“We must wait.  But it’s mighty hard.”

The garden of brides has already been described.  But on this day when the ten veiled candidates sat in waiting there was spring in the air; and there were roses climbing trellises, climbing over the marble walls, and the pomegranate blossoms set fire to it all.  At the gate stood Ramabai, dressed according to his station, and representing by proxy the king.  Presently a splendid palanquin arrived, and within it a tardy candidate.  She was laden with jewels, armlets, anklets and head ornaments; pearls and uncut sapphires and rubies.  Upon lifting her veil she revealed a beautiful high caste face.  Ramabai bade her pass on.  No sooner had she taken her place than still another palanquin was announced, and this last was drawn by fat sleek bullocks, all of a color.

Ramabai held up his hand.  The bullock drivers stopped their charges, and from the palanquin emerged a veiled woman.  This was Kathlyn.

The selected candidates were now all present.  As master of ceremonies, Ramabai conducted them into the palace, thence into the throne room gaily decorated for the occasion.  In a balcony directly above the canopy of the throne were musicians, playing the mournful harmonies so dear to the oriental heart.

Upon the throne sat Colonel Hare, gorgeously attired, but cold and stern of visage, prepared to play his part in this unutterable buffoonery.  Near by stood Durga Ram, so-called Umballa, smiling.  It was going to be very simple; once yonder stubborn white fool was wedded, he should be made to disappear; and there should be another wedding in which he, Durga Ram, should take the part of the bridegroom.  Then for the treasury, flight, and, later, ease abroad.  Let the filigree basket of gems stay where it was; there were millions in the treasury, the accumulated hoardings of many decades.

The council and high priests also wore their state robes, and behind them were officers and other dignitaries.

There was a stir as Ramabai entered with the veiled candidates.  The colonel in vain tried to hide his interest and anxiety.  Kathlyn was there, somewhere among these kotowing women; but there was nothing by which he could recognize her.  As the women spread about the throne, Ramabai signified to the musicians to cease.

Silence.

Then Ramabai brought candidate after candidate close to the colonel, so that he alone might see the face behind the veil.  At each uplifting of the veil the colonel shook his head.  A dark frown began to settle over Umballa’s face.  If the colonel refused the last candidate for nuptial honors, he should die.  But as Ramabai lifted the veil of this last woman the colonel nodded sharply; and Kathlyn, for a brief space, gazed into her father’s eyes.  The same thought occurred to both; what a horrible mockery it all was, and where would it lead finally?

“Take care!” whispered Kathlyn as she saw her father’s fingers move nervously with suppressed longing to reach out and touch her.