CHAPTER I.
THE DEATH PLEDGE.
The outer court of the Palace lay steeped in the sunshine of noon. Itshot rose-red walls and arcades seemed to shimmer in the glare, and thedazzle and glitter gave a strange air of unreality, of instability toall things. To the crowds of loungers taking their siesta in everyarcade and every scrap of shadow, to the horses stabled in rows in theglare and the blaze, to the eager groups of new arrivals which, fromtime to time, came in from the outer world by the cool, dark tunnel ofthe Lahore gate to stand for a second, as if blinded by the shimmerand glitter, before becoming a part of that silent, drowsy stir oflife.
From an arch close to the inner entry to the precincts rose amonotonous voice reading aloud. The reader was evidently the authoralso, for his frown of annoyance was unmistakable at a suddendiversion caused by the entry of a dozen or more armed men, shoutingat the top of their voices: "_Padisath, Padisath, Padisath!_ We befighters for The Faith. _Padisath!_ a blessing, a blessing!"
A malicious laugh came from one of the listeners in the arcade--awoman shrouded in a Pathan veil.
"'Tis as well his Majesty hath taken another cooling draught," cameher voice shrilly. "What with writing letters for help to the Huzoorsto please Ahsan-Oolah and Elahi-Buksh, and blessing faith to pleasethe Queen, he hath enough to do in keeping his brain from gettingdizzy with whirling this way and that. Mayhap faith will fail first,since it is not satisfied with blessings. They are windy diet, and Iheard Mahboob say an hour agone that there was too much faith for theTreasury. Lo! moonshee-jee, put that fact down among thy heroics--theyneed balance!"
"Sure, niece Hafzan," reproved the old editor of the Court Journal, "Isee naught that needs it. Syyed Abdulla's periods fit the case as peasfit a pod; they hang together."
"As we shall when the Huzoors return," assented the voice from theveil.
"They will return no more, woman!" said another. It belonged to a manwho leaned against a pilaster, looking dreamily out into the glarewhere, after a brief struggle, the band of fighters for the faith hadpushed aside the timid door-keepers and forced their way to the innergarden. Through the open door they showed picturesquely, surging downthe path, backed by green foliage and the white dome of the PearlMosque rising against the blue sky.
"The Faith! The Faith! We come to fight for the Faith!"
Their cry echoed over the drowsy, dreaming crowds, making men turnover in their sleep; that was all.
But the dreaminess grew in the face looking at the vista through theopen door till its eyes became like those Botticelli gives to hisMoses--the eyes of one who sees a promised land--and the dreamy voicewent on:
"How can they return; seeing that He is Lord and Master? Changing theDay to Darkness, the Darkness into Day. Holding the unsupported skies,proving His existence by His existence, Omnipotent. High in Dignity,the Avenger of His Faithful people."
The old editor waggled his head with delighted approval; the authorfidgeted over an eloquence not his own; but Hafzan's high laugh rangcynically:
"That may be so, most learned divine; yet I, Hafzan, the harem scribe,write no orders nowadays for King or Queen without the proviso of'writ by a slave in pursuance of lawful order and under fear of death'in some quiet corner. For I have no fancy, see you, for hanging, evenif it be in good company. But, go on with thy leading article,moonshee-jee, I will interrupt no more."
"Thus by a single revolution of time the state of affairs is completelyreversed,[4] and the great and memorable event which took place fourdays ago must be looked upon as a practical warning to the uninformedand careless, namely the British officers and those who never dreamedof the decline and fall of their government, but who have nowconvincing proof of what has been written in the Indelible Tablets byGod. The following brief account, therefore, of the horrible andmemorable events is given here solely for the sake of those stillinclined to treat them as a dream. On Monday, the 16th of Rumzan, thatholy month in which the Word of God came down to earth, and in which,for all time, lies the Great Night of Power, the courts being openearly on account of the hot weather, the magistrate discharging hiswonted duties, suddenly the bridge toll-keeper appeared, informing himthat a few Toork troopers had first crossed the bridge----"
The dreamy-faced divine turned in sharp reproach. "Not so, Syyed-jee.The vision came first--the vision of the blessed Lord Ali seen by themuezzin. Wouldst make this time as other times, and deny the miraclesby which it is attested as of God?"
