"I was lied to," he argued sullenly. "A false tale was brought me—by one who hath repented of his error! If I was told that Har Dyal Rutton would be in India upon such-and-such a day, am I to blame that I did promise to bring him to the Gateway?"
"And seeing that the man is dead, art thou to blame for bringing in his place a substitute, even so poor a changeling as this man Amber? Nay, be not angry; do I blame thee? Have I done aught but serve thee to the end thou dost desire?… Thou shouldst be grateful to me, rather than menace me with thine anger…. And," she added sweetly, "it were well for thee that thou shouldst bear always in mind my intimacy with thy secret. If thou art king, then am I more than queen, in Khandawar."
"I am not angry, Naraini," he told her humbly, "but mad with love for thee—"
"And lust, my lord, for—power," she interpolated.
"But if what thou hast said be true—"
"'Who lies to the King, is already a dead man.' Why should I trouble to deceive thee, Heaven-born? I tell thee, the man is won. The day shall declare it: this night will he ride with me to Kathiapur. Why didst thou not tarry to eavesdrop? Indeed thou hast lost an opportunity that may never a second time be thine—to learn of the wiles of woman."
"There was work to be done," he repeated. "I went to take measures against thy failure."
"O thou of little faith!"
"Nay, why should I neglect proper precautions? Whether thy confidence be justified or no, this night will Har Dyal Rutton—or one like him—endure the Ordeal of the Gateway."
"So I have told thee," she assented equably. "He will come, because
Naraini bids him."