The Shastree's mind was at once made up as to his course. There had been several offensive stories current in regard to young widows lately, and not without reason: and they had escaped his punishment. This at least was sure—the Envoy dare not deny, and could not evade his power; and if Tara appealed to the Rajah himself, it would be on a point of caste discipline with which he—Rajah though he was—would not dare to interfere.
"Let us hear her first," he said to the lady, as, having listened to Pudma Bye's account of Tara, he sat in the outer verandah of the house the morning after their arrival, while Tara was within; "wilt thou call her, daughter? we should not judge unheard."
Poor Tara's heart failed her sadly when Pudma called her. She clung to Amba Bye instinctively, trembling as she saw the priest sitting without, and protested against meeting him. "He is a stranger to me; what have I to do with him?" she said. "Let me go away. I am not his to be questioned, but the Mother's at Tooljapoor."
"Go," whispered Amba Bye to her; "he is all-powerful here,—over the Rajah, over my husband, over all. Go, tell him the truth. I will not leave thee. Go, Tara."
"Wilt thou now screen her, sister?" cried Pudma Bye, in a shrill voice, and stretching out her bare skinny arms to Tara. "Is her shame to be our shame—we that have no spot or stain upon us? If thou art bewitched, I, that perform the nine penances daily, should not be exposed to this! Come, girl! it is pollution to touch thee—nevertheless, come, else I will drag thee to him."
"Go!" cried Amba, frightened at the other's voice of threat and scorn combined, of which she had had long and sad experience in the house. "I dare not keep thee now,—she is terrible. Go, Tara, and answer what they ask thee. Say the truth and the Mother will hear thee. O, that my lord were here! O, that he were here!" and she sat down, sobbing and wringing her hands helplessly.
"Come," cried Pudma, as, seizing Tara by the arm, she pulled her forward. "Art thou a child, to be ashamed,—thou that art a Moorlee?"
Tara's limbs trembled so that she could hardly move.
"Ah, Mother," she prayed silently, "I am not false to thee yet; let me not be tried more than I can bear. I will go, even to death, but not to shame. O Mother, not to shame! Let me go, lady," she continued to Pudma Bye, "I will follow thee."
She did so, and, bending down submissively before the priest, stood up with her hands joined in an attitude of supplication. For a moment the stern man's features relaxed into an expression almost of kindness, certainly of extreme interest. The youth of the girl, her gentle grace, the sad but beautiful expression of her face—above all, its purity of expression—sent conviction to his heart that there was no room for calumny, none even for suspicion.