THE SLAVE GIRL OF AGRA
had not seen even in Rajmahal; were these edifices built for mightier rulers than Raja Man Singh and for more illustrious ladies than the royal dames of Bengal? Palaces of great queens they must be, for the wall of red sandstone which screened them was not pierced by a single window or gate that Noren could see.
Late one evening, when darkness had fallen on the unknown palaces, Noren came down from the roof tired and troubled in mind. He made a sparing meal and went early to bed, and was soon unconscious in a heavy slumber as if under the influence of some drug.
The first watch of the night had barely passed, and the sounds of the drum from the Nakara-Khana still filled the air, when Jelekha stepped into the silent room, dimly lighted. Her movement was slow and cautious, and a strange light gleamed from her eye. Her arms were bare, and her unsheathed dagger was in her right hand. She crept noiselessly to the bedside and paused.
For a few moments her gaze was fixed on the sleeper. She listened to his breath, which was the breathing of dreamless slumber. She felt his heart beats, which were those of a strong man. Her face cleared up, and a smile curved her thin lips. Then she shook the dagger and waved it over the sleeper's head as she chanted some rhymes in her own tongue which may be rendered thus:
I
"Shades of midnight gather deep,
Spell hath power o'er soldier's sleep,
Watchful ginii of the mountain,
Wakeful spirits of the fountain,
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