ly to Benares,
this news that Allaha permits itself to be ruled and bullied by a
common murderer; a man without family, a liar and a cheat? Durga Ram,
who slew the king; you turned upon the hand that had fed and clothed
you and raised you to power. . . . Wait! Let this woman speak!"

A dramatic moment followed; a silence so tense that the fluttering
wings of the doves in the high arches could be heard distinctly.
Ramabai was a great politician. He had struck not only wisely but
swiftly before his public. Had he come before the priests and Umballa
alone, he would have died on the spot. But there was no way of
covering up this accusation, so bold, direct; it would have to be
investigated.

Upon her knees, her arms outstretched toward the scowling priests, the
woman of the zenana tremblingly told her tale: how she had saved
Umballa during the revolt; how she had secured him shelter with her
sister, who was a dancer; how she had visited Umballa in his secret
chamber; how he had confided to her his plans; how she had seen him
with her own eyes become one of the fake bearers of the palanquin.

"The woman lies because I spurned her!" roared Umballa.

"Away with her!" cried the chief priest, inwardly cursing Umballa for
having permitted this woman to live when she knew so much. "Away with
her!"

"The law!" the woman wailed. "The sanctity of the temple is mine!"

"Hold!" said Kathlyn, standing up. In her halting Hindustani she
spoke: "I have something to say to you all. This woman tells the
truth. Let her go unafraid. You, grave priests, have thrown your lot
with Umballa. Listen. Have you not learned by this time that I am not
a weak woman, but a strong one? You have harried me and injured me and
wronged me and set tortures for me, but here I stand, unharmed. This
day I will have my revenge. My servant Ahmed has departed for the
walled city of Bala Khan. He will return with Bala Khan and an army
such as will flatten the city of Allaha to the ground, and crows and
vultures and tigers and jackals shall make these temples their
abiding-places, and men will forget Allaha as they now forget the
mighty Chitor." She swung round toward the priests. "You have
yourselves to thank. At a word from me, Bala Khan enters or stops at
the outer walls. I have tried to escape you by what means I had at my
command. Now it shall be war! War, famine, plague!"

Her young voice rang out sharp and clear, sending terror to