“Of course there is,” assented the Heir-to-Empire with the greatest dignity.  “I have been one ever since I was born, and I always knew Roy belonged to me!” Then in quick impulse he ran over to the Rajput lad and flung his arms round his neck crying, “Oh Roy!  Roy!  I’m so glad you are my brother!”

“Not so fast, young sir,” objected the sentry, who was hugely amused and interested; “what proof can you bring of this, stripling?”

Roy lifted a scared face; then hung his head.

“None, save my memory, and this mark upon my breast.  My mother said we all had the stamp of truth over our hearts.”

The sentry shrugged his shoulders.  “That is not much in this wicked world,” he said carelessly.  “And anyhow it matters little if either or both of you be Kings, since ye are in cruel Kumran’s power.”

“Not till my Dearest-Lady returns,” dissented little Akbar gravely.  “Head-nurse said so; and if cruel Uncle Kumran is to get me, Dearest-Lady won’t come back.  I know she won’t—­so there!”

And, as events turned out, the Heir-to-Empire was right!

But a few days afterwards a messenger, bearing a blue handkerchief in his hand—­the sign of death tidings to the Royal Family—­appeared in hot haste before the nobles assembled in the Audience Hall.

“News!  News!” he cried breathlessly.  “Cover your heads with dust, ye people, while ye thank the Merciful One that Khanzada Khanum of the House of Babar hath found freedom, that after a long and godly life she hath found rest and peace.  Bismillah—­ul——­”

The long Arabic sentence went rolling through the Hall, while Kumran stood stunned by the suddenness of his aunt’s death.  And yet it might have been expected; the journey was far too trying for one of her years.  And she had risked it—­for what?

With a rush Kumran realised that his promise still held good, and for the moment disappointment, anger, savage desire for revenge swept away his regret.  Yet even he could not fail to be touched by the letter his brother Humayon had sent him by the hand of the messenger.  Dearest-Lady had, he said, pled his, Kumran’s, cause well, and he, Humayon, was ready to forgive for the sake of the dead woman who had loved them both, whom they both loved, and who had died with a smile.

But such softer feelings did not, could not linger long in a mind that had no fixed belief in anything.  Before a day had passed the feeling that he had been tricked onto an oath he dared not break came uppermost again.  Foster-father was ordered back to his damp dungeon, the little Heir-to-Empire and Roy were taken from the Palace and given over to the charge of a man noted for his hardness of heart.  Only the women and little Bija, being of no account, were turned out into the streets to beg or starve as they chose.

Then followed a terrible month in which the little party were cut off from news of one another.  Only Down, the cat, wandering over roofs and Heaven knows where and how, looked in here and there to settle on some one’s lap and purr.