they remained, while the tumult increased to a roar which filled the glen, above which shots were now and then heard; then fell to a dull murmur, and finally seemed to die away in the distant town. The temple lights became dim, and went out one by one, and the ravine grew dark. Then the stars shone out, and after a while dawn broke, and the mountain, and the rugged precipices of the glen and town above, were gradually revealed in the grey light.