rested upon the royal platform. Two
troopers stood below; otherwise the platform was deserted. When
Ramabai and Pundita arrived and mounted the platform to pay their last
respects to a kindly man, the soldiers saluted gravely, even
sorrowfully. Ramabai, for his courage, his honesty and justice, was
their man; but they no longer dared serve him, since it would be at the
expense of their own lives.

"My Lord!" whispered Pundita, pressing Ramabai's hand. "Courage!" For
Pundita understood the man at her side. Had he been honorless, she
would this day be wearing a crown.

"Pundita, they hissed us as we passed."

"Not the soldiers, my Lord."

"And this poor man! Pundita, he was murdered, and I am powerless to
avenge him. It was Umballa; but what proof have I? None, none! Well,
for me there is left but one thing; to leave Allaha for good. We two
shall go to some country where honor and kindness are not crimes but
virtues."

"My Lord, it is our new religion."

"And shall we hold to it and go, or repudiate it and stay?"

"I am my Lord's chattel; but I would despise him if he took the base
course."

"And so should I, flower of my heart!" Ramabai folded his arms and
stared down moodily at the man who, had he lived, could have made
Pundita his successor. "Pundita, I have not yet dared tell you all;
but here, in the presence of death, truth will out. We can not leave.
Confiscation of property and death face us at every gate. No! Umballa
proposes to crush me gradually and make my life a hell. No man who was
my friend now dares receive me in his house. Worship is denied us,
unless we worship in secret. There is one pathway open." He paused.

"And what is that, my Lord?"

"To kneel in the temple and renounce our religion. Do we that, and we
are free to leave Allaha."

Pundita smiled. "My Lord is not capable of so vile an act."

"No."

And hand in hand they stood before the catafalque forgetting everything
but the perfect understanding between them.

"Ai, ai!"

It was but a murmur; and the two turned to witness the approach of the
woman of the zenana. She flung herself down before the catafalque,
passionately kissing the shroud. She leaned back and beat her breast
and wailed. Ramabai was vastly puzzled over this demonstration. That
a handsome young woman should wail over the corpse of an old man who
had never been anything to her might have an interpretation far removed
from sorrow. Always