an inch the
better to look down on her. "Nothing on earth can put me off it--except
Grandfather. And I know he'll back me up."

"In that case, I won't waste valuable verbal ammunition on you! Come
along in--We're going to have music."

But as Roy moved forward, Aruna drew back. "Please--I would rather go
to bed now. And--please, forgive, little Mother," she murmured
caressingly. For this great-hearted English woman seemed mother indeed
to her now.

For answer, Thea took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both
cheeks. "Not guilty this time, _piari_.[12] But don't do it again!"

Roy's hand closed hard on hers, but he said not a word. And she was
glad.

Alone again on her balcony, gladness rioted through all her being.
Yet--nothing had really happened. Nothing had been said.
Only--everything felt different inside. Of such are life's supreme
moments. They come without flourish of trumpets; touch the heart or the
lips with fire, and pass on....

While undressing, an impulse seized her to break her chiragh and
treasure the pieces--in memory of to-night. Why trouble Mai Lakshmi with
a question already half answered? But, lost in happy thoughts--inwoven
with delicate threads of sound from Thea's violin--she forgot all about
it, till the warmth of her cheek nestled against the cool pillow. Too
lazy and comfortable to stir, she told her foolish heart that to-morrow
morning would do quite as well.

But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted
assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arrogant
impulse, and the mystic chiragh of destiny was saved--for another fate.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 11: Hail, Mother.]

[Footnote 12: Darling.]

CHAPTER VIII.

"The forces that fashion, the hands that mould,
Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;--

* * * * *

They are gods no more, but their spells remain."
--SIR ALFRED LYALL.

Dewali night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown
awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of
miracle....

For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning
out clay chiraghs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai
Lakshmi--a compound of Minerva and Ceres,--worshipped in the living gold
of fire and the dead gold of minted coin.

And all day long there ebbed and flowed throug