"What did the Rani say," he asked, "when thou spoke to her of me"?
"What could she say," replied Ahmad, in a tone as if he had advocated the other's cause so well that there could be but one conclusion drawn. "What could she say! I swear never did eloquence so flow from my tongue in any man's behalf, as it did for thee, my Prasad. I vowed to the Fair One that the appointment thou seekest should by every right be thine. Upon the Holy Book I swore that but for thy dash and bravery, even the war scarred veteran, Ahmad Khan, might have been compelled to turn his back before the fury of that night of storm, and the strength of Sadescheo's frowning walls."
Prasad's gratitude manifested itself in a warm tribute to the other's friendship.
"But," he protested with a slight accent of concern, "I fear thou mayest have performed thy task too well, O Ahmad."
"Not I," returned the other. "Fear not that one who has trod the pavement of the Afghan court has not learned to pick his way most warily. Be assured thy desire is already granted."
A sound of distant music broke upon their ears.
"Hark"! enjoined the Mohammedan in a whisper. "Hark! The Rani cometh to Darbar."
As the music drew nearer the nobles ranged themselves on either side of the hall leaving a passage in the center for the Rani and her attendants to approach the throne. A profound silence fell upon the brilliant assembly.
Nearer rolled the sound of an inspiriting martial air. Presently amid a loud clash of cymbals and the beat of drums, the foremost of the procession swept into the hall. Fans of peacock feathers waved aloft, emblems of state were borne before her to whom all eyes were directed.
"The Rani, the Rani," passed in an impressive whisper from mouth to mouth. In turn, each of the nobles made a low obeisance.