From where Elizabeth sat she looked across the shoulder of Nana Sahib
as they watched the sacrifice; she saw him quiver and lean forward, his
shoulders tip as though he would spring from the brake. His face had
drawn into hard lines, his lips were set tight in intensity across the
teeth so that they showed between in a thin line of white. The blood
seemed to have fascinated him; he was oblivious of her presence. She
heard him murmur, "Parvati, Parvati! There is blood, blood--wait,
thou, Parvati."
The bay Arabs--perhaps their sensitive nostrils drank in the smell of
fresh blood--sprang into their collars as if they would bolt in fright.
The two syces, squatting on their heels at the horses' heads, had
sprung to their feet, and now were caressing the necks of the Arabs as
they held them each with a hand by the bit.
There was a curious look in the Prince's eyes as he turned them on
Elizabeth; a mingling of questioning and defiance was in them.
Now the holder of the pitcher stood up and the _guru_ drew upon it four
red lines and dropped through its shattered mouth a woman's bracelet of
gold lacquer beads.
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