He was calling--as even Rudolph knew--on the strange god across the sea, Saviour of the Children of the West, not to forget his nameless and lonely servant.
Rudolph groaned aloud, rose, and had parted the curtain to run out and fall upon them all, when suddenly, close at hand and sharp in the general din, there burst a quick volley of rifleshots.

Splinters flew from the attap walls.

A torch-bearer and the man with the sword spun half round, collided, and fell, the one across the other, like drunken wrestlers.

The survivors flung down their torches and ran, leaping and diving over bales.

On the ground, the smouldering Lamp of Heaven showed that its wearer, rescued by a lucky bullet, lay still in a posture of humility.