"Begone!" she cried, stamping her foot. "There is the Mother; not a second time shalt thou take me from her. My fathers," she cried, appealing to all around, "he would twice have dishonoured me, and I have been saved. Now I am under your protection, O, give me not to him! Take me to the mother of the Rajah; she will protect me."
"She is here," said the Shastree, stepping forward; "and thy fate shall be decided before her. Fear not, daughter."
"Friends," said Moro Trimmul, looking round, "have care for my honour! Twice have I rescued her from shame. Once when she was escaping from Tooljapoor; once in separating her from those who have been slain. Give her to me, for her shame to be hidden away for ever."
"I will not go; I will not go!" cried Tara, entering the door of the shrine, and clasping the feet of the image. "Kill me if ye will, here,—I am ready; but I will not go with him."
"I claim them both, sirs," cried Moro Trimmul passionately; "her, and her sister Moorlee yonder. Beware, all of ye, how ye interfere with the family honour of a respectable man. I will brook it from no one, not even from Sivaji Bhóslay himself! Have I won a victory to-day at the Mother's command, and am I to be disgraced and humbled before her, by a deranged girl and doting priests, ere it is closed? Come forth, Tara!" he called, in a hoarse voice—"come forth, else I will tear thee thence. Away with her," he cried to two of his attendants, who had seized Gunga, and were holding her fast—"away with her to my house, and bind her there; I will bring the other. Now, friends, beware who stays me, for, by the gods, he dies, be he who he may!" and he drew his sword, and was advancing, when the Shastree stepped before him.
"Madman," he cried, stretching forth his hands; "forbear! put up thy weapon,—no one here dreads it. We are Brahmuns, as thou art! Fear not," he continued to Tara, who had stood up also by the altar, and was trembling violently, but not with terror. "Fear not; thou art under the protection of the council, and he dare not interfere with thee."
"Fool and dotard," exclaimed Moro Trimmul under his breath, and from between his clenched teeth, "I will settle with thee for this, one day yet. As ye will, sirs," he continued bitterly, looking round and panting as he dropped his sword's point. "My honour is in the hands of a priest's council at last, not in my own keeping, and I am helpless; but hasten what ye have to do, for I will not leave ye till ye have decided in regard to her. Look at her—harlot and witch, sorceress and devil—who hath already destroyed men's souls,—will ye believe the Mother protects such as she is?"
"Let it be so," said the Shastree. "Tara, art thou willing to abide the night, as the issue of the ordeal suggested by thyself, to wait her coming? If so, we will stay here with thee."
"Mother," she said in a low voice, turning to the altar, and joining her hands in supplication before the image—"Mother, if I am thy child, tell me what to say to them; or, if thou wilt, let me be another sacrifice to thee, and it will be well. Mother,—O Toolja Máta! dost thou hear?—Tara is ready before thee—ready to come!"
Low as the words were spoken, they were heard by all; and remembering the events of the day, and believing in the power of the goddess, it was expected the girl would fall and die where she was, on the solemn invocation; but it was not so. For a few moments she stood gazing intently at the image, without altering her position of supplication; then she smiled, her hands dropped, and she turned at once and faced the assembly. Not even in her first office as priestess had her beauty been more glorious—the expression of her features more sublime.