The hours went by, heavy-footed like mourners. Padmini the Rani knelt by
the window in her tower that overlooks the plains. Motionless she knelt
there, as the Goddess Uma lost in her penances, and she saw her Lord
ride forth, and the sparkle of steel where the sun shone on them, and
the Standard of the Cold Disk on its black ground. So the camp of the
Moslem swallowed them up, and they returned no more. Still she knelt and
none dared speak with her; and as the first shade of evening fell across
the hills of Rajasthan, she saw a horseman spurting over the flat; and
he rode like the wind, and, seeing, she implored the Gods.
Then entered the Twice-Born, that saint of clear eyes, and he bore a
scroll; and she rose and seated herself, and he stood by her, as her
ladies cowered like frightened doves before the woe in his face as he
read.
“To the Rose of Beauty, The Pearl among Women, the Chosen of the Palace.
Who, having seen thy loveliness, can look on another? Who, having tasted
the wine of the Houris, but thirsts forever? Behold, I have thy King as
hostage. Come thou and deliver him. I have sworn that he shall return in
thy place.”