“No, no,” said the Ranee softly as she gave Dick a troubled look. “It is not good for boys.”
“Then I will not drink,” he replied, smiling at her; but he saw that her brow was contracted and her eyes closed.
Then his attention was taken up by what was passing at the bottom of the table, where the Wazir and the Brahmin both drew away from the proffered glasses.
“Very well, gentlemen,” said the Rajah quietly, “I will not force you; but the day will come when you will both look upon this act as innocent and right.—You, gentlemen,” he said, “will have no scruples. I drink to you, even if I lose caste.”
With a quick movement he tossed off his glass, and then, bending quickly to his left, he struck Wyatt’s glass from his lips, and, startled by the action, the doctors fell from his hand, both glasses shivering as they fell. The two ministers started up in their places, as did the queen, who made a quick clutch at Dick’s arm and then stood trembling.
“Treachery! Poison!” cried the king hoarsely, and his dark eyes flashed as he glared at the two men who had risen. “It was like fire—it means death. Ah!” he cried, turning upon the Ranee with a look of agony and grief, “this from you—from my mother!”
“No, no,” shrieked the Ranee wildly, “it is not true, my son. By your dead father, I swear!”
“Ah!” he cried, with a sigh of relief, and he turned to glare at the two old ministers, who stood clutching the table without daring to move, and as if waiting for the end.
Wyatt and the doctor had in turn sprung from their seats, Dick following their example; and as the Ranee’s hand dropped, the Rajah clutched at Dick’s arm in turn, beckoning to Wyatt with the hand at liberty.
“It is an enemy’s blow!” he gasped. “You, both of you, stop the coward stroke. Bring your soldiers here to save me, and seize the temple there. If I am to die, your people shall hold the place.”