"In the Châran-woman's, Most High! Lo! there is some mistake, doubtless. Yet she was brought in by the Mirza's orders--she had the fairest apartment set apart for her and--and he visited her this evening--just after Majesty, so the woman said."
Akbar rose to his feet fiercely.
"What has that to do with it, slave?" he interrupted, his voice full of swift sudden anger, "go on with the noisome tale!"
"Of a truth, sire, there is no doubt lamps were lit and wine brought. So he deserved death, and the woman too----"
"Aye!" assented the King, "she deserved it more! Didst kill her too?" He felt outraged beyond words; every atom of his manhood rose in hot anger against the woman who had dared--aye! dared to make him think of things he had forgotten, when she herself---- Ah! it was past mere anger.
"Nay! Most High. She--she showed us the Signet of Majesty and so----"
Under his breath a curse broke from Akbar's lips. Aye! he remembered now! He had given her the ring, and with the memory came back such an impotent flood of pure savage rage as never before in all his life had he felt. The Mogul scratched showed the Tartar; for an instant not even his ancestor Timur could have felt more bloodthirsty. The shame of it alone cried for instant revenge.
The thought brought him outward calm.
"She dies at dawn," he said quietly. "As women do who sin in God's night. Bring her here, then. She shall affix the seal to her own death-warrant. Write it now, and lay it on yonder desk so that it may be ready."
"And till then, Most High?"