“You build too much on the British and my brother, sahiba!  Listen—­ Howrah is as strong as I am, and no stronger.  Had he been stronger, he would have slain me long ago.  The British are—­” He checked himself and trotted beside her in silence for a minute.  She affected complete indifference; it was as though she had not heard him; if she could not be rid of him, she at least knew how to show him his utter unimportance in her estimation.

“Have you heard, sahiba, of the Howrah treasure?  Of the rubies?  Of the pearls?  Of the emeralds?  Of the bars of gold?  It is foolishness, of course; we who are modern-minded see the crime of hoarding all that wealth, and adding to it, for twenty generations.  Have you heard of it, sahiba?”

“Yes!” she answered savagely, swishing at his charger again to make him keep his distance.  “You have told me of it twice.  You have told me that you know where it is, and you have offered to show it to me.  You have told me that you and your brother Maharajah Howrah and the priests of Siva are the only men who know where it is, and you lust for that treasure!  I can see you lust!  You think that I lust too, and you make a great mistake Jaimihr-sahib!  You see, I remember what you have told me.  Now, go away and remember what I tell you.  I care for you and for your treasure exactly that!” She hit his charger with all her might, and at the sting of the little whip he shied clear of the road before the Rajah’s brother could rein him in.

Again her effort to destroy his admiration for her had directly the opposite effect.  He swore, and he swore vengeance; but he swore, too, that there was no woman in the East so worth a prince’s while as this one, who dared flout him with her riding-whip before his men!

“Sahiba!” he said, sidling close to her again, and bowing in the saddle in mock cavalier humility.  “The time will come when your government and my brother, who—­at present—­is Maharajah Howrah—­will be of little service to you.  Then, perhaps, you may care to recall my promise to load all the jewels you can choose out of the treasure-house on you.  Then, perhaps, you may, remember that I said ’a throne is better than a grave, sahiba.’  Or else—­”

“Or else what, Jaimihr-sahib?” She reined again and wheeled about and faced him—­pale-trembling a little—­looking very small and frail beside him on his great war-horse, but not flinching under his gaze for a single second.

“Or else, sahiba—­I think you saw me slay the Maharati?  Do you think that I would stop at anything to accomplish what I had set out to do?  See, sahiba—­there is a little blood there on your jacket!  Let that be for a pledge between us—­for a sign—­or a token of my oath that on the day I am Maharajah Howrah, you are Maharanee—­mistress of all the jewels in the treasure-house!”

She shuddered.  She did not look to find the blood; she took his word for that, if for nothing else.