"Miracles!" echoed Hafzan. "I see no miracle in an old man on acamel."
The divine frowned. "Nor in a strange white bird with a golden crown,which hovered over the city giving the sacred cry? Nor in thefulfillment of Hussan Askuri's dream?"
Hafzan burst into shrill laughter. "Hussan Askuri! Lo! MoulvieMohammed Ismail, didst thou know the arch dreamer as I, thou wouldstnot credit his miracles. He dreams to the Queen's orders as a beardances to the whip. And as thou knowest, my mistress hath the knack ofjerking the puppet strings. She hath been busy these days, and eventhe Princess Farkhoonda----"
"What of the Princess?" asked the newswriter, eagerly, nibbling hispen in anticipation.
"Nay, not so!" retorted Hafzan. "I give no news nowadays, since Icannot set 'spoken under fear of death' upon the words."
She rose as she spoke, yet lingered, to stand a second beside thedivine and say in a softer tone, "Dreams are not safe, even to thepious, as thou, Moulvie-sahib. A bird is none the less a bird becauseit is strange to Delhi and hath been taught to speak. That it was seenall know; yet for all that, it may be one of Hussan Askuri's tricks."
"Let it be so, woman," retorted Mohammed Ismail almost fiercely, "isthere not miracle enough and to spare without it? Did not the sun risefour days ago upon infidels in power? Where are they now? Were therenot two thousand of them in Meerut? Did they strike a blow? Did theystrike one here? Where is their strength? Gone! I tell thee--gone!"
Hafzan laid a veiled clutch on his arm suddenly and her other hand,widening the folds of her shapeless form mysteriously, pointed intothe blaze and shimmer of sunlight. "It lies there, Moulvie-sahib, itlies there," she said in a passionate whisper, "for God is on theirside."
It was a pitiful little group to which she pointed. A woman, her mixedblood showing in her face, her Christianity in her dress, being drivenalong like a sheep to the shambles across the courtyard. She clasped ayear-old baby to her breast and a handsome little fellow of threetoddled at her skirts. She paused in a scrap of shade thrown by a treewhich grew beside a small cistern or reservoir near the middle of thecourt, and shifted the heavy child in her arms, looking round, as shedid so, with a sort of wild, fierce fear, like that of a huntedanimal. The cluster of sepoys who had made their prisoner over to thePalace guard turned hastily from the sight; but the guard drove her onwith coarse jibes.
"The rope dangles close, Moulvie-jee," came Hafzan's voice again."Ropes, said I? Gentle ropes? Nay! only as the wherewithal to tiewrithing limbs as they roast. If thou hast a taste for visions, piousone, tell me what thou seest ahead for the murderers of such poorsouls?"
"Murderers," echoed Mohammed Ismail swiftly; "there is no talk ofmurder. 'Tis against our religion. Have I not signed the edict againstit? Have we not protested against the past iniquity of criminals, andignorant beasts, and vile libertines like Prince Abool-Bukr, who takeadvantage----"
"He was too drunk for much evil, learned one!" sneered Hafzan. "Godlymen do worse than he in their own homes, as I know to my cost. As forthine edict! Take it to the Princess Farkhoonda. She is a simple soul,though she holds the vilest liver of Delhi in a leash. But theQueen--the Queen is of different mettle, as you edict-signers willfind. There are nigh fifty such prisoners in the old cook-room now.Wherefore?"
"For safety. There are nigh forty in the city police station also."
Hafzan gathered her folds closer, "Truly thou art a simple soul, piousdivine. Dost not think there is a difference, still, between thePalace an
d the city? But God save all women, black or white, say I!Save them from men, and since we be all bound to hell together byvirtue of our sex, then will it be a better place than Paradise byhaving fewer men in it."
She flung her final taunts over her shoulder at her hearers as shewent limping off.
