He caught at it in a moment. "For the King? Then thou art true."
She gave no answer. What was the use of explanation when she could not explain? When the King must never know aught concerning the theft of the diamond. Silence was better. God gave the reward of that.
"Âtma"--she shivered at the name, at the tone, of the King's voice--"I command thee, as King, answer truly. What was there betwixt thee and the Mirza?"
She sighed faintly. By forgetting what really mattered in the purely personal, he had enabled her to obey.
"That which is ever between a man and woman when they both need somewhat, my liege," she said simply. "So now I must die. It will be better."
She had told herself this a hundred times that night. She had done her work. Life might bring difficulties. Death was the only remedy. But she over-reached herself in self-sacrifice.
"Oh! let me die, my liege," she cried kissing the dust of his feet. "Majesty will forget." This hope was also in her blurred mind.
"It will not forget," he cried passionately, "unless it knows the truth. Speak! woman--Blazon out thy shame if shame there be, else I call Birbal with the diamond he took from thee----"
She was on her feet trembling with anger, outraged utterly.
"What! he hath told the Most-High! Oh! traitor, coward! And he swore--he bade me never tell----"