For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chiragh rose with it—­and so remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the horny shoulder; tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its life-blood, trickling away.  And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had her answer—­or no answer.  The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; but it would never, now, reach the farther shore.  Mai Lakshmi’s face was turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair....

She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the shadow—­not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ...

It was only a few minutes—­though it seemed an age—­before she felt Roy’s hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender beneath its surface note of command.

“Aruna—­what the—­get up.  Don’t cry like that—­you mustn’t....”

She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, battling with her sobs.

“Where’s the thing?  What’s happened?” he asked, seeming to disregard her effort at control.

“There—­over there.  Look ... the mugger!”

“Mugger?” He sighted it.  “Well, I’m—­the thieving brute!” Humour lurked in his voice—­more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting.  Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears trembled into laughter; laughter into tears.  The impact unsteadied her afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs.

“Aruna—­my dear—­you mustn’t, I tell you....”  More tenderness now than command.

She held her breath—­pain shot through with sudden ecstasy.  For in speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised nerves.

“Listen, Aruna—­and don’t cry,” he said, low and urgently.  “No answer always leaves room for hope.  And you shall have your Dyan, I promise you.  I won’t come back without him.  I can’t say fairer than that.  So now——­” his hand closed on her shoulder.  “Give over—­breaking your poor heart!”

Comforted a little, she uncovered her face.  “I will try.  Only to-night—­I would rather—­not the Palace dinner, the fireworks.  I would rather go home with Miss Mills and the children....”

“And cry your eyes out all alone.  And spoil the whole evening—­for us both.  No, you don’t.  Remember—­you are Rajputni:  not to be hag-ridden by a mere chiragh and a thieving mugger.  No more tears and terrors.  Look me in the face—­and promise.”

As usual, he was irresistible.  What matter Mai Lakshmi’s indifference—­since he cared so much?  “Faithfully—­I promise, Roy,” she said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into his eyes—­that seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into depths beyond depths.