"Heed her not, most pious!" said her uncle apologetically. "She hathbeen mad against men ever since hers, being old and near his end, tookher, a child, and----"
But Moulvie Mohammed Ismail was striding across the courtyard to thelong, low, half-ruinous shed in which the prisoners were kept.
"Have they proper food and water?" he asked sharply of the guard. "TheKing gave orders for it."
"It comes but now!" replied the sergeant glibly, pointing to a file ofservants bearing dishes which were crossing the courtyard from theroyal kitchens. The Moulvie gave a sigh of relief, for Hafzan's hintshad alarmed him. These same helpless prisoners lay on his conscience,since he and his like were mainly responsible for the diligent searchfor Christians which had been going on during the last few days; forit was not to be tolerated that the faithful should risk salvation byconcealing them. The proper course was plain, unmistakable. Theyshould be given up to the authorities and be made into goodMohammedans; by persuasion if possible, if not, by force. In truth theMoulvie dreamed already of ninety and odd willing converts, as afurther manifestation of divine favor. Perhaps more; though most ofthese ill-advised attempts at concealment must have come to an end bynow.
They had indeed; those four days of peace, of hourly increasingreligious enthusiasm for a cause so evidently favored by High Heaven,had made it well nigh impossible to carry on a task attempted by somany, when it seemed likely to last for a few hours only.
Even Jim Douglas told himself he must fail unless he could get help.He had succeeded so far, simply because--by a mere chance--he had, notone but several, places of concealment ready to his hand without thenecessity for taking anyone into his confidence. For he had found itconvenient in his work to have cities of refuge, as it were, where hecould escape from curiosity or change a disguise at leisure. Theshilling or so a month required for the rent of a room in sometenement house being more than repaid by the sense of security thepossession gave him. It was to one of these, therefore, that he tookKate on the dawn of the 12th, leaving her locked up in it alone; tillnight enabled him to take her on to another; so by constant changemanaging to escape suspicion. But as the days passed in miraculouspeace, he recognized the hopelessness of continuing this life forlong. To begin with, Kate's nerves could not stand it. She was braveenough, but she had an imagination, and what woman with that couldstand being left alone in the dark for twelve hours at a time, neverknowing if the slow starvation, which would be her fate if anythinguntoward happened to him, had not already begun? He could not expecther to stand it, when three days of something far less difficult hadleft him haggard, his nerves unstrung; left him with the possibilitylooming in the future of his losing his self-control some day, andgoing madly for the whole world as young Mainwaring had done. Not thathe cared for Kate's safety so much, as that the mere thought offailure roused a beast-like ferocity in him. So, as he wanderedrestlessly about the city, waiting in a fever of impatience for somesign of the world without those rose-red walls--waiting day by day,with a growing tempest of rage, for the night to return and let himcreep up some dark stairs and assure himself of a woman's safety, hewas piecing together a plan in case---- Of what? In case the storieshe heard in the bazaars were true? No! that was impossible. How couldthe English have been wiped out of India? Yet as he saw the desertedshops being reopened in solemn procession by an old pantaloon on anelephant calling himself the Emperor, when he saw Abool-Bukr lettingoff squibs in general rejoicing over the reestablishment of Mohammedanempire; above all when he saw the tide of life returning to thestreets, his mad desire to strike a blow and smash the sham wastempered by an almost unbearable curiosity as to what had reallyhappened. But he dared not try and find out. Useless though he knew itwas, he hung round the quarter where Kate lay concealed for the day,feeling a certain consolation in knowing that he was as close to heras he dared to be. Such a life was manifestly impossible, and so, bitby bit, his plan grew. Yet, when it had grown, he almost shrank fromit, so strange did it seem, in its linking of the past with thepresent. For Kate must pass as his wife--his sick wife, hidden, asZora had been, on some terraced roof, with Tara as her servant; he,meanwhile, passing as an Afghan horse-dealer, kept from returningNorth, like others of his trade, by this illness in his house. Theplan was perfectly feasible if Tara would consent. And Jim Douglas,though he ignored his own certainty, never really doubted that shewould. He had not been born in the mist-covered mountains of the Northfor nothing. Their mysticism was part of his nature, and he felt thathe had saved her for this; that for this, and this only, he had playedthat childish but successful cantrip with her hair. In a way, was notthe pathetic idyl on the roof with little Zora but a rehearsal of atragedy--a rehearsal without which he could not have played his part?Strange thread of fate, indeed, linking these women together! andthough he shrank from admitting its very existence, it gave himconfidence that the whole would hang together securely. So that whenhe sought Tara out, his only real doubt was whether it would be wiserto tell her the truth about Kate, or assert that she was his wife. Hechose the latter as less risky, since, even if Tara refused aid, shewould not overtly betray anyone belonging to him.
