His doubt was assuaged and the lust of vengeance was on him--a madness seized the man. But even his own wild men shrank back a moment, for to slay a sleeping child in cold blood is no man’s work. “You swear it is the Prince. But why? Why do you not lie to save him if you are the King’s woman?” “Because his mother has trampled me to the earth. I am the Indian woman--the mother of the younger, who is dead and safe. She jeered at me--she mocked me. It is time I should see her suffer. Suffer now as I have suffered, Maya the Queen!” This was reasonable--this was like the women he had known. His doubt was gone--he laughed aloud. “Then feed full of vengeance!” he cried, and drove his knife through the child’s heart. For a moment Sundari wavered where she stood, but she held herself and was rigid as the dead. “Tha-du! Well done!” she said with an awful smile. “The tree is broken, the roots cut. And now for us women--our fate, O master?” “Wait here,” he answered. “Let not a hair of their heads be touched. Both are fair. The two for me. For the rest draw lots when all is done.” The uproar surged away. The two stood by the dead boy. So swift had been his death that he lay as though he still slept--the black lashes pressed upon his cheek. With the heredity of their different races upon them, neither wept. But silently the Queen opened her arms; wide as a woman that entreats she opened them to the Indian Queen, and speechlessly the two clung together. For a while neither spoke. “My sister!” said Maya the Queen. And again, “O great of heart!” She laid her cheek against Sundari’s, and a wave of solemn joy seemed to break in her soul and flood it with life and light. “Had I known sooner!” she said. “For now the night draws on.” “What is time?” answered the Rajput woman. “We stand before the Lords of Life and Death. The life you gave was yours, and I am unworthy to kiss the feet of the Queen. Our lord will return and his son is saved. The House can be rebuilt. My son and I were waifs washed up from the sea. Another wave washes us back to nothingness. Tell him my story and he will loathe me.” “My lips are shut,” said the Queen. “Should I betray my sister’s honour? When he speaks of the noble women of old, your name will be among them. What matters which of us he loves and remembers? Your soul and mine have seen the same thing, and we are one. But I--what have I to do with life? The ship and the bed of the conqueror await us. Should we await them, my sister?” The bright tears glittered in the eyes of Sundari at the tender name and the love in the face of the Queen. At last she accepted it. “My sister, no,” she said, and drew from her bosom the dagger of Maya, with the man’s blood rusted upon it. “Here is the way. I have kept this dagger in token of my debt. Nightly have I kissed it, swearing that, when the time came, I would repay my debt to the great Queen. Shall I go first or follow, my sister?”