Kathlyn’s eyes were feverishly dry and bright.  It was only a matter of time when the howdah would slip down the brute’s side.  She prayed that she might die instantly.  Strange fancies flitted through her mind, disordered by all these days of suspense and terror. . . .

And suddenly the jungle came to an end, and a long plowed field opened into view.  Beyond this field rose a ruined wall, broken by a crumbling gate, and lounging in the gateway were soldiers.  Near by were two elephants employed in piling logs.

Rajah, perforce, slackened his gait.  The soldiers became animated.  Immediately the two mahouts charged their brutes toward Rajah, who stopped.  He had had his sport.  He swayed to and fro.  One of the mahouts reached forward and clouted Rajah on the knee.  He slowly kneeled.  The soldiers ran forward to help Kathlyn out of the howdah.  At the sight of her skin their astonishment was great.

She was very weak and faint, and the increasing babel of tongues was like little triphammers beating upon her aching head.  One of the soldiers gave her a drink of water.  He held his canteen high, so that the water trickled into her mouth; no lips but his own must touch the nozzle, otherwise, being a Brahmin, he would be denied.  Natives instantly flocked about, jabbering in wonder.  Some of the bolder touched her bare arms.  The soldiers drove them back angrily.  Through the press a horseman pushed forward.  The rider stared at the strange captive, started and uttered an astonished cry.

“The white queen of Allaha, whom mine own eyes saw crowned at the durbar there!” he murmured.  “By the shroud of the prophet what can this mean?  Stop!” he called to the soldiers.  Kathlyn looked up dully.  “Convey her to his highness the Kumor!” The prince should decide what should be done with her.

The Kumor was big and lazy and sensual.  He gazed upon Kathlyn with eyes which sparkled evilly, like a cat’s.

“Who is this woman?” he demanded.

“Highness, she is the white queen of Allaha, but who may say that she is here?” with a smile as evil as his master’s.

“But how came she here?”

The horseman briefly recounted the events as he had seen them in the capital of Allaha.

“Who are you, maiden?” the Kumor asked in English, for, like all potentates, little or great, in India, he spoke English.  It presented the delectable pastime of conspiring in two languages; for, from Bombay to Calcutta, from Peshawar to Madras, India seethes, conspires and takes an occasional pot shot at some poor devil of a commissioner whose only desire is to have them combine religion and sanitation.

“I am an American.  Please take me to the English commissioner.”  Somehow instinct told her that she might not expect succor from this man with the pearls about his gross neck.

“I regret that his excellency the commissioner has gone to Bombay.  Besides, I do not know that you tell the truth.  Still, I can offer you what pearls and emeralds you may find to your liking.”