Aunt Rosebody groaned. Did she not know it! Were there not instances without number even in her own family of such influences? If she could only consult someone--even Hamida. But the women were urgent. Except in the safe keeping of the Beneficent Ladies, and under promise, the diamond could not be left.
Then it was that the little lady reached out her hand and took what was held out to her. After that there was but a short whispered conference, and then Aunt Rosebody was left feeling as if the whole round world was tight clasped in her small hand, while the women stole back, as they had come, protected by the Lord Chamberlain's order.
"Well!" asked Siyah Yamin, when, safe beyond the walls, speech was possible. "Art satisfied, Âto, now that thou hast seen the King's Luck out of my evil hands? Ah! Fie on thee sister, for thy threats, thy unkind thoughts of poor little Siyâla, who, heaven knows, has had more curses than cowries out of the business. Yet but for me and my pet thief Pâhlu, who between ourselves nigh starved waiting in the empty workshop while Diswunt was making up his mind--the King's Luck would still be--where it ought to be!"
Âtma's face grew troubled. Ever since the deed had been done, she had, woman like, become afraid of it. It was this vague fear which had made her insist on accompanying Siyah Yamin, so that she might see for herself that the gem had been given into the hands of the Beneficent Ladies. "Think'st thou so in truth, Siyâl----?" she asked reproachfully, "and yet thou hast not ceased to assure me" She broke off, then added "And but for me, sister, Diswunt's mind would never have been made up. It was I----"
Siyah Yamin burst into a low laugh as she disappeared between the curtains of her waiting dhooli. "Give him good reward, then, sister, after woman's fashion. Lo! I have given him mine already."
Something in her tone made Âtma stoop and hurriedly open those closed curtains that were heavy with stale scents. A glimmer of gray dawn--for it had taken time to persuade Aunt Rosebody to action--showed faintly the courtesan's face set in the white folds of the burka she had thrown upward for more air. Perhaps it was a memory of the portrait thus framed which made Âtma repeat herself. "I wonder thou canst be so unkind to a poor lad who loves thee."
"Unkind?" echoed the courtesan with the zest of a child who kills flies. "Death is no unkindness, and they will give it him, doubtless, if he hath been unwise. For he will not blab--that I know--he loves too much!"
She was right. Even as she spoke Diswunt was seeking the Great Silence.
The wind of dawn which found his face as he fell, found her soft babyish face also; but it brought no message, told no secret.
Âtma stood watching the dhooli as it swung off toward Satanstown with a rising dread at her heart. And yet she had acted for the best, and when all was said and done the King's Luck was in good hands.