"Alas! it is ill," her heart murmured. "Ah God! the ingratitude, the cruelty of it."
She advanced to the open door and entered the main chamber of the tomb. A shaded lamp dimly illuminated the interior. Her glance swept quickly from the five or six armed men gathered in a group, to a stalwart form she intuitively recognized as that of Prasad Singh, in spite of the disguise he had assumed. He was pacing to and fro a little apart from his companions, as if impatient of some detail of his plan yet to be completed.
He turned quickly on her entrance and spoke in a voice of stern rebuke.
"Thou art late," he exclaimed. "Thou hast kept us waiting long after the appointed hour."
"Pardon, my Lord," replied the Rani, halting in the dark shadow of a pillar. "Our steps were misdirected."
"A curse upon the muddled brain of that astrologer," he muttered. "Now hearken, while I tell thee briefly, what I have impressed upon thy comrades at some length. We go now to the city as belated travelers, with an admission at the gate that hath already been assured. Thou wilt then follow my steps quickly and silently to the Rani's palace. As the others have their allotted duty, thou wilt seek the garden gate and hold it securely so that no one passes in or forth. If force be threatened thou wilt in like manner threaten force, aye, and use it if so need be. Thou hast arms"? he asked.
"Aye, noble captain," she replied. "Arms have we. But if the Rani doth herself come forth. What then, great sir"? she questioned in return.
"Thou wilt detain her above all others, though careful to do her no personal harm," he enjoined emphatically.
"But should she command us to let her pass, my Lord"? she pressed still further, in a quiet, assumed voice.
"Thou wilt obey the command of him who payeth thee for thy service, thou idle questioner," he returned. "Thy order is to hold her securely until my pleasure concerning her hath been learned."