“So Prithvi Raj came early and put his Uncle’s whole army to flight.  But that was not enough.  He must be driven from the kingdom.  So when Prithvi heard that broken army was hiding in the depths of a mighty forest, there he went with his bravest horsemen, and suddenly, on a dark night, sprang into their midst.  Then there was great shouting and fighting; and soon they came together, uncle and nephew, striking at each other, yet never hating, though they must make battle because of Chitor and the Kingdom of Mewar.

“To none would Suraj yield, but only to Prithvi, bravest of the brave.  So suddenly in a loud voice he cried—­’Stay the fight, nephew.  If I am killed, no great matter.  But if you are killed, what will become of Chitor?  I would bear shame for ever.’

“By those generous words he made submission greater than victory.  Uncle and nephew embraced, heart to heart, and all those who had been fighting each other sat down together in peace, because Surajmul, true Rajput, could not bring harm, even in anger, upon the sacred city of Chitor.”

She paused—­her eyes on Roy, who had lost his own puzzling sensations in the clash of the fight and its chivalrous climax.

“Oh, I love it,” he said.  “Is that all?”

“No, there is more.”

“Is it sad?”

She shook her head at him—­smiling.

“Yes, Roy.  It is sad.”

He wrinkled his forehead.

“Oh dear!  I like it to end the nice way.”

“But I am not making tales, Sonling.  I am telling history.”

Tara’s head nudged her shoulder. “Go on—­please,” she murmured, resenting interruptions.

So Lilamani—­still looking at Roy—­told how Prithvi Raj went on his last quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief, who had married his sister and was ill-treating her.

“In answer to her cry he went; and climbing her palace walls in the night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving prince.  But when penance was over, his noble nature was ready, like before, to embrace and be friends.  Only that mean one, not able to kill him in battle, put poison in the sweets he gave at parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking no harm.  So when he came on the hill near his palace the evil work was done.  Helpless he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might see her before death.  But even that could not be.  And she, loyal wife, had only one thought in her heart.  ’Can the blossom live when the tree is cut down?’ Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping warriors build up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her own hand.  Then, before them all, she climbed on that couch of fire and went through the leaping scorching flames to meet her lord——­”

The low clear voice fell silent—­and the silence stayed.  The vague thrill of a tragedy they could hardly grasp laid a spell upon the children.  It made Roy feel as he did in Church, when the deepest notes of the organ quivered through him; and it brought a lump in his throat, which must be manfully swallowed down on account of being a boy....