She shook her head at him--smiling.

"Yes, Roy. It is sad."

He wrinkled his forehead.

"Oh dear! I like it to end the nice way."

"But I am not making tales, Sonling. I am telling history."

Tara's head nudged her shoulder. "_Go_ on--please," she murmured,
resenting interruptions.

So Lilámani--still looking at Roy--told how Prithvi Raj went on his last
quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief, who had married his sister and
was ill-treating her.

"In answer to her cry he went; and climbing her palace walls in the
night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving prince. But when
penance was over, his noble nature was ready, like before, to embrace
and be friends. Only that mean one, not able to kill him in battle, put
poison in the sweets he gave at parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking
no harm. So when he came on the hill near his palace the evil work was
done. Helpless he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might
see her before death. But even that could not be. And she, loyal wife,
had only one thought in her heart. 'Can the blossom live when the tree
is cut down?' Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping warriors build
up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her own hand. Then, before
them all, she climbed on that couch of fire and went through the leaping
scorching flames to meet her lord----"