In the furtherance of his design, Ahmad anticipated what might be termed a scene when he made his report to the Rani upon the following morning. He fully expected, from his observation of the character of women in general, that he would find her enraged and vindictive with Prasad, as the result of the Hindu noble's failure to respond promptly to her summons. In this respect he was again destined to experience a surprise, if not a disappointment.
She received him sedately as became the nature of the business to be transacted, and without a reference to the event which had caused her to display so much feeling on the day before. If Prasad's image still occupied a place in her mind, no mention of his name came from her lips to mark her sentiment toward him. Had her heart been entirely free from the tender passion, she could not have appeared more composed, more secure in all that related to her nature as a woman.
From time to time Ahmad gazed upon her with wonder. In order to draw forth from her an outburst of the fire of resentment which he was convinced burned inwardly, he more than once skillfully turned the conversation in the direction of her truant lover; but the Rani as skillfully declined his lead, passing on naturally to matters of public importance.
She absolutely refused to disclose, from the beginning to the end of the interview, what her thoughts or intentions were in regard to the Mohammedan's rival.
As he was about to leave her presence, Ahmad paused on the threshold with the hope that she would yet make some reference to Prasad.
The Rani glanced toward him interrogatively.
"Hast thou more to say, O Ahmad"? she asked calmly.
"Nothing, nothing, great Lady," he answered falteringly, as he saluted.
She returned the salute with dignity.
"Then I wish thee good fortune until the morrow," she concluded.
He left the palace with uneasy speculations rising in his mind. Treacherous to the core of his nature himself, the Rani's reserve of manner, caused him to suspect that treachery was lurking somewhere among his own following.
Could that rascal of an astrologer be playing a double part? was the first thought that flashed into Ahmad's brain; or could Prasad be acting in the Rani's confidence as a spy upon his actions? If the latter happened to be the case, he reasoned that the Hindu noble must possess a power of deception of which he had certainly not displayed the least symptom as yet. Ahmad decided that this was unlikely. If, then, the astrologer was in reality conspiring against him, for greater pay on the part of someoneelse, a possible enough contingency, it could easily be detected. In any case he perceived the necessity of bringing Prasad's complete ruin in the Rani's estimation to a speedy issue, or a chance disclosure of his intrigue might engulf him hopelessly in the ditch, he had so well excavated for his rival.
He set spurs to his horse and rode quickly to the astrologer's house.
A prolonged conversation with Mohurran Goshi apparently satisfied Ahmad that he had nothing to fear from the duplicity of that crafty personage. He handed the astrologer a well filled purse as the best tonic to stimulate his continued fidelity.
"Thou wilt call, then, to see thy patient later in the day, learned Astrologer," Ahmad remarked, as he prepared to turn his face homeward.
"At thy command, noble Lord," acquiesced the astrologer submissively.
"It is well," exclaimed Ahmad. "I warrant thou wilt find him in an excellent humor for thy purpose."
Ahmad tested the speed of his horse until he approached within a short distance of the compound surrounding his dwelling. Then he slackened his pace and assumed an air of grave dejection.
"Good Prasad must believe that the heart of Ahmad Khan goes out to him in sympathy," he soliloquized, "while the disclosure of the Rani's faithlessness is drawn forth unwillingly from his friendly lips."
Prasad awaited the Mohammedan's return in a stateof feverish anxiety. He remarked Ahmad's gloomy visage immediately.
"Thou art the bearer of ill news, O Ahmad," he exclaimed, ere the usual greetings had been exchanged.
"Alas"! returned the other. "My countenance doubtless reflects the sadness of my heart."
"Speak," enjoined Prasad. "Tell me the worst thou knowest, for I feel assured it hath to deal with my unlucky case."
"The worst may be told quickly enough, good friend," replied Ahmad. "Yet, I would that thou urgest me not to such an unpleasant office. Let us discuss other matters, and leave the disagreeable topic to a later hour."
Prasad waved his hand impatiently.
"Tell me quickly," he cried. "Bad news is like decaying fruit. It becomes the more rotten with the keeping. Did the Rani refuse to hearken to my request"?
"Aye, she did even more than that," came the reply. "She refused to have thy name mentioned in her presence."
"So"! ejaculated Prasad. "What else hast thou to tell, my emissary"?
"Why, good Prasad, as I hold thy interest at heart it pains me deeply to speak thus, but it doth seem the Rani hath cast herself body and soul into the arms of this new favorite, Dost Ali. Her actions have become the scandal of the court."
Prasad raised himself upon his elbow. His brow contracted and his eyes flashed threateningly.
"Tell me more," he hoarsely muttered.
"In truth, there is little more to tell," rejoined Ahmad, "except, that she rides, walks, and feasts with him, and, the court gossip saith, yields somewhat more besides. As for me, my business over, she excused my presence speedily. I would have kept this from thee, but rumor would surely have broken through my desire."
Prasad rose and paced back and forth in ominous silence. Suddenly he turned and spoke vehemently.
"Ahmad, sick or well, I vow I will not be supplanted by this Dost Ali. Immediately will I go to the palace. Toward the Rani I mean no harm, but with her lover, I will find an excuse to bring this matter to an end between us. Either Prasad Singh or Dost Ali shall fall into the dust."
Ahmad laid a restraining hand upon the Hindu noble's shoulder.
"Prasad," he enjoined, "thou canst not do this."
"Why should I not"? the other asked tersely.
"Because there must be no strife within the Rani's palace. It would be an act against her pleasure, her authority. Deeply do I sympathize with thee, O Prasad, but I cannot countenance thy project."
Prasad returned his host's gaze with astonishment.
"Then, in heaven's name, what wouldst thou have me do"? he demanded. "Lie here like some decrepit hunter while another goes off with the quarry. Not I forsooth"!
"Come, good friend, curb thy ambition, passion, andimpetuosity for a season. Await with patience the fitting opportunity for achieving all, without resort to violent means, that would implacably offend the Rani. Thou, must remember her palace is not a camp, a field of arms."
"Oh"! exclaimed Prasad sarcastically. "These are indeed strange words from Ahmad Khan. Is it so long ago that he and his followers swept into her palace little heeding her authority. Truly that scene resembled an assault."
Ahmad winced at the retort but managed to preserve his equanimity. He replied in a contrite tone.
"It is even as thou sayest, but the hour was full of tumult. If my action seemed wanting in respect for the Rani's dignity, surely I have made the amends I swore upon the holy book."
Prasad laughed cynically.
"Loyal Ahmad," he cried. "I see not very well how thou canst prevent me settling with this Dost Ali."
