And he dreamt he was King
In the wide,
wide,
world----
"Enough!" The word came swiftly as Akbar turned with a frown. "The end, woman? The end?"
There was a pause; then from the very dust of his feet rose her reply:
"There is none to the dreaming of kings!"
"There is none--to the dreaming--of kings," he echoed slowly, and his eyes scanned her face curiously as he raised her from the ground. "Who art thou, woman?" he asked suddenly; then as suddenly dropped the hands he held, and said coldly: "Give her gold for her song." But once more a fresh feeling came to make him add: "Nay! not gold--let her choose her own reward--what wouldst thou, sister?"
His face, grown soft as a woman's, looked sympathetically into hers; she stood before him abashed by the quick tie that seemed to have sprung up between them, unable to realise the chance that was hers.
"Quick step!" cried Mân Singh brutally. "See you not the Most-Gracious waits? What shall it be? Gold, fal-lals, dresses--the things for which women sell their souls?"
She turned on him like a queen.
"The women who nurture such heroes as Râjah Mân Singh mayhap so sell them; but I----" here her recognition of opportunity swept trivialities before it, she drew herself up to her full height and faced both King and court, her voice ringing like a clarion.