The chief or high priest salaamed, and Kathlyn eyed him calmly, though her knees threatened to refuse support.

“Majesty, we bow to your will.  Allaha can not hope to cope with Bala Khan’s fierce hillmen.  All we ask is that you abide with us till you have legally selected your successor.”

“Who shall be Pundita,” said Kathlyn resolutely.

The chief priest salaamed again.  The movement cost him nothing.  Once Bala Khan was back in his city and this white woman out of the country, he would undertake to deal with Ramabai and Pundita.  He doubted Bala Khan would stir from his impregnable city on behalf of Ramabai.

The frail woman who loved Umballa raised her hands in supplication.

Kathlyn understood.  She shook her head.  Umballa should end his days in the treadmill; he should grind the people’s corn.  Nothing should stir her from this determination.

“Majesty, and what of me?” cried the unhappy woman, now filled with another kind of remorse.

“You shall return to the zenana for the present.”

“Then I am not to die, Majesty?”

“No.”

“And Bala Khan?” inquired the priest.

“He shall stand prepared; that is all.”

The people, crowding in the temple and in the square before it, salaamed deeply as Kathlyn left and returned to the palace.  She was rather dizzy over the success of her inspiration.  A few days might pass without harm; but sooner or later they would discover that she had tricked them; and then, the end.  But before that hour arrived they would doubtless find some way of leaving the city secretly.

That it would be many days ere Pundita wore the crown—­trust the priests to spread the meshes of red tape!—­Kathlyn was reasonably certain.

“My girl,” said the colonel, “you are a queen, if ever there was one.  And that you should think of such a simple thing when we had all given up!  They would not have touched Umballa.  Kit, Kit, whatever will you do when you return to the humdrum life at home?”

“Thank God on my knees, dad!” she said fervently.  “But we are not safe yet, by any means.  We must form our plans quickly.  We have perhaps three days’ grace.  After that, woe to all of us who are found here.  Ah, I am tired, tired!”

“Kit,” whispered Bruce, “I intend this night to seek Bala Khan!”

“John!”

“Yes.  What the deuce is Allaha to me?  Ramabai must fight it out alone.  But don’t worry about me; I can take care of myself.”

“But I don’t want you to go.  I need you.”

“It is your life, Kit, I am certain.  Everything depends upon their finding out that Bala Khan will strike if you call upon him.  At most, all he’ll do will be to levy a tribute which Ramabai, once Pundita is on the throne, can very well pay.  Those priests are devils incarnate.  They will leave no stone unturned to do you injury, after to-day’s work.  You have humiliated and outplayed them.”