"What I will prevent," the Mohammedan answered, as if conscious of a virtuous motive, "is the hasty action of a friend leading him on to certain ruin, aye, even if I surround the house with soldiers and hold him as a prisoner. Prasad, the Rani in her present temper would never forgive thee. Thou must, nay thou shalt have patience, for thine own interest. Even if thou dost curse thy friend now, he knows thou wilt presently call down blessings on his head."
The two regarded each other fixedly. On Ahmad'sface, entreaty that gave place to determination. Prasad's countenance, a display of conflicting emotions.
"Come," resumed Ahmad soothingly. "Subdue thy resentment. I tell thee thy trouble will pass over, and thou wilt find thyself high in favor with the Rani. In the meantime enjoy thy enforced absence from her court as becomes a noble of high spirit. Drink of the Foreigner's spirits, and," he added in a lower tone, "if thou wilt, of the charms of the fair Ganga. There are hundreds who would envy thy present opportunity."
"A curse upon all this mischief," Prasad returned impatiently.
"Hath not the learned astrologer told thee all will come well"? asked the Mohammedan reassuringly.
"A curse upon him, too," added Prasad. "If he observed a little more carefully events passing on the earth instead of keeping his gaze fixed upon the heavens, he would be able to prophesy more surely. The fool! Were I the Raja of Jhansi, I would soon find a means to make him lament his fate, for having disclosed such a budget of nonsense."
"Thou knowest that as a follower of the only true Prophet," replied Ahmad. "I set little store upon his trade as an astrologer; but as a physician, he hath a reputation whereby he is sought by the greatest nobles and princes."
"I care not for him or his reputation," returned Prasad sullenly. "To me, it seems, as if all men, aye and all women, are leagued against me."
"That is because thou art sick. Wait a day or two and thou wilt see things more reasonably. Because for the moment the flower thou longest to possess lies a little beyond thy reach, content thyself with others that are near to hand. Now I go to the cantonments to inspect the troops. When I return we will together discuss a means of getting rid of this Dost Ali without offending against the susceptibilities of the Rani; for in that, upon the oath that I have made, I can take no part."
With a further profession of his unalterable friendship, Ahmad departed to his military duties.
He had gone but an hour or so, a period consumed by Prasad in bitter reflections and vows of revenge upon his supposed rival, when the bullock cart of the astrologer again rumbled and creaked its slow progress to the Mohammedan's door.
Prasad received him in illhumored silence.
The astrologer-physician nevertheless methodically proceeded to unpack his bag, and to an examination of his patient.
As before, he gravely felt Prasad's pulse, observed his tongue, and then expressed himself as being highly satisfied with the sick man's improved condition.
"I had purposed advising thee to take a bath of oil," said he, "but I find it will be unnecessary."
"Truly thou art a wise physician," remarked Prasad sarcastically. "Tell me now, I beg, how the heavens look this evening for the attainment of my wishes"?
The astrologer scrutinized his calendar for a space, then replied in a satisfied tone.
"All goes well, noble sir. The moment of triumph over thine enemy draws nigh. She whom thou lovest will fly to thy arms speedily."
"Now of all the nonsense uttered by man, thou art talking the uttermost," replied Prasad in angry accents. "Dost know, learned Astrologer, that only this morning, after all that gibberish of thine yesterday, I heard the worst news possible"?
The astrologer instead of displaying offense at such a disparaging summary of his ability, appeared to expect the news.
"Noble sir," he argued in response. "That is as I anticipated. It often happens that a clearing sky is preceded by a thunderstorm. If thou wilt but hold thy patience for two days, then the moment for a determined action will have come."
"How do you mean"? asked Prasad doubtfully.
"Noble Lord," continued the astrologer in a confidential manner. "First I must have thy assurance that thou wilt not disclose a word of what I am about to unfold to thy illustrious host, Ahmad Khan.
"In truth he is thy friend, but in the enterprise which it will be well for thee to undertake, he will render thee no assistance, on account of a certain oath he has taken."
Prasad appeared to resume an interest in the astrologer's words.
"Proceed quickly," he urged. "Thou hast my promise."
"Then great sir," continued the astrologer. "Be pleased to know, that the fair one with whom thou art enamored, lies under the influence of one from whom she would gladly be delivered. If thou wert to repair to her side accompanied by a few trustworthy followers, at a favorable hour, she would hail thy appearance with joy, and thou couldst subdue thine enemy with ease."
"Come, learned Astrologer," interposed Prasad, his humor brightening perceptibly. "Now I realize thou art a man of action, and consequently a man of sense. Speak more plainly how thou wouldst advise. Be assured thou wilt be rewarded relatively with my success."
"Little further is there to say, noble Singh," returned the astrologer "except that the signs in the heavens declare midnight two days from hence to be the auspicious moment."
Prasad thought deeply for some minutes. At last he again spoke:
"Secluded here as I am, sage Doctor, it would be difficult for me to arrange the plan of action. I would that you suggest one for me."
The astrologer glanced round suspiciously as if to note that they were not overheard.
"That is an easy matter, noble Lord," he replied. "If thou wilt keep in mind my injunction not to breathe a word of it to Ahmad Khan, and repair to the tomb ofFiroz Khan, nigh the temple of Siva, overlooking the lake at one hour before midnight, I will arrange to have two or three good fellows to meet thee there. A greater number would arouse suspicion at the gate, but for thy purpose they will be sufficient. The palace will be asleep, and thine enemy taken off his guard."
"Thou seemest to know well the secrets of this affair, learned Astrologer," remarked Prasad.
"Such is my profession, noble sir," replied Mohurran Goshi, with a note of pride in his voice.
Prasad again buried himself in thought before he spoke.
"Yes, learned Doctor," he rejoined finally. "If thou art sure thou canst aid me in the way suggested, I have more than made up my mind to follow thy counsel."
A momentary flicker of satisfaction crossed the astrologer's crafty face.
"As certain, noble sir," he replied emphatically, "as that the sand in the hour glass of thine enemy's fortune hath all but emptied itself into the lower vessel."
"Then I will be there," decided Prasad, "at the appointed place and hour."
"Good, noble Lord," exclaimed the astrologer. "Be assured I, too, will keep my part of the agreement. Hast thou taken the medicinal pills regularly"? he asked with professional concern.
"To the devil with all pills and ointments," retorted Prasad. "My stomach yearns for other diet."
"Nevertheless, sir," enjoined the astrologer in hischaracter of physician. "They possess among other virtues that of stimulating the heart with courage."
"I want no such stimulants," retorted Prasad. "An enchanting form ever present in my mind is stimulant enough for any act requiring courage. If they would only assist me in controlling my impatience for the hour to come, then I might regard them as of some benefit."
