To Kathlyn there was only death in the path of the elephants; to remain on the barge was to face eventually that which was worse than death.  Her arm throbbed painfully, but in the desperate energy with which she determined to take the chance she used it.  Quite contrary to her expectations, her leap was the best thing she could have done.  Most of the barges were upset and the great beasts were blundering across the river between her and the barges.

Bruce witnessed Kathlyn’s brave attempt and dashed into the water after her.  It took him but a moment to bring her to land, where her father clasped her in his arms and broke down again.

“Dad, dad!” she whispered.  “Don’t you see our God is powerfulest?  I believed I was going to be trampled to death, and here I am, with you once more.”

They hurried back as fast as Kathlyn’s weakness would permit to where they had left their own elephants, doubting that they should find them, considering that it was quite probable that they had joined their wild brethren.  But no; they were standing shoulder to shoulder, flapping their ears and curling their trunks.  So many years had they been trained to hunt elephants that they did not seem to know what to do without some one to guide them.

Bruce ordered one of them to kneel, doubtfully; but the big fellow obeyed the command docilely, and the colonel and Bruce helped the exhausted girl into the howdah.  The colonel followed, while Bruce took upon his own shoulders the duties of mahout.  Pundita got into the other howdah and Ramabai imitated Bruce.  The elephants shuffled off, away from the river.  For the time being neither Bruce nor Ramabai gave mind to the compass.  To make pursuit impossible was the main business just then.

Later Umballa, dulled and stupefied from his immersion, stood on the shore, with but nine of the twenty soldiers he had brought with him.  Evidently, his star had faltered.  Very well; he would send for the other sister.  She was the Colonel Sahib’s daughter, and young; she would be as wax in his hands.  A passion remained in Umballa’s heart, but it was now the passion of revenge.

When he had recovered sufficiently he gave orders to one of the soldiers to return to the city, to bring back at once servants, elephants and all that would be required for a long pursuit.  The messenger was also to make known these preparations to the council, who would undertake to forward the cable submitted to them.  All these things off his mind, Umballa sat down and shivered outwardly, while he boiled within.  He was implacable; he would blot out his enemy, kith and kin.  Colonel Hare should never dip his fingers into the filigree basket—­never while he, Durga Ram, lived.

Quite unknown, quite unsuspected by him, for all the activity of his spies, a volcano was beginning to grumble under his feet.  All tyrants, the petty and the great, have heard it:  the muttering of the oppressed.