This covert allusion was not understood by the young Sikh, in whose thoughts all men were valiant and all women fair and good.  But he experienced a shade of annoyance on learning that he must owe anything to the good offices of Lal Singh.  An echo seemed to sound faint and far as in a dream; “Rajah Lal,” it seemed to say, “means to pluck the Rose of Lehna Singh’s garden.”

CHAPTER VI.

A subdued light stole through the latticed windows of the house of Junda Kowr, revealing a court whose hush and shadow contrasted with the busy life that Atma had left behind him.  The silence and pleasing coolness were in harmonious unison with the gleaming alabaster arches, and the subdued loveliness of arrangement was more agreeable to sense than Lehna Singh’s ornate magnificence.  A lace-like screen hung before a lofty recess.  So plain it seemed that one wondered at seeing it motionless in the breeze made by the silken punkah swinging slowly to and fro before it.  It was of most delicately wrought ivory, and veiled from the court where female attendants flitted noiselessly about a group of three persons engaged in earnest conversation.  One, a woman whose black eyes had none of the languor of her race, reclined among embroidered cushions.  The splendour of her jewels proclaimed the Ranee.  Emeralds, rubies, and diamonds glittered on brow and arms.  Before her on a cushion lay a carefully folded and voluminous letter.  Lal Singh lolled at her side, and his gaze like hers was fixed on the ingenuous countenance of Atma Singh, who stood before the Ranee.  She wore no veil, and as Atma encountered the gaze of her bold black eyes, he remembered the sneer of Lehna Singh.

“Come near,” she commanded; “you come to me from our good friend, Lehna Singh.  Let me hear what word you bring from him.”

“I come, Maharanee,” replied Atma modestly, “to obey your behests in all things, but especially to undertake a perilous mission, which I am assured will result in benefit to the faithful adherents of the Khalsa, as well as to the interests of your highness and the Maharajah.”

“I have heard,” said the Ranee, “much of your devotion, courage, and unswerving integrity, which render you peculiarly fitted for an enterprise requiring singular daring and fidelity.  Lehna Singh has not scrupled to say that peril of life itself will even be welcome to so brilliant a spirit.”

Her mocking tone brought the blood to Atma’s cheek, he scarce knew why.

“It is the high calling of a Sikh,” said he, “to encounter danger, and by the sword to confirm the Khalsa.”

“It is a training that makes good soldiers,” returned the Ranee, “but as my claims may prove less potent than those of the Khalsa, I promise that on your successful return you shall receive from my hands rare and costly jewels, and gold whose yellow lustre will bid the treasuries of the world to open.”