But Tara did not refuse. To begin with, she could have refused nothingin the first joy of finding him safe when she had believed him deadlike all the other Huzoors. And then a vast confusion of love, andpride, and remorse, and fierce passionate denial of all three, led herinto consent. If the Huzoor wanted her to help to save his wife whyshould she object? Though it was nothing to her if the mem was _his_mem or not. Jim Douglas, listening to the eager protest, wondered ifhe might not safely have saved himself an unnecessary complication;but then he wondered at many things Tara said and did. At her quickfrown when he promised her both hair and locket as her reward. At thefaint quiver amid the scorn with which she had replied that he wouldstill want the latter for the mem's hair. At her slow smile when heopened the gold oval to show the black lock still in sole possession.She had turned aside to look at the hearth-cakes she had been toastingwhen he came in, and then gone into the necessary details ofarrangement in the most matter-of-fact way. Naturally the Huzoor hadsought help from his servant. From whom else could he seek it? As forher saintship, there was nothing new in that. She had been sutteealways as the master very well knew. So nothing she did for him, or hefor her, could make that suffer. Therefore she would arrange as shehad arranged for Zora. The Huzoor must rent a roof--roofs weresafest--and she would engage a half-blind, half-deaf old sweeper-womanshe knew of. Perhaps another if need be. But the Huzoor need have nofear of such details if he gave her money. And this Jim Douglas hadhidden in the garden of his deserted bungalow in Duryagunj; so that intruth it seemed as if the whole plan had been evolved for them by akindly fate.
And yet Jim Douglas felt a keen pang of regret when, for the firsttime, he gave the familiar knock of those old Lucknow days at the doorof a Delhi roof and Tara opened it to him, dressed in the old crimsondrapery, the gold bangles restored to her beautiful brown arms. He hadbrought Kate round during the previous night to the lodging he hadmanaged to secure in the Mufti's quarter, and, leaving her therealone, had taken the key to Tara; this being the safest plan, sinceeverything could then be arranged in discreet woman's fashion beforehe put in an appearance.
And the task had been done well. The outside square or yard ofparapeted roof which he entered lay conventional to the uttermost. Aspinning-wheel here, a row of water-pots there, a mat, a reed stool ortwo, a cooking place in one corner, a ragged canvas screen at theinner doors. Nothing there to prepare him for finding an Englishwomanwithin; an Englishwoman with a faint color in her wan cheeks; a newpeace in her gray eyes, busy--Heaven save the mark!--in sticking somedisjointed jasmine buds into the shallow s
aucer of a water-pot.
"Tara brought them strung on a string," said Kate half apologeticallyafter her first welcome, as she noted his look. "I suppose she meant meto wear them--with the other things," she paused to glance down with asmile at her dress, "but it seemed a pity. They were like a new worldto me--like a promise--somehow."
He sat down on the edge of the string bed feeling a little dazed andlooked at her and her surroundings critically. It was a pleasantsunshiny bit of roof, vaulted by the still cool morning sky. There wasa little arcaded room at one end, the topmost branches of a neem treeshowed over one side; on the other, the swelling dome of the bigmosque looked like a great white cloud, and in one corner was a sortof square turret, from the roof of which, gained by a narrow brickladder, the whole city was visible. For it was the highest house inthe quarter, higher even than the roof beside it, over which the sameneem tree cast a shadow.
