Was there equal confidence in the fort? We must now go there, and listen to the midnight consultation, which may be prolonged till daylight; and yet men on the eve of some desperate enterprise for which they have prepared themselves, need more rest, and often sleep more calmly, than at any other period of their existence.

It was the same chamber that we have formerly seen; but the window of the oriel is shut, for the night wind at that height is cold and bleak, and thick, quilted curtains, which have been let fall before it and the doorway, exclude all air. Sivaji, Maloosray, and Palkur are sitting together, but are silent, for the Rajah's mind is troubled.

"If I only knew what she would have me do," he said at length, looking up. "Hast thou prepared all, Tannajee?"

"Master," he replied, "everything is ready. By midnight, or a little later, Moro Trimmul and the rest of the veterans will be in the woods near Jowly, around the camp. Every position has been marked out, and will be silently taken up. Nothing can escape out of that plain, and they will await the signal of the five guns from hence. The Brahmun swears," he continued, after a pause, "that he will take the pretty sister of the young Khan, in revenge for his seduction of the Tooljapoor Moorlee."

"He dare not," said Sivaji quickly. "I have heard that girl was an honoured guest in Afzool Khan's family; the Brahmuns say she was. No, he dare not touch her; and I have warned him not to do so."

Maloosray shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," he said; "God knows! but Moro says otherwise. Let it pass; it is not our business; but he will be none the less active to get the whole family into his power."

"And you, Nettajee?" said the Rajah, turning to him.

"There are five thousand of my best Mawullees sleeping in the thickets east of the fort-gate. They will close in behind the Beejapoor people as they pass, and when we hear the horn, I think, master, few will escape—yes," he continued, fixing his large black eyes on the Rajah, and slightly twisting his moustaches, "few will escape."

"O, the blind confidence of these Beejapoor swine!" cried the Rajah, laughing, as he lifted up his hands. "They have neither eyes nor ears, else they had guessed we are not as we seem. But the goddess Mother has blinded and deafened them, and it is as my mother said it would be."

"Where is she?" asked Maloosray; "she should bless us ere we go forth."

"She is in the temple, and uneasy. As the time comes on, they think she will have a visitation," he replied. "Ah! here is some one to tell us. What news, Bheemee?"

"The lady mother is uneasy, Maharaj, and rocking herself to and fro. It is coming on her, and ye should be near to listen."

"Come, friends, let us go," said the Rajah; "on this revelation depends my course to-morrow."

It was but a few steps, and the place is already familiar to us. The low porch and dark vestibule, the small shrine within, from whence a strong light is shining into the gloom, resting sharply upon the figure of the Ranee as she sat before it, not quietly now, as when we saw her once before, but with her shoulders and bosom heaving rapidly, her eyes shut, or if opened for a moment flashing with excitement, her lips trembling and already speckled with foam; and that peculiar sharp, rocking motion of her body, which always preceded the final attack.

The men stood by reverently. No one dared to speak. The attendant Brahmun offered flowers from time to time, and kept up a low chant or incantation, while occasionally he threw grains of coloured rice upon the altar.

Suddenly the lady stretched forth her arms and shrieked wildly. Maloosray would have rushed forward, but Sivaji held him back. "Wait," he said in a low tone, "no one dares to interrupt her; wouldst thou go to death between her and the Mother? She will come—listen."

There was first a low muttering in which nothing could be distinguished; but words at last followed, to them terrible and awful, as, believing in the dread presence of the goddess, the lady poured them forth with gasps.

"O, I thirst! My children were slain—and no one has avenged them. Blood! blood! I thirst. I will drink it! The blood of the cruel—of the cow-slayers! All, all—the old and the young; the old woman and the maiden; the nurse and the child at her breast; all—all—all!" she continued, her voice rising to a scream. "They who love me, kill for me; for I thirst,—for I thirst now, as I did for the blood of the demons," and the voice again sank to a low whisper which was not audible.

These words had come from her by spasms, as it were; painfully, and with much apparent suffering. She shrieked repeatedly as she uttered them, and clutched at the air with a strange convulsive movement of both hands: sometimes as if apparently drawing to her, or again fiercely repelling an object before her. At last she stretched forth her hands and her body, as if following what she saw, and looking vacantly into the space before her with a terrified expression of countenance, the hands fell listlessly on her lap, and her features relaxed into a weary expression, as of one who had endured acute pain. Then she sighed deeply, opened her eyes, looked around, and spoke. "Bheemee, I thirst," she said gently,—"bring me water."

