She dropped her arms from his shoulders and walked about the cell, searching every stone.  Their only hope lay in the window, and that appeared impossible since she had no means of filing through her father’s chains and the bars of the window.  She returned and sat down beside her father and rested her aching head on her knees, thinking, thinking.

Bruce, struggling with the soldiers (and long since their fat flesh had been stung into such activity!) saw Umballa appear in the corridor.

“Durga Ram,” he cried, with a furious effort to free his arms.  “Durga Ram, you damnable scoundrel, it would be wise for you to kill me, here and now, for if I ever get free.  God help you!  O, I shan’t kill you; that would be too merciful.  But I’ll break your bones, one by one, and never more shall you stand and walk.  Do you hear me?  Where is Kathlyn Hare?  She is mine!”

Umballa showed his teeth in what was an attempt to smile.  He still saw flashes of fire before his eyes, and it was yet difficult to breathe naturally.  Still, he could twist this white man’s heart, play with him.

“Take him away.  Put him outside the city gates and let him go.”

Bruce was greatly astonished at this sign of clemency.

“But,” added Umballa, crossing his lips with his tongue, “place him against a wall and shoot him if he is caught within the city.  He is mad, and therefore I am lenient.  There is no white woman in the palace or in the royal zenana.  Off with him!”

“You lie, Durga Ram!  You found her in the slave mart to-day.”

Umballa shrugged and waved his hand.  He could have had Bruce shot at once, but it pleased him to dangle death before the eyes of his rival.  He was no fool; he saw the trend of affairs.  This young white man loved Kathlyn Hare.  All the better, in view of what was to come.

Bruce was conducted to the gate and rudely pushed outside.  He turned savagely, but a dozen black officers convinced him that this time he would meet death.  Ah, where was Ali, and Ahmed, and the man Lal Singh, who was to notify the English?  He found Ali at camp, the chief mahout having been conducted there in an improvised litter.  He recounted his experiences.

“I was helpless, Sahib.”

“No more than I am, Ali.  But be of good cheer; Umballa and I shall meet soon, man to man.”

“Allah is Allah; there is no God but God.”

“And sometimes,” said Bruce, moodily, “he watches over the innocent.”

“Ahmed is at Hare Sahib’s camp.”

“Thanks, Ali; that’s the best news I have heard yet.  Ahmed will find a way.  Take care of yourself.  I’m off!”

When Umballa appeared before the council their astonishment knew no bounds.  The clay tinted skin, the shaking hands, the disheveled garments—­what had happened to this schemer whom ill luck had made their master?

He explained.  “I went too near our prisoner.  A flash of strength was enough.  They shall be flogged.”