his education was complete. Waxing bolder still, he had demanded the
same respite for Arúna; a far more serious affair. For months they had
waged a battle of tongues and temper and tears, with
Mátaji--high-priestess of the Inside--with the family matchmaker and the
family _guru_, whom to offend was the unforgiveable sin. Had he not
power to call down upon an entire household the curse of the gods?

More than once Arúna had been goaded to the brink of surrender; till her
brother grew impatient and spurned her as a weakling. Yet her ordeal had
been sharper than his own. For him, mere moral suasion and threats of
ostracism. For her, the immemorial methods of the Inside; forbidden by
Sir Lakshman, but secretly applied, when flagrant obstinacy demanded
drastic measures. So neither Dyán nor his grandfather had suspected that
Arúna, for days together, had suffered the torment of Tantalus--food set
before her so mercilessly peppered that a morsel would raise blisters on
her lips and tongue; water steeped in salt; the touch of the
'fire-stick' applied where her skin was tenderest; not to mention the
more subtle torment of jibes and threats and vile insinuations that
suffused her with shame and rage. A word to the menfolk, threatened
Mátaji, and worse would befall. If _men_ cared nothing for family
honour, the women must vindicate it in their own fashion. For the two
were doing their duty, up to their lights. Only the knowledge that Dyán
was fighting her battle, as well as his own, had kept the girl unbroken
in spirit, even when her body cried out for respite at any price....

All this she had confided to him when, at last, they were safe on the
great ship, with miles of turbulent water between them and the ruthless
dominion of _dastúr_. That confession--with its unconscious revealing of
the Rajput spirit hidden in her laughter-loving heart--had drawn them
into closest union and filled Dyán with self-reproach. Small wonder if