Sivaji alone had remained with his mother and the Brahmun of the temple, who, as she spoke them, recorded the disconnected sentences. The Rajah's companions, fearless before an enemy, were cowards before the dread presence in which they believed.

"Ah, thou art here, son," she said, turning to him. "Did I speak? Surely the Mother was with me," and she sighed deeply, again drawing her hand wearily across her eyes.

"Come and rest, mother," he replied, raising her up and supporting her tenderly. "Come, thou art weary."

"Weary indeed, my son," she said,—"there is no rest for me till all is finished. Come, and I will tell thee everything;" and he followed her into her own apartments, where she lay down. The attendant brought water, and she drank a deep draught.

"What did I say, son?" she continued. "But no matter. It is all blood before me—carnage and victory! Blood!" she cried excitedly, grasping his arm and looking intently into his face. "Art thou ready? ready for victory!—ready to cry 'Jey Kalee! Jey Toolja MÁta!'"

"Ready, mother—yes. There is no failing anywhere. The men are at their posts, and the signals have been decided upon. No one will escape us now."

"No one will escape," she echoed,—"no one must escape—no—not one—not even he."

"Ah, mother," cried Sivaji, "not so; surely with pledged honour, soldier to a soldier, and a solemn invitation, it could not be."

"It must be, son," she said gloomily, "else the sacrifice is incomplete and of no avail. Wilt thou risk that for thine own sake—for my sake—for the sake of our faith? I see it all," cried the lady excitedly, "passing before me—a triumph of glory over those defilers of the temples of the gods; thy rapid rise to power; the legions of the hateful Mahomedans trampled in the dust by greater legions of thine own. 'Jey Sivaji Rajah!' shall be cried from Dehli to RamÉshwur.[17] Wilt thou now turn back? wilt thou be forsworn to her—to the Mother who is our life? Wilt thou be as vacillating as thy father? Beware! thou art more committed to her than he—and does she spare backsliders?"

"He is but one to be spared, mother, and that because of my promise," he pleaded.

"I tell thee it cannot be, my son. She will have him—the slayer of the priests—the murderer of hundreds of the people about her shrine. And that priest of his who, as all say, led the slaughter, cast down her image, and trampled on it! O son, canst thou hesitate? art thou—so firm and true always—now grown weak? have I borne one in travail who is degenerate? Choose then, now—victory and future blessing, or the result which thou knowest, and we all know, if we fail her—the death which must ensue. Both are before thee; choose, boy; I can say no more!" and she turned away her face to the wall.

But she had conquered, for there was no defying her will,—always the mainspring of the Rajah's actions—and, backed by those seemingly divine revelations in which he devoutly believed, he did not resist her.

"Mother," he said, rising and prostrating himself before her, "I know—I feel that the goddess is speaking from thy mouth still. I hear and obey. Bless me, O my mother, and my hand will be strong; put thy hands on my head, and the Mother will guide the blow surely."

"I do bless thee, Sivaji BhÓslay," she returned, placing her hands on his head, "in the name of her who directs us, and with her power I endue thee. Go and fear not, but do her bidding—thou shalt not fail."

He rose. "I will but speak with Maloosray and dismiss them," he said, "and return. Make up a bed for me here, for I would sleep near thee, mother, to-night."

"Get thee to thy post, Nettajee," he said to Palkur, as he met them without; "there is no fear now; victory is with us—she hath said it. Let the men sleep and be ready."

"And what will you do with him—the Khan?" asked Maloosray.

"You will see to-morrow," said Sivaji excitedly. "You will be with me, and will share the danger. This was reserved for you, O well-tried friend!"

"Enough," said Maloosray to Palkur; "let us go, for the master needs rest;" and, saluting him, they departed.

Sivaji returned to his mother. A low bed had been prepared in the room, and she was sitting by it. He took off his upper garment and turban, and, having performed his ablutions, lay down, and she patted him gently, as she used to do when he was a child. He would have spoken, but she would not listen, and he urged her to sleep herself, but she would not leave him; and when the dim light of day broke gently into the chamber, he woke, and found she had not stirred from his side. "Arise," she said, "it is time. Food is prepared for thee. Eat, and go forth to victory!"

He obeyed her; bathed, worshipped earnestly in the temple, and ate heartily. Then he returned to her, and, in the simple words of the old Mahratta Chronicle, "laid his head at his mother's feet, and besought a blessing. He then arose, put on a steel cap, and chain armour, which was concealed under a thickly-quilted cotton gown; and, taking a crooked dagger which he hid under his sleeve, and the 'tiger's claws'[18] in his right hand, he girded his loins, and went out."