“Did he say nothing—,” asked Jaimihr.
“Nothing, sahib.”
The priest watched him eagerly; he would have to bear back to the other priests an exact account of the Prince's every word, and movement, and expression.
“Then I, too, say nothing!” answered Jaimihr.
“But to the priests of Siva, who are waiting, sahib?”
“Tell them I said nothing.”
CHAPTER XVI
Eyes in the dark, awake and keen,
See and may not themselves be seen;
But—and this is the tale I tell—
What if the dark have eyes as well?
BESIDE the reeking bear's cage in which Ali Partab stood and swore was a dark, low corner space in which at one time and another sacks and useless impedimenta had been tossed, to become rat-eaten and decayed. In among all the rubbish, cross-legged like the idol of the underworld, a nearly naked Hindoo sat, prick-eared. He was quite invisible long before the sun went down, for that was the dingiest corner of the yard; when twilight came, he could not have been seen from a dozen feet away.