So, with the last bit of strength at her command, she gathered up the rushes and climbed to the platform, arranging her bed behind the idol.

She covered her shoulders with the rushes and drew her knees up to her chin.

She had forgotten her father, Bruce, the happy days in a far country; she had but a single thought, to sleep.

What the want of sleep could not perform exhaustion could; and presently she lay still.
Thus, she neither saw nor heard the pious pilgrims who were on their way to Allaha to pray in that temple known to offer protection against wild beasts.

Fortunately, they did not observe her.
The pilgrim is always a pilgrim in India; it becomes, one might say, a fascinating kind of sport.