It was Wana Affghar who spoke the words in a sepulchral voice, while he was the embodiment of suppressed emotion.
Just then the two were seated near the fire, the others dawdling about as though unaware of any important transaction pending.
"Yes," quietly replied Luchman as he began calmly passing his fingers through his turban.
Could it be possible that the daring native had walked into the camp of the Ghoojurs bearing that priceless gem about his person? Wana Affghar stared at him dumfounded and almost speechless, and yet, while he was staring, Luchman drew the piece of brown paper from the folds of his head gear, just as he did on the previous occasions described, and took the gem from within.
"There!" he exclaimed, "the bargain is finished!"
As the gem fell into the trembling, outstretched palm, the Ghoojur chieftain fixed his eyes upon it like a bird charmed by a serpent. He sat motionless and rigid as iron, life itself held in suspense.
At last the Star of India was his!
There it lay in his hand, luminous, flaming, variegated in its reflection of the firelight, wonderful, peerless, marvelous. This was the gem for which princes, kings, queens and emperors had fought, and that had caused the death of multitudes in the centuries that were gone.
Here it was—his at last!
Could it be real, or was it another of those tantalizing dreams that had haunted his slumbers for years, until the longing to possess the Star of India became the ruling passion of his life?