"That they will also do, noble sir," asserted the astrologer. "Their extraordinary value lies in the fact that they are beneficial for any bodily or mental ailment."
"Then they must be as remarkable in virtue as they are in price," returned Prasad tersely.
He took a jewel from his turban and handed it to the astrologer.
"This," said he, "is but a small portion of the reward I will bestow upon thee, if thy plan turns out as well as it promises."
The astrologer expressed his gratitude in effusive terms.
"But be careful that not even the walls shall hear of it"? he enjoined.
"Fear not," replied Prasad. "At an hour before midnight I will be at the tomb of Firoz Khan on the day after to-morrow. See to it that the men are awaiting me."
"Without fail, noble sir," reasserted the astrologer.
He solemnly called down a thousand benedictions uponPrasad's head,salaamed, and with an air of profound mystery, retired to seek his bullock cart.
"Now," ejaculated Prasad triumphantly. "We will see how this Dost Ali can be brought to an accounting in spite of Ahmad's qualms of conscience."
He called for a goblet of the Foreigners' wine, and drank with evident appreciation of its quality.
Bipin Dat was returning from his morning prayers at the temple of Vishnu absorbed in thought. His brow was puckered, his eyes directed toward the ground, as he made his way slowly through the press in the bazaar. In his mind serious doubt had arisen regarding the power of the good tempered God of the great middle caste to avert the calamity which the astrologer persistently reasserted was suspended over his head. Manifestly, it was useless, he reasoned, to continue his offerings at the shrine of a deity, who either could or would not protect him, when the face of some other of the innumerable personages of the Hindu pantheon was turned with vindictive anger upon his career. The difficulty was to discover the God to be propitiated, as by an unlucky chance he might overlook the very one causing him so much unhappiness. Truly it was a perplexing situation for the worthy secretary. He almost wished he were a Mohammedan with only one God from which to choose.
With unbounded pride ever directing his vision to impossible heights, he had come to believe that eventually he might forsake the God of his birth and assume the right to pay tribute to Siva the mystical God of the Brahmans; but clearly this was not the hour for the worship of a deity enveloped in an abstract philosophy. A manwith his ears and nose, if not his life, in momentary danger is inclined to resort to a more tangible incarnation of divine power, and possibly wrath. With terror enthroned in his soul, what more human than that he should turn to Siva in that deity's non-Aryan form, as the awe inspiring God of the mass of the people, or his wife the bloody fury, the serpent crowned Kali. On the morrow he determined to prostrate himself covertly in the temple of the third person of the great Hindu Triad, and see if a better result might not be obtained. He heartily wished he was within reasonable distance of a shrine of holy Mother Ganges, for assuredly immersion in the waters of the sacred river, could not fail to appease all the Gods, by this one supreme act of devotion.
So deeply absorbed was Bipin in this all important problem, that he had failed to more than casually notice the actions of a small boy with well fattened limbs, displayed to somewhat unnecessary advantage by a string tied round his waist with a charm attached as his sole approach to clothing.
At every few steps taken by the secretary, the small boy ran forward and interposing his chubby form, salaamed respectfully.
Several times Bipin had stepped to one side under the impression that the boy's intention was merely to show respect for one of such exalted station, but at last becoming conscious of the youngster's persistency, Bipin halted and frowned down upon him threateningly.
"How now, boy"? he asked sternly. "What do you mean by continually getting in my way"?
"Great Secretary Sahib," replied the boy. "I am the son of Mohurran Goshi."
"Wah"! exclaimed Bipin. "So you are the son of Mohurran Goshi. Well! what does the son of Mohurran Goshi mean by repeatedly making of himself a stumbling block for my feet"?
"Lord Protector of the Poor," replied the boy deferentially. "My father bade me seek thee urgently with the message that thou art to repair to his house, without fail, two hours after sunset."
"Thy father bade thee tell me that I am to come to his house two hours after sunset," repeated Bipin reflectively. "Did he say for what purpose, dutiful son of Mohurran Goshi"?
"Not he, great sir," replied the boy,salaaming.
Bipin thought for a moment. It was possible that the astrologer had discovered a charm that would forever confound the machinations of the accursed Hindu noble.
"What answer shall I take from the great Secretary Raja"? asked the boy with a twinkle of innate cunning.
Bipin gazed approvingly on the lad who flattered his vanity by the use of such high sounding titles.
"Thou art a well favored youth," he remarked, "and properly trained in the respect due to people of importance. Go, tell thy learned father, that I will be at his door at the hour appointed."
As Bipin took a step forward the boy again interposed his person with outstretched hand.
"A present, Secretary Raja," he cried. "A present."
"Ah, a present," returned the secretary. "What now do you want with a present"?
"To buy sweetmeats, noble Lord," the boy answered.
Bipin discovered a small coin in his waistband, and gave it to the astrologer's son.
The boysalaamedhis thanks, and danced off to a nearby stall, making a sly grimace at the vanishing back of the Rani's worthy secretary.
A little before the time set by the astrologer, Bipin urged a matter of importance as an excuse for his absence from the palace, and directed his steps toward Mohurran Goshi's humble abode.
He found the astrologer in a state of suppressed excitement.
"There is not a moment to lose, worthy Secretary," said he. "Shortly thou wilt be in possession of information that will enable thee to frustrate thine enemy for all time. With it, thou canst repair to the Rani and ask any reward at her hands. But be careful not to disclose the source of thy information, or thou wilt surely fail in thy object. Come, follow quickly, and hold thy peace at whatever thou mayest see or hear, or our lives would go out as a torch flung into a pond."
Mohurran Goshi rapidly led the Rani's secretary by dark, narrow alleys, to one of the gates of the city, and thence out a short distance along a by-path to a smallhut secluded amid a clump of trees. The absence of a light and the usual yelping of mongrel dogs, suggested the inference that the place was, at least, temporarily uninhabited. Mohurran Goshi again enjoined the strictest silence upon Bipin and bade him remain in the shadow of an out-building, while he went forward apparently to reconnoiter. Bipin watched his guide approach the door cautiously and listen. In a few minutes the astrologer returned stealthily, and beckoned Bipin to follow. He led Bipin round to the rear of the house and halted beside an open window. From within two voices could be heard in conversation, for the greater part in an unintelligible undertone, but at intervals rising so that they could be plainly overheard.
"Dost make out who it is that is speaking"? the astrologer asked in a whisper.
"One voice rises familiarly on my ears," returned the secretary.
"Hush"! enjoined the astrologer. "It is that of thine enemy, Prasad Singh. Wait patiently and listen."
