"The King's Luck," murmured Âtma in stupefaction, "the King's Luck! And yet my lord Birbal knew--this slave knows that he knows, and the King does not know--this slave knows that he does not know."
"Oh cloud not perspicacity with noes and not noes!" cried Aunt Rosebody wrathfully and yet with a whimper in her voice. "If the Most-Excellent is ignorant--as I, too, believe him to be, and as I pray he may ever remain--that is the more reason why this should go back at once."
"Aye!" assented Âtma, her face scarcely less bewildered than little Umm Kulsum's as she sate rocking herself to and fro, mechanically repeating penitential verses of the Koran, "but my lord Birbal knew--wherefore?"
"Wherefore," echoed Aunt Rosebody vehemently protesting. "Lo! if thou wilt ask questions, I shall lose my way again. Remember the saying
'Ask not the road of twain
If one can make it plain.'
And for my part, I think the better of Birbal for his silence. If my nephew knew that his heir had filched his Luck from him----" and then suddenly she dissolved into tears, "Oh! Gulu! Gulu! beloved of thy father! why didst not think of this before, thou silly--old--fool?"
Umm Kulsum joined her in tears, only Âtma Devi sate calm, frowning. "Aye," she assented gravely, "I see. The Most High must never know. Therefore if the Beneficent Lady will give me the letter I will see it delivered, and when dark comes I can take the King's Luck to the place appointed."
Aunt Rosebody gave a sigh of relief. "Truly thou art not so bad, good red-woman. Ummu! my pen and ink. And we--we three will swear never to open our mouths concerning this again, least of all to the Most-Auspicious. No! not even as dying confession to ease our miserable souls."
"Lo! I promise," sobbed Umm Kulsum. "God gives the reward of silence."
"Yea! I promise," murmured Âtma softly.