But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arrogant impulse, and the mystic chirágh of destiny was saved—for another fate.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Hail, Mother.
[12] Darling.
CHAPTER VIII.
| "The forces that fashion, the hands that mould, |
| Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;— |
| They are gods no more, but their spells remain." |
| —Sir Alfred Lyall. |
Dewáli night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of miracle....