Tremulously at first, then with quickening confidence, her happy nature rose like a sea-bird out of troubled waters, on the wings of a secret hope....

* * * * *

And now he was here, under this friendly roof that sheltered her from the tender mercies of her own kind.  There were almost daily meetings, however brief, and the after-glow of them when past; all the well-remembered tricks of speech and manner; and the twinkle of fun in his eyes.  Lapped in an ecstasy of content, hope scarcely stirred a wing.  Enough that he was there——­

Great was her joy when Mrs Leigh—­after scolding him in the kindest way over the girl mother and two more starving children, picked up afterwards—­had given her leave to take special charge of them and lodged them with the dhobi’s wife.  This also brought her nearer to Roy.  And what could she ask more?

But with the approach of the Dewali, thoughts of the future came flocking like birds at sundown.  Because, on Dewali night, all tried their luck in some fashion; and Mai Lakshmi’s answer failed not.  The men tossed coin or dice.  The maidens, at sunset, when the little wind of evening stirred the waters, carried each her chiragh—­lamp of her life—­and set it afloat on tank or stream, praying Mai Lakshmi to guide it safe across.  If the prayer was heard, omens were favourable.  If the lamp should sink, or be shattered, omens were evil.  And the centuries-old Aruna—­still at the mercy of dastur—­had secretly bought her little chiragh; secretly resolved to try her fate on the night of nights.  If the answer were unfavourable—­and courage failed her—­there was always one way of escape.  The water that put out her lamp would as carelessly put out the flame of her life—­in a little moment—­without pain....

A small shiver convulsed her—­kneeling there in her balcony; her bare arms resting on the balustrade.  The new Aruna shrank from thought of death.  She craved the fulness of life and love—­kisses and rapture and the clinging arms of little children....

For, as she knelt in the moonlight, nominally she was invoking Mai Lakshmi; actually she was dreaming of Roy; chiding herself for the foolishness that had kept her from appearing at dinner; hoping he might wonder, and perhaps think of her a little—­wishing her there.  And all the while, perhaps he was simply not noticing—­not caring one little bit——!

Stung by the thought, she clenched her hands and lifted her bowed head.  Then she started—­and caught her breath——­

Could it be he, down there among the shadows—­wandering, dreaming, thinking of her, or making poems?  She knew most of his slim volume by heart.

More likely, he was framing bold plans to find Dyan—­now the answer to her letter had come.  It was a strange unsatisfying answer; full of affection, but too full of windy phrases that she was shrewd enough to recognise as mere echoes from those others, who had ensnared him in a web of words.