Bipin shivered. A groan of terror was only suppressed by the greater fear of being discovered.
Presently the voice unknown to Bipin asked a question, distinctly heard without.
"Dost think, my Lord, that sixty men will suffice for the affair"?
"They will be enough," returned that of the other speaker, which Bipin believed to come from the mouth of Prasad. "We will carry the palace by assault, andmake away with everyone who intercepts our progress, until we reach the person of the Rani."
"To-morrow night thou hast determined on the attempt"?
"To-morrow night. Be careful to come to the place of meeting at the tomb of Firoz Khan near the lake, one hour before midnight."
"As thou commandest. Hast thou a particular desire to make a prisoner of anyone"?
"Aye truly have I," came the quick rejoinder. "Thou wilt secure but deal gently with that arch rascal, Bipin Dat."
Without, the astrologer clapped a hand over the secretary's mouth to prevent a wail of despair going forth upon the night.
"Set thy knees and teeth, worthy Secretary," whispered the astrologer, "or they will shake the heavens down upon our heads."
"Be very careful of him," continued the voice within, "as I have somewhat to say regarding his impertinence and presumption before cutting his nose and ears off, and flinging his liver to the dogs. Of all those about the Rani, him I detest the most."
Bipin sank an invertebrate bundle of humanity to the ground. He entwined his arms about the astrologer's legs in a mute appeal for protection. His throat was incapable of uttering a sound.
The astrologer stooped down and shook Bipin by the shoulder.
"Go," he urged in an imperative whisper, "if thou wouldst save thy life and that of others. Come, get upon thy feet. Fly to the Rani's presence, and disclose to her this accursed plot. Remember that the meeting place is the tomb of Firoz Khan at one hour before midnight, to-morrow. I would come with thee but my bones are old, and must remain to screen thy flight."
Bipin crawled on his hands and knees to a little distance, and then rising, ran as fast as his corpulency would permit, back in the direction of the city.
Of that journey he retained afterwards little recollection. More than once he fell over some obstacle in his path, to rise with bruised limbs and resume his terror-hounded course. He lost his slippers in a ditch, and his turban in a thicket, into which he had strayed in the darkness. Whether he entered the city by a gate or scaled the walls he knew not, but panting, scratched, and with disordered garments, the worthy secretary did at last reach the palace, and struggle in by the astonished servants.
At the hour of Bipin's return, the Rani was entertaining her court with anatchin one of the gardens. Among others, Ahmad Khan had availed himself of an invitation to be present, leaving his guest, Prasad, in a better humor than he had displayed for some days past. As a sign of reviving spirit, he had even promised the Mohammedan to take part in a boar hunt on the following morning. He had scarcely mentioned the Rani's name since the astrologer's visit of the day before, except toremark that he believed Mohurran Goshi's pills and charms were assisting him to control his passion.
By the light of torches the girls had delighted their audience with several exhibitions of their art. In an interval refreshments of sweetmeats and sherbet were being served, when the strange figure made by Bipin Dat broke through the half circle formed by the girls and musicians. Out of breath, with his dress in the utmost disorder, he waddled to the Rani's position, and with a groan sank down at her feet.
"Why, what is the meaning of this"? asked the Rani in accents of surprise. "Truly, O Bipin, thou must have been chased by the terrible white fox of which thou livest in such dread."
"O great Lady," moaned Bipin, casting his hands upward despairingly. "Alas! we are all, every one of us, now dead."
"Dead"! exclaimed the Rani. "Not quite dead yet, I think, good Secretary."
"Ah, hae, hae"! Bipin continued to moan piteously. "Dead, all dead," he groaned; "or before another moon has set, most assuredly we all will be."
"Now what dost thou mean by this nonsense"? demanded the Rani impatiently. "Speak, what has reduced thee to such a condition of distress. Thou art interrupting the pleasure of my guests."
A groan as if drawn from the pit of his stomach came forth from Bipin's lips.
"O Rani," he spoke hoarsely. "The accursed PrasadSingh, may God send his soul into the body of a scorpion for ten thousand years, he—he——"
At the mention of the Hindu noble's name, the Rani started and gazed inquiringly upon Bipin, who hesitated, as if he knew not how to commence his horrifying disclosure.
"Well," urged the Rani. "Well, what of the noble Prasad Singh. What knowest thou of him"?
"Oh! great Rani. He—the accursed Prasad Singh plotteth——"
"Stay," interposed the Rani quickly. "Stay Bipin, I will hear what thou hast to impart privately."
"Ahmad Khan," she said, turning to the Mohammedan. "As Prasad is thy guest, thou wilt come with us apart. Let thenatchcontinue," she added to an attendant. "We will return presently."
She led the way to a corridor at one end of the garden and then addressed Bipin.
"Speak now what thou knowest of the noble Prasad Singh, and be certain that it is no idle tale, no unfounded gossip, or rest assured thou wilt suffer real pain without any doubt."
"Great Rani," returned Bipin plaintively. "Let my mouth be filled with dust, and my face shaved only on one side as an object of ridicule for all liars, if I do not speak the truth. From a wise man, for sometime have I been warned that Prasad Singh had evil designs upon my nose and ears. That——"
The Rani interposed with angry impatience.
"Thy nose and ears, fool! What would the noble Prasad Singh care for anything that pertaineth to thy life or person. Did I not warn thee not to trespass upon my good nature with such nonsense"?
Bipin assumed an expression of wounded dignity, but replied with submission.
"Noble Rani, that is as may be; but the same wise man to make plain to me Prasad Singh's accursed designs led me this evening to a meeting place, where, in seclusion, I heard Prasad discuss a plot to assault the palace to-morrow night. With six hundred, nay I believe it was six thousand followers, he will put everyone to the sword, seize your Highness's throne for himself, and, O great Lady, consign you for evermore to a fortress guarded by terrible monsters. And as for me, O noble one, alas"! Bipin whined in terror. "In revenge for my fidelity to thee, my nose and ears are to be cut off and nailed to the palace gate, and my body," he groaned deeply, "O holy Kali, chopped in pieces and cast to swine. Alas! what a miserable fate lieth in store for all of us."
The Rani was about to reply when Ahmad interposed angrily.
"What is all this thou sayest of the noble Prasad Singh? Dost know that thou art accusing a high and loyal prince of the vilest treachery. By the Prophet's beard! were it not that I regard thee as but a half witted fool, for such lies upon a friend, I would cut thee on the spot into the pieces of which thou speakest."
He made an impulsive motion with his hand toward the hilt of his sword, but the Rani restrained him.
