Bathurst stood back by the side of the window so as not to interfere with the passage of the light. Rabda stole forward and sat down upon the cushion.
“Now watch, sahib.”
Bathurst looked, and saw the block of wood apparently growing. Gradually it rose until Rabda passed up beyond the light in the room.
“You may come out,” the juggler said, “but do not touch the pole. If you do, it will cause a fall, which would be fatal to my child.”
Bathurst stepped out and looked up. He could but just make out the figure of Rabda, seemingly already higher than the top of the bungalow. Gradually it became more and more indistinct.
“You are there, Rabda?” her father said.
“I am here, father!” and the voice seemed to come from a considerable distance.
Again and again the question was asked, and the answer became fainter and fainter, although it sounded as if it was a distant cry in response to Rujub's shout rather than spoken in an ordinary voice.
At last no response was heard.
“Now it shall descend,” the juggler said.