birds ceased, but gentle forms hopped lightly from twig to twig, and
curious eyes peeped from leafy lurking-places. In the turban of the
Rajah, the Sapphire of Fate shone with serene lustre like the blue
water-lily of Kashmir. His fingers toyed idly with the plumage of a
magnificent hawk, now unhooded but still wearing the leathern jesses
and tiny tinkling bells of the chase. The leash by which it was held
slipped gradually from the arm of an attendant and it was unconfined.
Its keen eye knew all the ambushed flurry overhead, but it did not
rise--a more curious prey lay nearer.

In a moment it was poised in air. Another second and it had gained
possession of the Mystic Stone, the augur of weal to the Khalsa, its
menace when borne by a foe, the portentous Sapphire of Fate!

All was consternation and clamour. The unlucky fellow who had slipped
the leash, waving his wrist, sought to induce the bold robber to alight,
but his cries were scarcely heard above the vociferation of the throng,
and he was fain to tear his beard and curse the day of his birth. But as
neither lamentation nor rage could restore the treasure, cooler heads
dispatched a party of horsemen with falcons and lures to decoy the
recreant.

With the first shout of dismay and horror Atmâ stood as if transfixed,
enwrapt in thought, and did not stir nor speak until the rescuing party
had long vanished across the plain, and Bertram touching him on the
shoulder rallied him on his abstraction, and told him that the Nawab
was about to beguile the time and reanimate the flagging spirits of the
illustrious company with a tale. Repressing a sigh, Atmâ smiled and
suffered his friend to lead him into the circle forming about the
story-teller.