"Stay Ahmad," she enjoined. "Perchance somewhere in all this mass of exaggeration there may lie a speck of truth. You must admit Prasad's actions of late might warrant a measure of suspicion."
"Noble Rani," replied Ahmad in a tone of excuse. "That Prasad Singh may have been guilty of youthful folly, that he has not paid due respect to your exalted office and person, I will not deny; but that he should harbor a single thought, far less attempt an act against your authority, I will swear it to be a lie upon the sacred book. Nay, more, I will defend his honor in such a matter, with my sword, against whoever may make the vile assertion."
"Ahmad," returned the Rani thoughtfully. "It is to thy credit that thou dost behold Prasad only with the eye of a friend; but I possess my own reason for searching further into this matter. Now Bipin," she continued addressing the secretary impressively, "state plainly, and without resort to a riot of thy nervous fancy, what thou hast actually seen and heard. As thou tellest the truth thou wilt meet with recompense, but if thou liest, I swear I will carry out the doom thou believest is in store for thee."
With numerous checks upon his tendency to wander from the main thread of his story, Bipin disclosed by degrees a full account of what he had overheard at thewindow of the hut outside the city. In spite of a strict cross examination on the part of the Rani and Ahmad Khan, he held steadfastly to two points, that it was Prasad's voice he had undoubtedly heard in the treasonable discussion, and that in his terrified condition he had entirely forgotten the name of the wise man who had conducted him to the spot.
Bipin's interrogation was brought finally to a conclusion. The Rani dismissed him with the assurance that he had acted wisely in her interest, and might fear no evil from any direction.
"Well, my Lord," she asked of Ahmad. "What do you now think of this"?
"Truly, noble Lady," he replied, "my understanding is still unable to give credence to such a report. I cannot believe it of my friend Prasad, staying as he is under the shelter of my roof. By not a sign or word has he intimated any such design to me. I thought him far too much consumed with the fair Ganga's charms to care for any project upon earth. Alas! one knows not what to think. So noble a fellow to fall into such evil paths."
The Rani bit her lip and clenched her hands tightly to restrain the burst of jealous passion called to the surface of her nature by the Mohammedan's insidious thrust.
"Noble Rani," petitioned Ahmad, "I beg thou wilt permit me to return immediately to my house. There, I will cautiously sound the noble Prasad on this matter, and if I find a grain of truth in the report, so display tohim the ingratitude, the wickedness of such thoughts, that surely will he express his sorrow and hasten to thy presence abjectly craving pardon."
"Ah"! cried the Rani with bitter resentment in her voice. "If it be true, think not that I will accept his repentance or grant a pardon. Nay Ahmad, thou art not to breathe a word of this to any mortal being, or thou shalt fall under my unchangeable displeasure. For the moment it is my intention to be present at this meeting in the tomb of Firoz Khan, and if he be found plotting this damnable deceit, may the Gods of India help him, for the Rani will show no mercy."
The darkness concealed a smile of supreme triumph on the Mohammedan's face.
"As thou commandest, noble one," he replied in a voice of regretful emotion. "I pray toAllahthat it may be proved this fool's wits have gone far wandering than that my friend doth contemplate such inconceivable treachery. How doth the noble Rani purpose to act further"? he asked.
"That, Ahmad, I am considering," she replied.
She continued in a part soliloquy:
"If Prasad is bent upon this mischief, there is no doubt he will gather to his side a following. Divide Bipin's last total in half, and there would yet remain thirty unhanged rascals. Why should not I number myself as one of them"?
"But consider the danger, noble Lady," protested Ahmad.He was astonished at the daring of the Rani's project.
"What care I for danger"? she returned in an off-hand manner. "Surely you, above all men, will not deny that in the peril of a desperate situation, there lies more charm than can be gained from watching yonder seductivenatch."
"Aye for a man of arms, fair Lady. But thou art a woman."
"And a Maratha born," she answered significantly. "Forget not that, O Ahmad. Not even yet dost thou know the Rani of Jhansi. By God's favor I will some day, perhaps, fight sword in hand on horseback with the bravest of you."
The dauntless spirit of her nature appealed to a counterpart in the Mohammedan's character in a way that no other human quality could have done. Though he realized it not, it was this force of her being that held him bound to her service, in a sense, a comrade, as much as he was a lover.
He murmured a genuine tribute of his admiration.
"Truly, I will not say thee nay, brave Rani. But how then wouldst thou proceed. Surely thou wilt not go alone into this affair"?
"No," she resumed. "I do not intend Prasad to gain quite so much advantage. One against thirty would be too unequal odds to combat. With me, Rati, shall number another of these villains, and within the summons of myvoice, thou wilt hold my Valaiti bodyguard in some convenient place of hiding. Such can be done, can it not, good Ahmad"?
"I know just such a place close to the tomb," he replied.
"Then it is well or ill," she replied, "whichever way we may regard it. To-morrow I, too, will keep an unexpected tryst with Prasad at the tomb of Firoz Khan, and if he be there, as it hath been reported, the Rani will herself determine how to deal with him. Come! let us return now to thenatch. Let no one suspect that anything hath gone amiss."
Ahmad paused with a gesture of appeal.
"May I not, O just Rani, say but one word for him who is my friend"?
"Nay, not one," she answered. "If he be found innocent he hath committed no offense against the Rani; if guilty, he hath well merited his punishment. Come"! she urged impatiently.
With dejected mien, Ahmad obediently followed.
When the natch was over, he strode hurriedly from the palace. He made his way quickly to Mohurran Goshi's home, and called the astrologer from his slumbers.
"But a word with thee, learned Doctor," he whispered at the door. "Our star could not shine brighter. All goes well; but the Rani and one of her women are to make two of Prasad's following. Dost understand"?
The astrologer intimated that he would look to the addition of two to the original number, provided for the Hindu noble's purpose.
"Then good fortune to us all," concluded Ahmad. "The shadow of the accursed Prasad vanishes as beneath the sun at noonday."
The city of the Rani slept. The bazaars and side streets were deserted. But for an occasional light gleaming fitfully through a half opened casement, and the dark forms of sentinels pacing back and forth in noiseless tread upon the walls, Jhansi might have been a city of the dead. In countless, glittering myriads, the heavenly bodies strode majestically in their eternal courses above the silent night. By the mercy of the supreme Parem-eswara, the labor of the day completed with the departing sun, the people had lain down to rest; their joys, sorrows, hopes, for a space, gathered into oblivion. Thus Jhansi slept.
Three figures habited in male attire approached the eastern gate, and gave a password. The gate was slowly opened, and the three went forth. Behind them, the massive portals swung back into place upon grating hinges.
