She obeyed. She wanted to cry out to that sea of bronze faces: "People
I do not want to be your queen. Let me go!" They would not
understand. Where was Rao? Where was Bruce? What of the hope that
now flickered and died in her heart, like a guttering candle light?
There was a small dagger hidden in the folds of her white robe; she
could always use that. She heard Umballa speaking in the native
tongue. A great shouting followed. The populace surged.
"What have you said to them?" she demanded.
"That her majesty had chosen Durga Ram to be her consort and to him now
forthwith she will be wed." He salaamed.
So the mask was off! "Marry you? Oh, no! Mate with you, a black?"
"Black?" he cried, as if a whiplash had struck him across the face.
"Yes, black of skin and black of heart. I have submitted to the farce
of this durbar, but that is as far as my patience will go. God will
guard me."
"God?" mockingly.
"Yes, my God and the God of my fathers!"
To the mutable faces below she looked the Queen at that instant. They
saw the attitude, but could not interpret it.
"So be it. There are other things besides marriage."
"Yes," she replied proudly; "there is death."