Seeing this, she took his palm and, molding it like wax, into the cup of it she dropped clear fluid from a small vessel of pottery with the fylfot upon its side and the disks of the god Shiva. And strange it was to see that lore of India in the palace where the Blessed Law reigned in peace. Then, fixing her eyes with power upon Mindon, she bade him, a pure child, see for her in its clearness. “Only virgin-pure can see!” she muttered, staring into his eyes. “See! See!” The eyes of Mindon were closing. He half opened them and looked dully at his palm. His face was pinched and yellow. “A woman--a child, on a long couch. Dead! I see!” “See her face. Is her head crowned with the Queen’s jewels? See!” “Jewels. I cannot see her face. It is hidden.” “Why is it hidden?” “A robe across her face. Oh, let me go!” “And the child? See!” “Let me go. Stop--my head--my head! I cannot see. The child is hidden. Her arm holds it. A woman stoops above them.” “A woman? Who? Is it like me? Speak! See!” “A woman. It is like you, mother--it is like you. I fear very greatly. A knife--a knife! Blood! I cannot see--I cannot speak! I--I sleep.” His face was ghastly white now, his body cold and collapsed. Terrified, she caught him to her breast and relaxed the power of her will upon him. For that moment, she was only the passionate mother and quaked to think she might have hurt him. An hour passed and he slept heavily in her arms, and in agony she watched to see the colour steal back into the olive cheek and white lips. In the second hour he waked and stretched himself indolently, yawning like a cat. Her tears dropped like rain upon him as she clasped him violently to her. He writhed himself free, petulant and spoilt. “Let me be. I hate kisses and women’s tricks. I want to go forth and play. I have had a devil’s dream. “What did you see in your dream, prince of my heart?” She caught frantically at the last chance. “A deer--a tiger. I have forgotten. Let me go.” He ran off and she sat alone with her doubts and fears. Yet triumph coloured them too. She saw a dead woman, a dead child, and herself bending above them. She hid the vessel in her bosom and went out among her women. Weeks passed, and never a word that she dreaded from Maya the Queen. The women of Dwaymenau, questioning the Queen’s women, heard that she seemed to have heavy sorrow upon her. Her eyes were like dying lamps and she faded as they. The King never entered her palace. Drowned in Dwaymenau’s wiles and beauty, her slave, her thrall, he forgot all else but his fighting, his hunting and his long war-boats, and whether the Queen lived or died, he cared nothing. Better indeed she should die and her place be emptied for the beloved, without offence to her powerful kindred.