Direct from the lofty, frowning bastion, a road led toward the summer palace on the borders of the lake. Here and there clumps of tamarind and acacia rose indistinctly on either side of the way. Rapidly, yet with caution to avoid intercepting the nocturnal adventure of some poisonous reptile, the three directed their steps along the road. Their feet impressed the thick coating of dust noiselessly. Not a word was exchanged, and no sound broke upon their ears save the occasional yelpingof a startled cur or the dismal cry of a jackal summoning a companion to a scent of prey. Once, only, a solitary figure met them at a little distance from the city. If bent upon evil, he concealed his purpose by a greeting of peace.
"The blessing of God be with you," he cried.
"And with you, O Stranger, peace," the foremost of the three answered in a woman's voice, despite the conflicting evidence of her dress.
Presently they came to a parting of the road. A narrow path led amid a growth of trees to the brink of the lake. Massively the white square walls of the tomb of Firoz Khan, with its central dome became visible through the branches. The party halted.
"What now, my Lord"? the owner of the voice that had returned the wayfarer's salutation asked.
"Noble Rani," that of Ahmad Khan replied, "yonder is our destination. Behind the wall thou canst just discern to the right, lie, well concealed, a hundred of thy Valaiti bodyguard; but I know not if the conspirators are assembled."
At the moment a white cloth was waved thrice above the wall. Ahmad evidently took it for a signal. He spoke in a low tone.
"Whoever the villains may be, they are now gathered together. Here I will leave thee to pass in hiding to the guard, while if thou art still determined upon the enterprise, thou hadst better advance boldly to the entrance. For the rest, I make no doubt thine own judgmentand discretion, will serve thee better than any advice of mine."
"Well said, my faithful Ahmad," the Rani answered. "Thou art certain to hear my call if need be from yonder hiding place"?
"Were it softer than the note of the bulbul, fair Lady, be assured, it would reach me even at the gate of Paradise."
Thus while Ahmad stealthily disappeared among the trees, the Rani motioned her waiting woman to follow, and proceeded fearlessly toward the entrance of the tomb.
That those within had taken measures to prevent a surprise was demonstrated by a challenge the moment that the Rani emerged into the open space about the building.
"Stand! who comes"? a voice demanded.
The Rani replied promptly in firm accents. "Two followers of the noble Prasad Singh."
A short period of consultation among the conspirators apparently ensued. Without, the Rani awaited the answer with deep emotion. Would the report prove true or false, that he whom she loved was a traitor as well as a libertine?
Presently the response came.
"It is well, advance."
"Alas! it is ill," her heart murmured. "Ah God! the ingratitude, the cruelty of it."
She advanced to the open door and entered the main chamber of the tomb. A shaded lamp dimly illuminatedthe interior. Her glance swept quickly from the five or six armed men gathered in a group, to a stalwart form she intuitively recognized as that of Prasad Singh, in spite of the disguise he had assumed. He was pacing to and fro a little apart from his companions, as if impatient of some detail of his plan yet to be completed.
He turned quickly on her entrance and spoke in a voice of stern rebuke.
"Thou art late," he exclaimed. "Thou hast kept us waiting long after the appointed hour."
"Pardon, my Lord," replied the Rani, halting in the dark shadow of a pillar. "Our steps were misdirected."
"A curse upon the muddled brain of that astrologer," he muttered. "Now hearken, while I tell thee briefly, what I have impressed upon thy comrades at some length. We go now to the city as belated travelers, with an admission at the gate that hath already been assured. Thou wilt then follow my steps quickly and silently to the Rani's palace. As the others have their allotted duty, thou wilt seek the garden gate and hold it securely so that no one passes in or forth. If force be threatened thou wilt in like manner threaten force, aye, and use it if so need be. Thou hast arms"? he asked.
"Aye, noble captain," she replied. "Arms have we. But if the Rani doth herself come forth. What then, great sir"? she questioned in return.
"Thou wilt detain her above all others, though careful to do her no personal harm," he enjoined emphatically.
"But should she command us to let her pass, myLord"? she pressed still further, in a quiet, assumed voice.
"Thou wilt obey the command of him who payeth thee for thy service, thou idle questioner," he returned. "Thy order is to hold her securely until my pleasure concerning her hath been learned."
There followed a momentary pause, then her voice rose solemnly to the vaulted roof.
"My Lord Raja, Prasad Singh, thou hast no need to go to Jhansi for the Rani. Behold she is now before thee."
She moved from the shadow and stood confronting him, an expression of offended dignity visible upon her face.
He uttered an exclamation of surprise mingled with dismay. Impulsively he strode forward.
"Stand where thou art," she commanded. "Move not a pace, a man of you, for at the raising of my voice a hundred troopers, lying at hand, will hasten to my side."
With a muttered oath Prasad halted, while the Rani turned to the door and summoned Ahmad.
Almost upon the instant the Mohammedan noble and a score of the Rani's bodyguard appeared before the entrance.
"Alas, Ahmad," she said. "Our hope is dashed in pieces as a pitcher hurled upon a rock. Bipin, poor fellow, hath earned my displeasure as well as my gratitude for the truth that he has told. I would now, that I could recompense him for being a liar concerning this night'swork. Take these duped fools into safe keeping, and then await my order. I will speak with Prasad first."
She motioned the shrinking forms inside the chamber to pass without, and remained alone with Prasad.
For several minutes there reigned an unbroken silence, as the Rani and her guilty lover stood face to face. The moon had risen over the lake and sent its pale light through a crevice in the dome of the ruined tomb. It marked by deep shadows the recesses, and filled the chamber with an atmosphere in sympathy with the chill that seized upon the heart of the woman.
She spoke at last in a measured tone.
"How, now, my Lord Prasad Singh. A short while since you said the Rani was to be held until she heard your pleasure. Behold, she now patiently awaiteth it. What wilt thou do with her"?
Prasad hesitated a moment, then cast himself at her feet.
"Taunt me not, noble one," he petitioned. "I do not seek thy pardon; but I do ask thee to hear me speak."
"Aye, will I," came the response coldly. "Is it not to hear what thou canst say for such surprising conduct that I am now waiting on thy words."
"As God sees my heart, my sole excuse is my all consuming love for thee."
"Thy love for me," she echoed. "Surely it is a most unusual way of showing it, good Prasad. Thou gatherest here a company of rascals to assault my palace, andorder them to heed not my command, to hold me a prisoner until I shall learn thy pleasure. Thy love for me. Oh"! she cried with a note of scorn in her voice. "Thou must indeed cherish a constant love for me."
