The process of getting to the knees reminded Leonie somewhat of a sailing vessel she had seen rolling in a rough sea, but she settled herself comfortably in the cushioned seat and waited with glee for the mahout to get into position upon the animal’s neck and order it to rise.

“What is he waiting for?” she asked, as he made no movement.

“He wishes to know where the ayah is to sit,” answered the guide.

“Ayah!” said Leonie, and laughed gently.  “But I am going alone!”

The mahout said something swiftly.

“The way is many miles through the jungle, mem-sahib; there is no dak bungalow, no people, the mem-Sahibs and also the sahibs go always accompanied.”

“I am going alone,” said Leonie quietly.  “Tell the mahout to get up.”

Upon a word of command the elephant got to its feet, and raised one knee; the mahout placed one foot upon it and swung himself up to his seat upon the short neck, said something to the elephant, who moved off up the jungle path, while the servants salaamed deeply to Leonie, and again even more deeply in the direction of the elephant’s head.

CHAPTER XXXIV

  “Some little talk awhile of me and thee
  There seem’d—­and then no more of thee and me.”—­Omar Khayyam.

The elephant trumpeted before the gate.

The two halves of the door opened from within, clanged against the sides, and the durwans in scarlet and silver bent almost double as they salaamed before the white woman who passed under the red-stone, centuries-old gate upon the back of Rama the Great and Perfect.

The elephant knelt and Leonie stepped on to the marble pavement, placing her hand for one instant upon the mahout’s arm to steady herself.

She looked up and down the double line of cypress trees and gave a little cry, which was almost one of pain, at the sight of the glory before her; and pressing her hands above her thudding heart, longed with all her soul for the man she loved and had denied.

For a moment she stood absolutely still, the heavy cloak swinging gently in the slight breeze, then walked down the steps, and like some ghost passed noiselessly beside the lily strewn water tanks towards the marble, wondrous Tomb.  Madhu Krishnaghar, waiting until she was well out of earshot, spoke to the elephant, bringing it to its feet, and gave a sharp order to the keepers of the door, which caused them to speed from the scene as fast as their feet would carry them towards the village where they had been commanded to stay until sunrise, leaving the girl, a prey probably to that inexplicably sensuous feeling which the desolation, and beauty, and pity of this place arouses in some, alone with the man who loved her as men love in the East.

He followed her slowly beside the water tanks, and absorbed in his love and the joy of being alone with her, failed to catch the sharp call of apprehension when Rama, as faithful as a dog, and far more intelligent than many humans, rapped the ground smartly with the end of his trunk.