As Atma approached the city of Jummoo he found himself again by a river-side, and seeing a small boat he entered it and was soon gliding with the current.  It was night when he floated among the trees of the Palace gardens.  Thousands of lights glittered through the foliage.  The air was burdened with perfume.  High above the sombre umbrage rose slender snowy spires, around which the moonbeams lingered lovingly.  He left the little skiff and trod the terraced ascent.  A meandering brooklet, tributary of the larger stream, was spanned by fairy-like bridges.  He hesitated among the intersecting ways, mazy, enchanting, and flower-bordered.  The living air was full of subdued sound.  Bubbling water, tinkling bells, and the mingling of many voices made music which was borne on perfumed winds.  This was the fairest spot in all sunny Kashmir, where the nightingale sings perpetually in groves of citron, magnolia, and pomegranate.

He reached the splendid portico which was the chief entrance of the Palace.  Its carven and gilded roof was supported by alabaster columns.  It had been a day of pomp and festival, and courtiers still in their yellow robes of state reclined here, languidly enjoying the cool night air.  Atma ascended the broad steps where officers of state were marshalled in lines, gold-hilted swords at their sides, and their gorgeous attire glittering with jewels.  Here he requested an audience of the Rajah, and, preceded by a servant bearing his credentials, he passed through lofty and magnificent chambers to an ante-room where he rested until summoned to the presence of Golab Singh, whom he found in an inner court lit by rose-hued lamps.  The air was cool, delicious and fragrant, the stillness and the softened light were in pleasing contrast to the dazzling splendour of the halls and room he had traversed.  Here in an alcove were seated three or four men.  The Maharajah received him with affability, and made gravely courteous enquiries for the health and well-being of Junda Kowr.  He welcomed her envoy, and would know of the difficulties and dangers of his journey thither, and added graceful flattery to his commiseration.  Then, after much courteous discourse, he confided the young Sikh to the care of attendants, with many injunctions regarding his comfort and refreshment.  And Atma went out from the august presence with heart elate, for he had instantly observed in the turban of Golab Singh a gem which by its size and hue he knew must be none other than the Sapphire of Fate, whose magical renown might yet in his true hands rally a degenerate Khalsa until such time as the disciples of Nanuk might again know good from evil, and reverence Truth alone.

An hour later, as he left the sumptuous baths where obsequious slaves had attended him, an officer of state approached him with a message from the Rajah.

“Atma Singh, there are within these walls Englishmen who hold command in the British army.  As a true friend and servitor to the Ranee, and the Maharajah’s esteemed guest, do not divulge nor let them suspect that you had lately audience of her highness.”