With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her arm and pulled her backward--just in time.

"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water--for the precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is--safe...!"

"But what of _you_, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of your Dewali lamp?"

The words were spoken in the vernacular--and not in the voice of Roy.

Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height, bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved beads that hung almost to his waist.

"I am most grateful, _guru-ji_,"[13] she murmured demurely, also in the vernacular; and stood so--shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little lamp with your blessing?"

His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen, lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic.

"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus boldly and alone...."

The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, _guru-ji_. I am--England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste."

He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no _guru_; but like yourself, England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the Mother----"

It was her turn to start and scrutinise him--discreetly. "Yet you make pretence of holiness----?"

"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons--and daughters. These clothes are pa.s.sports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers--just for this superst.i.tion of Dewali--not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.--Was it Oxford?"

"Yes."

"Is it possible----?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly, almost boldly.

"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh Bahadur----?"

At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him. His look and tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not call for Roy, who was playing his part too scrupulously well.

"Go----! Leave me!" she commanded desperately, louder than she had spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But--making _pujah_[14]--I wish to be alone----"

His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her.

"Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened--like yourself...?"

He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure had sauntered into view.

Aruna sprang towards it--zenana airs forgotten. "Oh, Roy----!"

"Did you call, Aruna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you. This fellow bothering you----? I'll settle him----" Turning, he said politely: "My cousin is here, under my escort, to make _pujah, guru-ji_. She wishes to be alone."

"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this time be permanently secure from interruption--in the belly of a _mugger_,"[15]

retorted the supposed ascetic--in English.

Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakable.

"Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint? _You_ are no _guru_."

"And _you_ are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading--as a lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair, with play-acting--about cousins. In my capacity of _guru_ I feel compelled to warn this accomplished young lady that her fine cavalier is only a sham Rajput of British extraction...."

"_Sham_--curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia--on one side----" The instant he had spoken, he saw his folly.

"Oho--half-caste only!"

An oath and a threatening forward move, impelled the speaker to an undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that. The fellow was beneath contempt.

"I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur in the conjunction; and I take no insults from any man...." He made another forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing Chandranath jerk backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we are grateful to you. But I told you, she wishes to be alone. So I must ask you to move on elsewhere."

"Oh, as to that ... I have no violent predilection for your society."

And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no one but himself, Roy kept pace alongside--"For all the world," he thought, "like Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to go for him; but quite prepared if need be!"

When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandranath fired a parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you can marry her, because diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your veins. But here in India, you will find forces too powerful militating against it."

But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-control.

"The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in the habit of discussing their womenfolk with strangers," said he--and flattered himself he had very neatly secured the last word.

As for Aruna--left alone--she leaned again on the low abutment, but the hypnotic spell was broken: only acute anxiety remained. For the lamp of her life had made scant progress; and now she was aware of a disturbance in the water, little ominous whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently there emerged a long shadow, like a black expanse of rock:--unmistakably a mugger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand that had seized her in the nick of time. The next--she wrung her own together with a low, shivering cry.

For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chiragh rose with it--and so remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the h.o.r.n.y shoulder; tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had her answer--or no answer. The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; but it would never, now, reach the farther sh.o.r.e. Mai Lakshmi's face was turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair....

She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the shadow--not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ...

It was only a few minutes--though it seemed an age--before she felt Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender beneath its surface note of command.

"Aruna--what the--get up. Don't cry like that--you mustn't...."

She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, battling with her sobs.

"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming to disregard her effort at control.

"There--over there. Look ... the mugger!"

"Mugger?" He sighted it. "Well, I'm--the thieving brute!" Humour lurked in his voice--more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting.

Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears trembled into laughter; laughter into tears. The impact unsteadied her afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs.

"Aruna--my _dear_--you mustn't, I tell you...." More tenderness now than command.

She held her breath--pain shot through with sudden ecstasy. For in speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised nerves.

"Listen, Aruna--and don't cry," he said, low and urgently. "No answer always leaves room for hope. And you shall have your Dyan, I promise you. I won't come back without him. I can't say fairer than that. So now----" his hand closed on her shoulder. "Give over--breaking your poor heart!"

Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only to-night--I would rather--not the Palace dinner, the fireworks. I would rather go home with Miss Mills and the children...."

"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole evening--for us both. No, you don't. Remember--you are Rajputni: not to be hag-ridden by a mere chiragh and a thieving mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me in the face--and promise."