And jet the atmosphere was unmistakably cooler. She distinctly felt a touch of the draught against her hot cheek.
"The door must be open," she concluded, softly rising to her feet and groping her way to it.
No; it was shut, just as she had closed it herself before she and her mother lay down.
Still wondering, she listened, in the belief that a gentle wind must have risen, but the vegetation outside was motionless.
"There is no use in perplexing myself," she thought, closing her eyes, in the hope that gentle sleep would press them down.
But it was useless. She was as fully awake as when hurrying through the streets of Delhi on that fearful night of the uprising. With a sigh she gave up the attempt.
"I do believe the door is open," she said, shortly after; "but, if it is, those on the outside are watchful, and there is no cause for fear, so I will not rise again."
She could not be mistaken when the faint sound of a footstep fell on her ear: some one was stepping softly about the room.
"What is the matter, father?" she asked, speaking low, so as not to disturb her mother.
There was no reply, and she repeated the question. Still there was no answer, and the cat-like step ceased. Whoever the intruder might be, he was standing still and listening. Marian was curious, but she felt no misgiving, for it was beyond belief that any enemy could have effected an entrance into the inner temple.