Prasad hesitated a moment, then cast himself at her feet. "Taunt me not, noble one," he petitioned. "I do not seek thy pardon; but I do ask thee to hear me speak." "Aye, will I," came the response coldly. "Is it not to hear what thou canst say for such surprising conduct that I am now waiting on thy words." "As God sees my heart, my sole excuse is my all consuming love for thee." "Thy love for me," she echoed. "Surely it is a most unusual way of showing it, good Prasad. Thou gatherest here a company of rascals to assault my palace, and order them to heed not my command, to hold me a prisoner until I shall learn thy pleasure. Thy love for me. Oh"! she cried with a note of scorn in her voice. "Thou must indeed cherish a constant love for me." "Ah, fair one, be not so ungracious," he besought her. "Surely thou hast tried me more than I was able to endure." "I tried thee," she repeated bitterly. "Aye, I did try thee, and thou hast proved to be most woefully amiss. What art thou, a drinker of spirits, a libertine, and Ah God! a traitor to thy Queen." Stung by her accusations he sprang passionately to his feet. "It is not true," he retorted hotly. "Upon all things sacred do I swear to it." "Aye, thou art in a fitting situation for thy oath to carry weight," she answered; "but, believe me I care not for thy escapades with _natch_ girls, or thy drunken orgies. Of such I do not look for an account. Thy reason for this company is what I seek." "Some accursed villain hath betrayed me," he muttered fiercely. "That dog of an astrologer, or can it be my good Moslem friend, the noble Ahmad Khan"? "Nay," she replied sorrowfully. "It is thine own false heart, O Prasad, that hath betrayed thee. I know of no astrologer, and as for Ahmad Khan, thou art only adding an injustice to thy other wickedness by slandering the fidelity of a friend. Even when this villainy of thine was made plain to me, he it was who stood firm as a champion of thy miserable faith. I doubt not that now his heart is sore with grief." "Then fair Lady," he exclaimed. "Since the Gods have willed it, that I shall appear in thine eyes as the vilest of creatures, life hath no more object. Take it, O Rani. I yield it to thee as readily here, as I would have done for thee amid the press of battle." He drew a dagger from his girdle and offered the handle to the Rani. He bowed his head submissively. She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes. She took the dagger from him and for a moment grasped it tightly. Would she plunge it to his heart? He waited resignedly. It would be an act of mercy was his only thought. Then she spoke in slow accents, first sternly, but toward the close with a quaver in her voice. "As the Rani, I could, O Prasad, kill thee; but as Lachmi Bai thou--thou art forgiven. Oh! why hast thou thus treated me"? The dagger flashed with a clatter to the pavement; her hand dropped listlessly to her side.