“Your Excellency, the goddess is meditating.  Besides, this is holy ground.  Your Excellency would not wish to set foot on it.  Moreover, the courtyard is full of worshippers.  It would not be safe.”

Ralston broke in upon the old man’s fluttering protestations.  “Open the door, or my men will break it in.”

A murmur of indignation arose from the crowd which thronged about him.  Ralston paid no heed to it.  He called to his two levies: 

“Quick!  Break that door in!”

As they advanced the door was opened.  Ralston dismounted, and bade one of his men do likewise and follow him.  To the second man he said,

“Hold the horses!”

He strode into the courtyard and stood still.

“It will be touch and go,” he said to himself, as he looked about him.

The courtyard was as thronged as the open space without, and four strong walls enclosed it.  The worshippers were strangely silent.  It seemed to Ralston that suspense had struck them dumb.  They looked at the intruder with set faces and impassive eyes.  At the far end of the courtyard there was a raised stone platform, and this part was roofed.  At the back in the gloom he could see a great idol of the goddess, and in front, facing the courtyard, stood the lady from Gujerat.  She was what Ralston expected to see—­a dancing girl of Northern India, a girl with a good figure, small hands and feet, and a complexion of an olive tint.  Her eyes were large and lustrous, with a line of black pencilled upon the edges of the eyelids, her eyebrows arched and regular, her face oval, her forehead high.  The dress was richly embroidered with gold, and she had anklets with silver bells upon her feet.

Ralston pushed his way through the courtyard until he reached the wall of the platform.

“Come down and speak to me,” he cried peremptorily to the lady, but she took no notice of his presence.  She did not move so much as an eyelid.  She gazed over his head as one lost in meditation.  From the side an old priest advanced to the edge of the platform.

“Go away,” he cried insolently.  “You have no place here.  The goddess does not speak to any but her priests,” and through the throng there ran a murmur of approval.  There, was a movement, too—­a movement towards Ralston.  It was as yet a hesitating movement—­those behind pushed, those in front and within Ralston’s vision held back.  But at any moment the movement might become a rush.

Ralston spoke to the priest.

“Come down, you dog!” he said quite quietly.

The priest was silent.  He hesitated.  He looked for help to the crowd below, which in turn looked for leadership to him.  “Come down,” once more cried Ralston, and he moved towards the steps as though he would mount on to the platform and tear the fellow down.

“I come, I come,” said the priest, and he went down and stood before Ralston.

Ralston turned to the Pathan who accompanied him.  “Turn the fellow into the street.”