And as he looked, he thought idly that no dress in the world was moregraceful than the Delhi dress with its billowy train and loose, soft,filmy veil. And Kate looked well in white--all in white. He pulledhimself up sharply; but indeed memory was playing him tricks, andthe stress and strain of reality seemed far from that slip ofsun-saturated roof where a graceful woman in white was stickingjasmine buds into water. And suddenly the thought came that Zora wouldhave worn the chaplets heedlessly; there would have been nosentimentality over withered flowers on her part.
"A promise," he echoed half-bitterly. "Well! one must hope so. Andeven if the worst comes, it will come easier here."
She looked up at him reproachfully. "Don't remind me of that, please,"she said hurriedly; "I seem to have forgotten--here under the bluesky. I dare say it's very trivial of me, but I can't help it.Everything amuses me, interests me. It is so quaint, so new. Even thisdress; it is hardly credible, but I wished so much for a looking-glassjust now, to see how I looked in it."
Her eyes met his almost gayly, and he felt an odd resentment inrecognizing that Zora would have said the words as frankly.
"I have one here--in a ring," he replied somewhat stiffly, with avague feeling he had done all this before, as he untied the knot of asmall bundle he had brought with him. "It is not much use--for thatsort of thing--I'm afraid," he went on, "but I think you had betterhave these: it is a great point--even for your own sake--to dress aswell as play the part."
Kate, with a sudden gravity, looked at the pile of native ornaments heemptied out on to the bed. Bracelets in gold and silver, anklets, oddlittle jeweled tassels for the hair, quaint silk-strung necklets andtalismans.
"Here is the looking-glass," he said, choosing out a tiny round oneset in filigree gold; "you must wear it on your thumb--but it willbarely go on my little finger," he spoke half to himself, and Kate,fitting on the ring, looked at him and set her lips.
"It is too small for me also," she said, laying it down witha faint air of distaste. "They are very pretty, Mr. Greyman,"she added quickly, "but I would rather not--unless it is reallynecessary--unless you think----"
He rose half-wearily, half-impatiently. "I should prefer it; but youcan do as you like. The jewels belonged to a woman I loved verydearly, Mrs. Erlton. She was not my wife--but she was a good woman forall that. You need not be afraid."
Kate felt the blood tingle to her face as she laid violent hands onthe first ornament she touched. It happened to be a solid gold bangle."It is too small too," she said petulantly, trying to squeeze her handthrough it. "Really it would be better----"
"Excuse me," he replied coolly, "if you will let me." He drew thegreat carved knobs apart deftly, slipped her wrist sideways throughthe opening, and had them closed again in a second.
"You can't take it off at night, that is all," he went on, "but I willtell Tara to show you how to wear the rest. I must be off now andsettle a thousand things."
As he passed into the outer roof once more, Kate felt that flush, halfof resentment, half of shame, still on her face. In such surroundingshow trivial it was, and yet he had guessed her thought truly. Had heguessed also the odd thrill which the touch of that gold fetter gaveher? Half-mechanically she tried to loosen it, to remove it, and thenwith an impatient frown desisted and began to put on the otherbracelets. What did it matter, one way or the other? And then,becoming interested despite herself, she set to work to puzzle outuses and places for the pile.
Meanwhile Jim Douglas was dinning instructions into Tara's ear; butshe also, he told himself angrily, was trivial to the last degree. Andwhen finally he urged an immediate darkening of Kate's hair and afaint staining of the face to suit the only part possible with hergray eyes--that of a fair Afghan--he flung away in despair from theirrelevant remark:
"But the mem will never be so pretty as Zora; and besides she has suchbig feet."
Big feet! He swore under his breath that all women were alike in this,that they saw the whole world through the medium of their sex; and_that_ was at the bottom of all the mischief. Delhi had been lost tosave women; the trouble had begun to please them. Even now, as far ashe could see, resistance would collapse but for one woman's ambition;though despite the Queen and her plots, a hundred brave men or somight still be masters of Delhi if they chose. Since it was still eachfor himself, and the devil take the hindmost with the mutineers. Thecertainty of this had made these long days of inaction almost beyondbearing to him; and as Jim Douglas passed out into the street hethought bitterly that here again a woman stood in the way; since butfor Kate he could surely have forced Meerut into making reprisals byreporting the true state of affairs.