"Ah, fair one, be not so ungracious," he besought her. "Surely thou hast tried me more than I was able to endure."
"I tried thee," she repeated bitterly. "Aye, I did try thee, and thou hast proved to be most woefully amiss. What art thou, a drinker of spirits, a libertine, and Ah God! a traitor to thy Queen."
Stung by her accusations he sprang passionately to his feet.
"It is not true," he retorted hotly. "Upon all things sacred do I swear to it."
"Aye, thou art in a fitting situation for thy oath to carry weight," she answered; "but, believe me I care not for thy escapades withnatchgirls, or thy drunken orgies. Of such I do not look for an account. Thy reason for this company is what I seek."
"Some accursed villain hath betrayed me," he muttered fiercely. "That dog of an astrologer, or can it be my good Moslem friend, the noble Ahmad Khan"?
"Nay," she replied sorrowfully. "It is thine own false heart, O Prasad, that hath betrayed thee. I know of no astrologer, and as for Ahmad Khan, thou art only adding an injustice to thy other wickedness by slandering the fidelity of a friend. Even when this villainy of thine wasmade plain to me, he it was who stood firm as a champion of thy miserable faith. I doubt not that now his heart is sore with grief."
"Then fair Lady," he exclaimed. "Since the Gods have willed it, that I shall appear in thine eyes as the vilest of creatures, life hath no more object. Take it, O Rani. I yield it to thee as readily here, as I would have done for thee amid the press of battle."
He drew a dagger from his girdle and offered the handle to the Rani. He bowed his head submissively.
She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes. She took the dagger from him and for a moment grasped it tightly. Would she plunge it to his heart? He waited resignedly. It would be an act of mercy was his only thought.
Then she spoke in slow accents, first sternly, but toward the close with a quaver in her voice.
"As the Rani, I could, O Prasad, kill thee; but as Lachmi Bai thou—thou art forgiven. Oh! why hast thou thus treated me"?
The dagger flashed with a clatter to the pavement; her hand dropped listlessly to her side.
With a sudden burst of joy in his heart and arms outstretched, he stepped forward, prompted by an impulse of the moment.
She waved him back imperiously.
"Nay, I command, do thou not touch me. If thou art forgiven by Lachmi Bai, thou art not pardoned by the Jhansi Rani. Thy life she hath returned to thee thatthou mayest redeem thine honor by honorable deeds, but thou canst not remain in Jhansi."
He drew back with dejection stamped upon his face.
She turned to the door and summoned Ahmad Khan.
The Mohammedan responded with reluctant steps. He paused on beholding Prasad, sighed deeply, and directed his eyes toward the ground.
"Ahmad," she commanded. "It is my wish that thou dost now conduct the noble Prasad Singh safely to the boundary of the state. He doth leave me with a message to the Rao Sahib."
She added this from the desire to screen the Hindu noble's public downfall.
"Noble Lady," petitioned Ahmad, ignoring her intention. "Thou placest on my shoulders too heavy a burden. Prasad Singh hath grown to be my friend. I cannot regard or hold one as a prisoner who hath so recently been my honored guest. I beg thou wilt depute this unhappy duty to another, such as thy faithful servant, the Dost Ali Khan, now without."
"By Heaven"! cried Prasad angrily, a wave of jealousy sweeping all other feeling to the winds. "To such indignity I will not submit."
He stooped and seizing the dagger that had remained upon the floor, stood at bay defiantly.
For a moment surprise was depicted on the Rani's face, then she sought his reason.
"Why dost thou so object to the escort of Dost Ali"? she asked innocently.
"Thou askest me why I should object to this Dost Ali"? he retorted. "No," he laughed mockingly. "In pleasant company forsooth with thy——"
Something in the Rani's expression appealed direct to his sense of honor, checking him in the utterance of the final word. Fortunately it died upon his lips unspoken.
As if she had penetrated his meaning the Rani started, her countenance menacing with sudden passion. She clutched Ahmad so tightly by the wrist that he was forced to set his teeth to withhold an oath of pain.
The situation was also critical for him. If the Rani were to accept the implied challenge of her virtue, the result might be a disclosure of his deep intrigue.
The danger, for Ahmad, passed as she replied with an effort of controlled emotion.
"Truly thou art mad, O Prasad. Thy folly and passion doth almost accomplish its inevitable end. Fortunate is it, those who wish thee well have pity for thee. To reason with thee would only be an act, equally insane."
She walked toward him fearlessly and laid her hand upon the dagger hilt.
"Come," she enjoined. "Thou hast surrendered. Thou shalt obey my will within my state, even if it be my pleasure that Dost Ali doth accompany thee to the boundary."
"A curse upon thy pleasure," retorted Prasad sullenly, relinquishing the dagger to her hand. "The sooner thatmy feet are free from this unlucky soil, perchance the more quickly will I gain some peace of mind. I care not how I leave it, so I ride forth speedily."
"Ah! in truth, good Prasad, how well dost thou display thy penitence," she answered reproachfully. "This dagger will I hold as a pledge for thy better nature yet to claim. Farewell, my Lord. I pray a kindlier fortune may attend our next meeting."
She moved toward the door, and pausing, turned upon him a look of deep regret.
Prasad's countenance betrayed no change of feeling.
The Rani passed out into the moonlight, where her troopers had grouped themselves about the tomb. Ahmad followed. He begged to know her wish concerning the other prisoners.
"Carry them also to the boundary," she ordered, "and let them go to whatever place God wills. I pray I may never set eyes on one of them again."
"Doth the Rani now wish to return to Jhansi"? he asked, "or will she accept the poor hospitality of Ahmad Khan. His house is within a little distance."
"Not now, good Ahmad," she replied. "I would be for a short time alone. Remain here with those unneeded for the escort, while I go yonder to the shrine. Presently I will return."
She acknowledged the salute of the officers as they gazed with wonder on her masculine attire, and moved slowly amid the trees to the temple of the great god of Hindustan.
"Thanks be to Allah," Ahmad murmured devoutly. "This night is mine."
Black was the heart of the Mohammedan. The night was his—a night of hell riot loosened in his soul. Passion and murder struggled for the first place in his intention. Blood was already on his hands. Like a tiger his thirst for more was now unquenchable.
Mohurran Goshi called to his door earlier in the evening had received his unreckoned due. Ahmad's dagger had forever settled the account between them. The wise discerner of other's good and evil fortune, had failed to calculate his own swiftly approaching end.
In like manner a secret order to Dost Ali was to terminate the conspirators' existence. Ahmad quickly planned that in some dark ravine, before the boundary was reached, the deed might be easily accomplished. Prasad to be dispatched in revenge, the others as a safer fetter than money upon their silence. He quickly selected the escort, and then drew Dost Ali to one side.
