"You have killed him! She has killed him!" Scarcely could the
Rajput woman speak. She was kneeling beside him - he hideous with
blood. "She hated him always. She has murdered him. Seize her!"
"Woman, what matter your hates and mine?" the Queen said slowly.
"The boy is stark with fear. Carry him in and send for old Meh
Shway Gon. Woman, be silent!"
When a Queen commands, men and women obey, and a Queen commanded
then. A huddled group lifted the child and carried him away,
Dwaymenau with them, still uttering wild threats, and the Queen
was left alone.
She could not realize what she had done and left undone. She
could not understand it. She had hated, sickened with loathing,
as it seemed for ages, and now, in a moment it had blown away
like a whirlwind that is gone. Hate was washed out of her soul
and had left it cool and white as the Lotus of the Blessed One.
What power had Dwaymenau to hurt her when that other Power walked
beside her? She seemed to float above her in high air and look
down upon her with compassion. Strength, virtue flowed in her
veins; weakness, fear were fantasies.
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