As he looked down at her, in his troubled soul Umballa knew that it was not the throne so much as it was this beautiful bird of paradise which he wished to cage.

“Be brave,” he said, “like your father.  I do not wish to use force, but you must go.  It is useless to struggle.  Come.”

She hung back for a moment; then, realizing her utter helplessness, she signified that she was ready to go.  She needed time to collect her stunned and disordered thoughts.

Before going to the palace they conducted her to the royal crypt.  The urn containing her father’s ashes was deposited in a niche.  Many other niches contained urns, and Umballa explained to her that these held the ashes of many rulers.  Tears welled into Kathlyn’s eyes, but they were of a hysterical character.

“A good sign,” mused Umballa, who thought he knew something of women, like all men beset with vanity.  Oddly enough, he had forgot all about the incident of the lion in the freight caboose.  All women are felines to a certain extent.  This golden-haired woman had claws, and the day was coming when he would feel them drag over his heart.

From the crypt they proceeded to the palace zenana (harem), which surrounded a court of exceeding beauty.  Three ladies of the harem were sitting in the portico, attended by slaves.  All were curiously interested at the sight of a woman with white skin, tinted like the lotus.  Umballa came to a halt before a latticed door.

“Here your majesty must remain till the day of your coronation.”

“How did my father die?”

“He was assassinated on the palace steps by a Mohammedan fanatic.  As I told you, he died in my arms.”

“His note signified that he feared imprisonment.  How came he on the palace steps?”

“He was not a prisoner.  He came and went as he pleased in the city.”  He bowed and left her.

Alone in her chamber, the dullness of her mind diminished and finally cleared away like a fog in a wind.  Her dear, kind, blue-eyed father was dead, and she was virtually a prisoner, and Winnie was all alone.  A queen!  They were mad, or she was in the midst of some hideous nightmare.  Mad, mad, mad!  She began to laugh, and it was not a pleasant sound.  A queen, she, Kathlyn Hare!  Her father was dead, she was a queen, and Winnie was all alone.  A gale of laughter brought to the marble lattice many wondering eyes.  The white cockatoo shrilled his displeasure.  Those outside the lattice saw this marvelous white-skinned woman, with hair like the gold threads in Chinese brocades, suddenly throw herself upon a pile of cushions, and they saw her shoulders rock and heave, but heard no sound of wailing.

After a while she fell asleep, a kind of dreamless stupor.  When she awoke it was twilight in the court.  The doves were cooing and fluttering in the cornices and the cockatoo was preening his lemon colored topknot.  At first Kathlyn had not the least idea where she was, but the light beyond the lattice, the flitting shadows, and the tinkle of a stringed instrument assured her that she was awake, terribly awake.