Yet every hour made these reprisals more difficult. Indeed, as he leftthe Mufti's quarters on that morning of the 16th of May, something wasgoing on in the Palace which ended indecision for many a man and leftno chance of retreat. For Zeenut Maihl saw facts as clearly as JimDouglas, and knew that the first tramp of disciplined feet would bethe signal for scuttle; if a chance of escape remained.
And so this something was going on. By someone's orders of course; bywhose is one of the unanswered questions of the Indian Mutiny.
The Queen herself was sitting with the King, amicably, innocently,applauding his latest couplet; which was in sober truth, one of hisbest:
"God takes this dice-box world, shakes upside down, Throws one defeat, and one a kingly crown."
He was beginning to feel the latter on the old head, which was sodiligently stuffed with dreams; but the Queen knew in her heart ofhearts that the fight for sovereignty had only just begun. So her mindwas chiefly occupied in a spiteful exultation at the thought of somefolk's useless terror when--this thing being done--they would findtheir hands irrevocably on the plow. Ahsan-Oolah and Elahi-Buksh, forinstance; their elaborate bridges would be useless; and Abool-Bukrwith his squibs and processions, Farkhoonda with her patter of virtueand religion. If only for the sake of immeshing this last victimZeenut Maihl would not have shrunk; since those three or four days ofcozening had left the Queen with a still more vigorous hate for thePrincess Farkhoonda, who had fallen into the trap so easily, and whoalready began to give herself airs and discuss the future on a planeof equality. Pretty, conceited fool! who even now, so the spies said,was waiting to receive the Prince, her nephew, for the first timesince she came to the Palace. The very fact that it was the first timeseemed an aggravation in the Queen's angry eyes, proving as it did acertain reality in Farkhoonda's pretensions to decorum.
In truth they were very real to the Princess herself; had been gainingreality ever since that first deft suggestion of a possibility had sether heart beating. The possibility, briefly, of the King choosing toset aside that early marriage so tragically interrupted; choosing todeclare it no marriage and give his consent to another. Newasi hadindignantly scouted the suggestion, had stopped her ears, her heart;but the remembrance of it lingered, enervating her mind, and as shewaited for the interview with the Prince she felt vaguely that it wasa very different matter receiving him in these bride-like garments, inthese dim, heavily scented rooms, to what it had been under the cl
earsky in her scholar's dress. Yet as she stooped from mere habit,aroused by the finery itself, to arrange her long brocaded train intobetter folds, she gave something between a sigh and a laugh at thecertainty of his admiration. And after all, why should she not have itif the King----
The sound of a distant shot made her start and pause, listening foranother. So she stood a slim figure ablaze with color and jewels, afigure with studied seductiveness in every detail of its dress; andshe knew that it was so. Why not? If--if he liked it so, and if theKing----
Newasi clasped her hands nervously and walked up and down the dimroom. Abool was late, and he had no right to be late on this his firstvisit of ceremony to his aunt. The Mirza-sahib was no doubt late,admitted her attendants, but the door-keeper had reported adisturbance of some kind in the outer court which might be the causeof delay.
A disturbance! Newasi, a born coward, shrank from the very thought,though she felt that it could be nothing--nothing but one of the manybrawls, the constant quarrels.
God and his prophet! who--what was that? She recoiled with a scream ofterror from the wild figure which burst in on her unceremoniously,which followed her retreat into the far corner, flung itself at herknees, clasping them, burying its face among her scented draperies.But by that time her terror was gone, and she stooped, trying to freeherself from those clinging arms, from the disgrace, from the outrage;from the drunken----
"Abool!" she cried fiercely, then turning to the curious titteringwomen, stamped her foot at them and bade them begone. And when theyhad obeyed, she beat her little hands against those clinging onesagain with wild upbraidings, till suddenly they fell as if paralyzedbefore the awful horror and dread in the face which rose from herfineries.
