Just then, on that desolate hill, within that inaccessible thicket, in that unearthly period of impenetrable darkness, some one touched Shaibalini's body. At first she thought it was some beast of the forest; so she moved away a little. But again she perceived that touch on her body, and this time she could distinctly feel that it was exactly the touch of a human hand—nothing, however, could be seen in the darkness. Shaibalini then in a fear-stricken voice asked, "Who are you? Are you an angel or a man?" Shaibalini had no reason to be afraid of man, but she could not but dread the Gods; for they are the dispensers of justice.
Nobody gave any answer to Shaibalini's query. But she could feel, be it a man or an angel, she was being grasped by somebody. She found that a hand was placed on her back and another clasped her legs, and that she was being lifted up. At this, she burst forth into a scream. After a while, she could perceive that she was being carried somewhere, and that her carrier was ascending the hills very carefully with her. Shaibalini thought that whoever he may be, he was certainly not Lawrence Foster.
