"And thou art a stupid fool!"
Umballa's hand fell away from his dagger.
"It is a woman," he said. "Admit her."
The curtains were thrust aside, and the painted dancing girl, who had saved Umballa from death or capture in the fire of his own contriving, rushed in. Her black hair was studded with turquoise, a necklace of amber gleamed like gold around her neck, and on her arms and ankles a plentitude of silver bracelets and anklets. With her back to the curtains, the young priest staring curiously over her shoulder, she presented a picturesque tableau.
"Well!" said Umballa, who understood that she was here from no idle whim.
"Highness, you must hide with me this night."
"Indeed?"
"Or die," coolly.
Umballa sprang forward and seized her roughly.
"What has happened?"