So Kumran’s charming polished manner vanished in an instant, and one day, without any warning, little Mirak, playing in the garden, was kidnapped by two stalwart Abyssinian slaves and carried off, howling horribly and fighting with his fists, to the palace where Kumran’s wife lived.  Tumbu, who was with him at the time, made a gallant show of resistance, and actually bit one of the kidnapper’s calves to the bone; but when he found himself confronted with a whole regiment of armed men who ran out to their assistance, he gave up the hopeless fight, and flew off to tell Roy what had happened.  And Roy, missing his little master, fled to tell Dearest-Lady.  Her face paled, but she did not hesitate.

“My litter! page!” she cried, and drawing her white veil closer round her, she went straight to the audience hall, where Kumran was receiving his nobles; her great age, her great nobility, giving her a right, even as a woman, to appear amongst them.

All eyes turned to her tall, upright, slim figure, every ear thrilled to the tones of her clear voice.

“By what right,” she asked, “has Kumran, the nephew I have nurtured, stolen from my care the son of his elder brother, the Heir to that Empire which Babar the Brave gave, dying, into the hands of Humayon, his eldest son?  I say there can be no right; and if it be wrong then will God’s curse light on the man who undoes his father’s work.  Lo! he is worse than parricide, for he would kill that for which his father gave his life.”

Now this appeal was a very strong one; for the story of how Babar the Brave gave up his own life to save that of his darling son, Humayon, is one of the most touching tales in Indian history, and none of Babar’s immediate family could even think of it without strong emotion.  So it was Kumran’s turn to grow pale.

“August lady,” he replied, evading her question, “this is a matter of policy with which women have naught to do.  King Humayon hath taken Kandahar, he hath imprisoned and degraded his brother Askurry, and for this, I, Kumran, challenge him!”

“And wherefore?” asked Dearest-Lady boldly.  “Did not Askurry deserve it?  Nay! did he not deserve death?  Did he not steal the King-of-Empire?  Did he not defy the king?  Did he not send the Heir-to-Empire away, instead of returning him to his father’s keeping?  I tell you, nephew Kumran, that your father, Babar the Brave, Babar the Kindly, Babar the Generous, Babar the Just, whom all men loved for his mercy, would have given death for such faults—­and given it rightly.  And will you, like a fool, court death also?” She looked round the assembly to see many a sullen, suspicious face, and understood that danger lay close at hand.  So her resolution was taken in a moment.  “See you!” she went on, “nothing has been done yet to make forgiveness impossible.  Well!  I—­Khanzada Khanum,—­old as I am, will go forth to meet King Humayon and plead thy cause.  I will ask what boon you wish, and I promise it shall be yours.  Humayon will give much in exchange for his son, and none have ever denied me anything.  Shall it be so?” Then seeing hesitation she put in a crafty word:  “There will be time afterwards for—­anything——­”