"It is the Rani's command, O discreet Ali," he said in an undertone, "that these rascals are to be conducted to the boundary; but thou wilt easily gather her implied meaning. She declared she doth hope never to set eyes on any one of them again. Dost understand, she trusteth to thy sword, that not one of them may by chance return."
Dost Ali drew himself up and replied tersely.
"I understand her command that they are to be set free at the boundary."
"By Allah"! exclaimed Ahmad petulantly. "Thy mind doth evidence little penetration. Clearly she doth not wish them to be set free at the boundary, but in some convenient spot dispatched from further harm."
"If such be her meaning," replied the other firmly, "she must express it thus to me in words. Too well do I know my duty to place an interpretation of my own upon her plain command. As the order stands, I will escort them to the boundary."
An exclamation of impatience burst from Ahmad's lips. The moment was opportune for a still more wicked design. It left him no time to argue the matter further.
"Then get thee gone upon thy business," he retorted angrily. "For all my trouble I see thou art poorly witted to rise in favor at the Rani's court. Thy stupidity will interpose between a great reward."
"To obey an order strictly was ever the injunction of my illustrious teacher, Dost Mohammed Khan," the young officer replied firmly. "Alone, by so doing, do I seek reward."
He saluted Ahmad haughtily, and turned to order the mounting of his command.
"A curse upon the fool," muttered Ahmad fiercely. "Who could have reckoned on a conscience from the Afghan school? But that the hour has come to gratify a yearning hunger, I would beat submission to his brain."
He bade the rest of the troopers await his return, and set forth in the opposite direction taken by the Rani. When beyond the range of observation from the tomb,he turned, and quickly but cautiously made adetourwith the temple also, as his destination.
In his mind he beheld the woman of his passionate desire, practically alone and unprotected. To the priests and attendants he wasted not a thought. They would fly in terror at the first cry of alarm. She, for whom he had jeopardized his soul by swearing falsely on the Koran would then remain to suffer willingly or otherwise the purpose of his mind. That the ground was sacred, mattered not. Dedicated to a heathen God, it would have been an act of his faith to slaughter the priests and raze the building to the ground. More, was not she, also, an unbeliever, given into his embrace by the will of God. When accomplished, a swift horse in waiting, would, if need be, carry him far distant from the vengeance of the outraged woman. Of that he had not been unmindful.
The Rani had approached the temple with sorrow consuming her heart. Her affection for Prasad had gone forth spontaneously almost at their first meeting. She had beheld in him what she believed to be her ideal of a chivalrous noble. That he possessed failings due to youth and inexperience she was ready to admit; but that he should prove such a hopeless failure in all his qualities, was a bitter disappointment. A drunkard, a consort of other women, while he asserted his unalterable love for her, a conspirator against her authority if not her person, surely her affection could not have been bestowed upon a more worthless object. Her temperament was not such as to display her anguish by lamenting Prasad's faithlessnessand her own wrong into every willing ear; but none the less was there the necessity to obtain relief by an outpouring of her spirit. In secret, before the great God she worshipped, she purposed to seek consolation for her wounded heart; then to go forth and bear outwardly before her people no trace of her inward grief.
The temple was wrapt in silence. In the outer building white robed, recumbent figures of priests and attendants lay here and there where they had chosen a resting place. With hushed steps the Rani stole past these, crossed a courtyard, and entered the chamber of the God. Save for the glow from an incense burner, the interior was veiled in darkness, to emphasize the unknown mysterious element of Siva's being. Before her, the figure of the God loomed a darker object, seated upon an altar pedestal, wrapt in profound, eternal meditation. The morrow was a festival and flowers had already been bountifully scattered upon the altar, and, in wreaths, hung about the person of the sacred image. She stood for a moment before the shrine, then knelt in prayer.
"O great Siva," she petitioned. "All wise, all powerful, all just God, Protector of Animals, Vanquisher of Death; thou, whose vision and understanding doth penetrate all things from the infinitude of Heaven to the deepest secrets of the human soul, behold the unhappiness of thy daughter. Striving to be just yet ever suffering injustice, to appease jealousy but to behold new dissension rise on every hand, and O Holy God, loving only to receive ingratitude and faithlessness in return. Giveme, I beg of thee, above all things, a spirit of resolute courage to combat the vicissitudes of life, and to hold death powerless of terror in whatever form it shall come. Aye, and O Great God, give to me this divine quality so that I may inspire the faltering hearts of others, if need be to valiant deeds for the honor of our faith and country."
She raised her face upward to the protecting hands of the God, and remained thus in silent communion.
Ahmad Khan, too, approached the temple, and passed by the sleeping figures. With noiseless tread he crossed the court, and stood upon the threshold of the shrine. Before him, the woman still knelt in wrapt devotion. For a moment his eyes feasted on her captivating form. AhAllah!his at last.
With the prize seeming to his hand, the intoxication of the moment stayed his grasp. His opportunity was lost. A cry near by, shrill and prolonged, as of a beast relentlessly attacked by some more powerful adversary, rose upon the night. It echoed within the temple. The Rani started to her feet as Ahmad took a hasty stride forward. She seized a torch at hand and thrust it into the incense burner. Then facing him, she held it high above her head.
Ahmad halted suddenly and trembled.
The figure of the Rani, majestic and awe inspiring, posed before the dark image of the God, thrilled his soul with a first sensation of terror. She appeared to gaze full upon him, yet beheld him not. Her stature seemed torise visibly before his eyes. The light of the torch flaring upward cast into strong relief the ornate decorations of the shrine, the countenance of Siva no longer buried in thought; but, in his non-Aryan aspect, wrathful and menacing. Her lips moved, but no sound came forth. She appeared to be enveloped in an ecstatic dream.
Before his fixed gaze, strange beings floated in the air. Ancient Vedic Gods, the bright and shining ones. Indra the rain bringer, Agni the God of fire, Vayu of the wind, Rudra the ruler of the tempest; their very names long since buried in oblivion to the multitude.
They gathered about the transfigured form of the Rani, as if to protect her from a shadow of harm.
Was the scene but the effect of a feverish imagination? In contradiction to the tenets of his religion, superstitious of all that was visionary and inexplicable, Ahmad was ready to believe the whole a dread reality, a manifestation of divine blessing resting upon the head of the girl.
He would have cried aloud for mercy, but terror had bereft his tongue of speech. He clasped his brow tightly. For a moment he reeled, then fell to the pavement.
The night was lost and won.