Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she caught his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile.  Did he know——?  Did he ever feel—­like that?

Near Sir Lakshman’s house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her.

“I’ll be quick as lightning—­don’t stir till I come,” he said—­and vanished.

* * * * *

Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands.  She had brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed in a cardboard box.  Mrs Leigh—­angel of goodness—­had lit the wick with her own hand—­’for luck.’  How Roy had made her so completely their ally, she had no idea.  But who could resist him,—­after all?  Waiting alone, her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;—­so changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade her go forward.

Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they passed:  and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering threads of light.  Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot.  A little farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked.

“You see,” she explained under her breath, as though they were conspirators, “if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge—­new birth.  I am only afraid it is getting a little too strong.  And if anything should hinder it from crossing, then—­there is no answer.  Suspense—­all the time.  But—­we will hope.  Now, please, I must be alone.  In the shadow of this building, few will notice me.  Afterwards, I will call softly.  But don’t—­go too far.”

“Trust me.  And—­see here, Aruna, don’t make too much of it—­either way.  Mai Lakshmi’s not Queen of all the Immortals——­”

“Oh, hush!  She is bride of Vishnu!”

Roy’s smile was half amused, half tender.  “Well!  I hope she plays up—­royally.”

And with a formal salute, he left her.

Alone, crouching near the water’s edge, she held out her cockle-shell with its blown wisp of light.

“Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart,” she addressed it, just above her breath, “sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate awaits me now?  Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?”

With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that would be best, alike, for her and Roy.

But curiosity was claimant.  She must see....  She must know....

Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all her conscious being centred on the adventuring flame that swayed and curtsied at the caprice of the wind.  The effect of her concentration was almost hypnotic:  as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at her very life....