ran in and shouted: "They have charged! Their cavalry
have charged! They are beaten back! Their dead lie twisted on the
plain!"

At the words there was a stampede from the doorway, and half of those
who had remained rushed out. There were hundreds still there, though,
for that great gloomy pile of Kharvani's could hold an almost countless
crowd.

Within another hour the same man rushed to the door again and shouted:

"Help comes! Horsemen are coming from the north! Rajputs, riding like
leaves before the wind! Even the Mussulmans are for us!"

But the chanting never ceased. No one stopped to doubt the friendship
of arrivals from the north, for to that side there were no English, and
England's friends would surely follow byroads to her aid. The city gates
were wide open to admit wounded or messengers or friends--with a view,
even, to a possible retreat--and whoever cared could ride through them
unchallenged and unchecked.

Even when the crash of horses' hoofs rattled on the stone paving outside
the temple there was no suspicion. No move was made to find out who
it was who rode. But when the temple door reechoed to the thunder of a
sword-hilt and a voice roared "Open!" there was something like a panic.
The chanting stopped and the priests and the High Priest listened to the
stamping on the stone pavement at the temple front.

"Open!" roared a voice again, and the thundering on the panels
recommenced. Then some one drew the bolt and a horse's head--a huge
Khaubuli stallion's--appeared, snorting and panting and wild-eyed.

"Farward!" roared the Risaldar Mahommed Khan, kneeling on young
Bellairs' winded charger.

"Farm twos! Farward!"

Straight into the temple, two by two, behind the Risaldar, rode two
fierce lines of Rajputs, overturning men and women--their drawn swords
pointing this way and that--their dark eyes gleaming. Without a word
to any one they rode up to the image, where the priests stood in an
astonished herd.

"Fron-tt farm! Rear rank--'bout-face!" barked the Risaldar, and there
was another clattering and stamping on the stone floor as the panting
chargers pranced into the fresh formation, back to back.

"The memsahib!" growled Mahommed Khan. "Where is she?"

"My son!" said the High Priest. "Bring me my son!"

"A life for a life! Thy heavenborn first!"

"Nay! Show me my son first!"

The Risaldar leaped from his horse and tossed his reins to the man
behind him. In a second his sword was at the