But time slipped by without opportunity and she found herself lodged at last in a very handsome apartment consisting of a room and beyond that a slip of roof with a latticed cupola before any chance had come of accomplishing her desire.
"Nay! no more! I need nothing more. I will call if so be," she said to the servants who fawned about her. "Go! I tell thee."
She must think, she must devise some plan. The room was well appointed; even a long pen-box with a quaint pot of glazy ink stood by a low stool, so she could write. Meanwhile she must have a few minutes in the open. The musk of the tented dhooli had almost been too much for her.
So, out on the roof of this cupola's bastion or turret, half way down the palace wall, she leant, her arms on the parapet, and looked downward and upward. Above, to one side, was the palace; but which part of it? Below her was one of the wide eaves so characteristic of Indian architecture, and it ran, after skirting the turret octagonally along the walls, into the darkness. There was foothold for one with a strong head, doubtless; but what then?
As she thought a sound of whirring ropes met her ear, and something dark slid down the wall from far above her.
The preacher's dhooli! Then the King's balcony was somewhere above her! Could she? How far did the eave run. It would need ten yards at least. And could she start the equipoise if once she got a hold on the ropes?
Stay! She would only have to signal.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
Oh clear the cushioned thrones from those who sleep
Preach thou the Truth, let the Untruth be dumb
Till gladsome voices once more fill both worlds
Freshen the universe--Be thou our soul
We are dead bodies. Bring us back to life
Thou art our guard, the caravan is lone.
Thou art our army, let thy standard wave.
Lo! the day steed is weary; the dim night
To all around us; bid thy seraphim
Herald the coming dawn, and wake us, Lord,
As helpless babes we sleep and sleep and sleep
Upon the threshhold of another world.
--Nizami.--A. D. 1140.