“Come now, Miss Kathlyn, no thinking; leave the whole business to me, the worry and the planning.  If we can reach my elephants, all right; we’ll be in Delhi within seven days.  The rest of the going will be as simple as falling off a log.”

That Yankee phrase did more to rehabilitate her than all his assurances.

From time to time Bruce stole a glance through the curtained window.  Stragglers were hastening along close to the walls, and there were soldiers who had forgot to bring their guns from the elephant arena.  Once he heard the clatter of hoofs.  A horseman ran alongside the gharry, slowed up, peered down and shrugged.  Kathlyn shrank toward Bruce.  The rider proceeded on his way.  Ahmed recognized him as the ambassador from the neighboring principality, ruled by a Kumor, who was in turn ruled by the British Raj.  Kathlyn could not shut out the leer on his face.

By midafternoon the gharry reached Bruce’s camp.  Ramabai and Pundita greeted Kathlyn with delight.  All their troubles were over.  They had but to mount the elephants and ride away.

“Ahmed,” urged Kathlyn, “leave the gharry and come with us.”

“No, Mem-sahib,”—­Ahmed gazed at her strangely—­“I have work to do, much work.  Allah guard you!” He struck the horse with his bamboo stick and careened away.

“Let us be off!” cried Bruce.  “We have sixty miles to put between us and freedom in fact.  We can not make the railway.  Ali, pack!  Go to the bungalow and remain there.  You will be questioned.  Tell the truth.  There is not an elephant in the royal stables that can beat Rajah.  All aboard!  No stops!”—­smiling as he helped Kathlyn into the howdah.  “We shall be forced to ride all night.”

The elephants started forward, that ridden by Bruce and Kathlyn in the lead, Ramabai and Pundita following a few yards in the rear.

“Mr. Bruce, I am sure Ahmed has some information regarding father.  I don’t know what.  Who knows?  They may have lied to me.  He may be alive, alive!”

“I’ll return and find out, once I’ve got you safe.  I don’t blame you for thinking all this a nightmare.  God knows it is nightmarish.  Do you know, I’ve been thinking it over.  It appears to me that the king latterly took a dislike to his protege, Umballa, and turned this little trick to make him unhappy.  I dare say he thought your father wise enough to remain away.  Umballa hangs between wind and water; he can go neither forward nor backward.  But poor Ramabai back there will lose his gold for this.”

“Ramabai has always been very kindly to the poor, and the poor man generally defends his benefactor when the night-time comes.  To Umballa I was only a means to the end.  If he declared himself king, that would open up the volcano upon which he stands; but as my prince consort, that would leave him fairly secure.”

“Only a means,” mused Bruce inwardly, stealing a glance at her sad yet lovely profile.  Umballa was a man, for all his color; he was human; and to see this girl it was only human to want her.  “Your father was one of the best friends I had.  But, oddly enough, I never saw a photograph of you.  He might have been afraid we young chaps . . .”  He paused embarrassedly.  “If only you had taken me into your confidence on board the Yorck!”