ers again. And at that the
Mahatma showed a new phase of his extraordinary character.

I was well weary by that time of being mauled by women. Suddenly the
Mahatma seized my arm, and gave tongue in a resounding, strange,
metallic voice such as I never heard before. It brought the whole
surging assembly to rigid attention. It was a note of command, alarm,
announcement, challenge, and it carried in its sharp reverberations
something of the solemnity of an opening salvo of big guns. You could
have heard a pin drop.

"I go. These two come with me. Shall I wait and let the mob come in to
fetch me forth?"

But Yasmini had had time now in which to recover her self-possession,
and she was in no mood to be out-generaled by any man whom she had once
tricked so badly as to win his secrets from him. Her ringing laugh was
an answering challenge, as she stood with one hand holding an arm of the
throne in the attitude of royal arrogance.

"Good! Let the mob come! I, too, can manage mobs!"

Her voice was as arresting as his, although hers lacked the clamorous
quality. There was no doubting her bravery, nor her conviction that she
could deal with any horde that might come surging through the gates. But
she was not the only woman in the room by more than ninety-nine and
certainly ninety-nine of them were not her servants, but invited guests
whom she had coaxed from their purdah strongholds partly by the lure of
curiosity and partly by skilful playing on their new-born aspirations.

Doubtless her own women knew her resourcefulness and they might have
lined up behind her to resist the mob. But not those others! They knew
too well what the resulting reaction would be, if they should ever be
defiled by such surging "untouchables" as clamored at the gate for a
sight of their beloved Mahatma. To be as much as seen by those casteless
folk within doors was such an outrage as never would be forgiven by
husbands all too glad of an excuse for clamping tighter yet the bars of
tyranny.

There was a perfect scream of fear and indignation. It was like the
clamor of a thousand angry parrots, although there was worse in it than
the hideous anger of any birds. Humanity afraid outscandals, outshames
anything.

Yasmini, who would no more have feared the same number of men than if
they had been trained animals, knew well enough that she had to deal now
with something as ruthless as herself, with all her determination but
without her understanding.