"Come, Newasi!" stammered the white trembling lips, "come from thishangman's den. Did I not warn thee? But thou hast put the rope roundmy neck--I who only wanted to live my own life, die my own death.Come! Come!"
He stumbled to his feet, but seemed unable to stir. So he stoodlooking at his hands stupidly.
Farkhoonda looked too, her face growing gray.
"What is't, Abool?" she faltered; "what is't, dear?"
But she knew; it was blood, new shed, still wet.
He stood silent, gazing at the stains stupidly. "I did not strike," hemuttered to himself, "but I called; or did I strike? I--I----" Hethrew up his head and his words rushed recklessly in a high shrillvoice, "I warned thee! I told thee it was not safe! They were herdedlike sheep in the sunshine by the cistern, and the smell of blood roseup. It was in my very nostrils, for, look you, that first shot missedthem and killed one of my men. I saw it. A round red spot oozing overthe white--and they herded like sheep----"
"Who?" she asked faintly.
"I told thee; the prisoners, with the cry to kill above the criesof the children, the flash of blood-dulled swords above women'sheads--and I---- Nay! I warned thee, Newasi, there was butcher_here_"--his blood-stained hands left their mark on his gay clothes.
"Abool!" she cried, "thou didst not----"
"Did I?" he almost screamed. "God! will it ever leave my sight? I gavethe call, I ran in, I drew my sword. It spurted over my hands from achild's throat as I would have struck--or--or--did I strike? Newasi!"his voice had sunk again almost to a whisper, "it was in its mother'sarms,--she did not cry,--she looked and I--I----" he buried his facein his hands--"I came to thee."
She stood looking at him for a moment, her hands clenched, herbeautiful soft eyes ablaze; then recklessly she tore the jewels fromher arms, her neck, her hair.
"So she has dared! Yea! Come! thou art right, Abool!" The words mixedthemselves with the tinkle of bracelets as, flung from her in wildpassion, they rolled into the corners of the room, with the chink ofnecklaces as they fell, with the rustle of brocade and tinsel as shetore them from her. "She has killed them--the helpless fugitives,guests who have eaten the King's salt! She thinks to beguile usall--to beguile thee. But she shall not. It is not too late. Come!Come! Abool--thou shalt have all from me--yea! all, sooner than sheshould beguile thee thus--Come!"
She had snatched an old white veil from its peg and wrapped it roundher, as she passed rapidly to the door; but he did not move. So shepassed back again as swiftly to take his hand, stained as it was, andlay her cheek to it caressingly.
"Thou didst not strike, dear, thou didst not! Come, dear, thatshe-devil shall not have thee--I will hold thee fast."
Five minutes after a plain curtained dhoolie left the precincts andswayed past the Great Hall of Audience with its toothed red arches,looking as if they yawned for victims. The courtyard beyond laystrangely silent, despite the shifting crowd, which gathered andmelted and gathered again round the little tree-shaded cistern wherebut the day before Hafzan and the Moulvie had watched a mother pauseto clasp her baby to softer, securer rest.
The woman and the child were at the cistern now, and the Rest hadcome. Softer, securer than all other rest, and the mother shared it;shared it with other women, other children.
But as the Princess Farkhoonda, fearful of what she might see, peepedthrough the dhoolie curtains, there was nothing to be seen save theshifting, curious crowd, while the impartial sunshine streamed down onit, and those on whom it gazed.
So let the shifting, crowding years with their relentless questioningeyes shut out all thought of what lay by the cistern, save that ofrest and the impartial sunshine streaming upon it.
For as the beautiful soft eyes drew back relieved, a bugle rangthrough the arcades, echoed from the wall, floated out into the city.The bugle to set watch and ward, to close the gates; since theirrevocable step had been taken, the death-pledge made.
So the dream of sovereignty began in earnest behind closed gates. Butif women had lost Delhi, those who lay murdered about the littlecistern had regained it. For Hafzan had spoken truth; the strength ofthe Huzoors lay there.
The strength of the real Master.