oubt Harmac is angry
with us to-day. But your answer, O Walda Nagasta, your answer, O Rose of
Mur?"

"What can it be, O Voices of Barung the Sultan?" replied Maqueda. "You
know that by my blood and by my oath of office I am sworn to protect Mur
to the last."

"And so you shall," pleaded the Tongue, "for when we have cleaned it of
baboons and rock-rabbits, which, if you were among us, we soon should
do, and thus fulfilled our oath to regain our ancient secret City of the
Rocks, we will set you there once more as its Lady, under Barung, and
give you a multitude of subjects of whom you may be proud."

"It may not be, O Tongue, for they would be worshippers of Harmac, and
between Jehovah, whom I serve, and Harmac there is war," she answered
with spirit.

"Yes, sweet-smelling Bud of the Rose, there is war, and let it be
admitted that the first battle has gone against Harmac, thanks to the
magic of the white men. Yet yonder he sits in his glory as the spirits,
his servants, fashioned him in the beginning," and he pointed with his
spear toward the valley of the idol. "You know our prophecy--that until
Harmac rises from his seat and flies away, for where he goes, the Fung
must follow--till then, I say, we shall hold the plains and the city of
his name--that is, for ever."

"For ever is a long word, O Mouth of Barung." Then she paused a little,
and added slowly, "Did not certain of the gates of Harmac fly far
this morning? Now what if your god should follow his gates and those
worshippers who went with them, and be seen no more? Or what if the
earth should open and swallow him, so that he goes down to hell, whither
you cannot follow? Or what if the mountains should fall together and
bury him from your sight eternally. Or what if the lightnings should
leap out and shatter him to dust?"

At these ominous words the envoys shivered, and it seemed to me that
their faces for a moment turned grey.

"Then, O Child of Kings," answered the spokesman solemnly, "the Fung
will acknowledge that your god is greater than our god, and that our
glory is departed."

Thus he spoke and was silent, turning his eyes toward the third
messenger, he who wore a cloth or napkin upon his head that was pierced
with eyeholes and hung down to the breast. With a quick motion, the man
dragged off this veil and threw it to the ground, revealing a very noble
countenance, not black like that of his followers, but copper-coloured.
He was about fifty years