“Lady of Mur,” he went on, addressing Maqueda directly, “fair daughter of the great god Harmac and a mortal queen, what we have offered to the white lords, your guests, we offer to you also.  Barung, our Sultan, shall make you his head wife; or, if that does not please you, you shall wed whom you will”—­and, perhaps by accident, the envoy’s roving eyes rested for a moment upon Oliver Orme.

“Leave, then, your rock-rabbits, who dare not quit their cliffs when but three messengers wait without with sticks,” and he glanced at the spear in his hand, “and come to dwell among men.  Listen, high Lady; we know your case.  You do your best in a hopeless task.  Had it not been for you and your courage, Mur would have been ours three years ago, and it was ours before your tribe wandered thither.  But while you can find but a hundred brave warriors to help you, you think the place impregnable, and you have perhaps that number, though we know they are not here; they guard the gates above.  Yes, with a few of your Mountaineers whose hearts are as those of their forefathers were, so far as you have defied all the power of the Fung, and when you saw that the end drew near, using your woman’s wit, you sent for the white men to come with their magic, promising to pay them with the gold which you have in such plenty in the tombs of our old kings and in the rocks of the mountains.”

“Who told you that, O Tongue of Barung?” asked Maqueda in a low voice, speaking for the first time.  “The man of the West whom you took prisoner—­he whom you call Fat One?”

“No, no, O Walda Nagasta, the lord Black Windows has told us nothing as yet, except sundry things about the history of our god, with whom, as we said, he seems to be familiar, and to whom, therefore, we vowed him at once.  But there are others who tell us things, for in times of truce our peoples trade together a little, and cowards are often spies.  For instance, we knew that these white men were coming last night, though it is true that we did not know of their fire magic, for, had we done so, we should not have let the camels slip through, since there may be more of it on them——­”

“For your comfort, learn that there is—­much more,” I interrupted.

“Ah!” replied the Tongue, shaking his head sadly, “and yet we suffered Cat, whom you call Shadrach, to make off with that of your fat brother; yes, and even gave it to him after his own beast had been lamed by accident.  Well, it is our bad luck, and without doubt Harmac is angry with us to-day.  But your answer, O Walda Nagasta, your answer, O Rose of Mur?”

“What can it be, O Voices of Barung the Sultan?” replied Maqueda.  “You know that by my blood and by my oath of office I am sworn to protect Mur to the last.”

“And so you shall,” pleaded the Tongue, “for when we have cleaned it of baboons and rock-rabbits, which, if you were among us, we soon should do, and thus fulfilled our oath to regain our ancient secret City of the Rocks, we will set you there once more as its Lady, under Barung, and give you a multitude of subjects of whom you may be proud.”