"Well, Prince," Elizabeth said, "I suppose you know the women of this land better than either Captain Barlow or myself, and you're probably right, for I see in a belt at her waist the jewelled hilt of a dagger." Nana Sahib laughed: "My dear Miss Hodson, I never play with edged tools, and Captain--" But Nana Sahib's raillery was cut short by a small turmoil as the bleating goat of sacrifice was dragged forward to a stone daubed with vermillion upon which rested a small black alabaster image of Kali; while a _guru_, with sharpened knife, hung near like a falcon over a quivering bird. Three times the goat's head was thrust downward in obeisance to the black goddess; there was a flash of steel in the sunlight, and hot blood gushed forth, to dye with its crimson flood the base of the idol. A Bagree darted forward and with a stroke of his _tulwar_ clipped the neck from a pitcher and held it beneath the gurgling flood till it was filled. From where Elizabeth sat she looked across the shoulder of Nana Sahib as they watched the sacrifice; she saw him quiver and lean forward, his shoulders tip as though he would spring from the brake. His face had drawn into hard lines, his lips were set tight in intensity across the teeth so that they showed between in a thin line of white. The blood seemed to have fascinated him; he was oblivious of her presence. She heard him murmur, "Parvati, Parvati! There is blood, blood--wait, thou, Parvati." The bay Arabs--perhaps their sensitive nostrils drank in the smell of fresh blood--sprang into their collars as if they would bolt in fright. The two syces, squatting on their heels at the horses' heads, had sprung to their feet, and now were caressing the necks of the Arabs as they held them each with a hand by the bit. There was a curious look in the Prince's eyes as he turned them on Elizabeth; a mingling of questioning and defiance was in them. Now the holder of the pitcher stood up and the _guru_ drew upon it four red lines and dropped through its shattered mouth a woman's bracelet of gold lacquer beads. Then the pitcher was placed upon the Kali shrine; raw sugar was inclosed in a cloth and tied to a branch of the pipal. The voice of the Bagree Chief, somewhat coarse in its fulness, its independence, now was heard saying: "Sirdar Sahib, and Dewan Sahib, we men of the nine castes of the Bagrees now make the sacred oath. Come close that ye may observe." Jean Baptiste edged his horse to the side of the road, and the Dewan, heaving from the _palki_, stood upright. Ajeet dipped a tapering finger in the pitcher of blood, touched the swaying bag of sugar, and laying the hand against his forehead said, in a loud voice: "If I, Ajeet Singh, break faith with Maharaja Sindhia, may Bhowanee punish me!" Sookdee and Hunsa each in turn took the same solemn oath of allegiance.