However unwelcome might be the presence of Gerrard and his force, Sher Singh could not, for very shame's sake, show his feelings, and a host of servants came down from the fort to point out the best camping-ground, and to bring the rasad, or free rations, necessarily provided for guests. It was evidently hoped, however, that Gerrard might change his mind after a night's rest for in the morning the fakir appeared again with fresh entreaties that he would depart, and not add to the Prince's self-reproach the burden of feeling that he was detaining him here. Gerrard replied by another demand for a personal interview, which was refused in horror, the fakir declaring that three days and nights of mental agony had reduced Sher Singh to such a wreck that it was unendurable to him to be seen until he had recovered a little. Gerrard offered suitable condolences, remarked that the sooner the Prince recovered the sooner would he himself be able to depart, and as a fairly clear sign of his intentions, devoted some hours to the improvement of his camp, to the ill-concealed disgust of his soldiers, who thought themselves entitled to a long rest after the hardships of the march. In the evening Charteris rode in, lean and tanned to an even deeper pink than before, attended by a new bodyguard he was raising from among his reformed robbers, who looked by no means reformed, and were Mohammedans to a man. The arrangements of the camp had to be altered again, to allow these children of nature to encamp close to their commander's tent, for the double purpose of keeping the Granthis from interfering with them, and preventing them from attacking the Granthis. Badan Hazari was highly contemptuous of this new departure on Charteris's part, and ostentatiously pitched his men's tents in similar fashion near Gerrard's, to protect him, as he said, in case those rascally thieves should try to murder him in the night. Their own Sahib might be able to trust them, since he had nothing they would care to steal, but the acting-Resident of Agpur was a person of importance, and his life was valuable.

Having seen their followers bestowed as well as might be, Charteris and Gerrard settled down to a good talk, in which the present situation, as was natural, bulked largely. At first Charteris was inclined to think that things need not have gone so far.

"You'll laugh me to scorn," he said, "but I give you my word I'd have rode after Sher Singh, just as I was, the moment I heard he had levanted, and caught him up on the road."

"Or been caught by him, and held as a hostage."

"No, I would have done it before he got to cover here, and brought him back dead or alive."

"To find that the army and the Durbar had made common cause against the Rani—perhaps even that she and Kharrak Singh had been judiciously removed."

"That's what it is to have a mind that sees both sides of a question," said Charteris good-humouredly. "Now I should only have thought of securing Sher Singh, and I'd have done it if I died for it. Whereas you have left everything in inspection order, and can sit dharna[1] on his doorstep for just as long as he can stand seeing you there."

"My patience has its limits," said Gerrard, smiling. "If the illness refused to yield to the fakir's treatment, it might become necessary to send for a European physician from Ranjitgarh, and to blow in the gates that he might be able to visit his patient. But I hope Sher Singh will see fit to recover without our using such drastic remedies."

"Oh, you have him in the hollow of your hand—I don't presume to doubt it. When your letter came, I had a lurking suspicion that it might be a veiled call for co-operation again, but I see I was wrong."

"You forget it's your turn to call upon me. But I'll tell you where you can help me, Bob. I want to give these precious troops of mine a little active work in the way of war-manoeuvres, as the Prussians call them. The lazy beggars have got abominably soft since Partab Singh's death, with nothing to do but exhibit their lovely selves in the streets, and mutiny for increased pay to settle their tavern-scores. There's plenty of room here, and good scope, and besides, the sight will be interesting and cheering for Sher Singh. Let's take 'em in hand."

"I'm your man. But," with a wry face, "what about the tiger-hunting?"

"Oh, we'll get that in. Sher Singh sent word this afternoon that he hoped I would show my forgiving disposition by deigning to allow him to provide me with a little sport, and I had his head shikari here just before you came. He said that owing to Sher Singh's prowess as a shot on his visits to his father-in-law, tigers are much rarer round here than I thought, and wanted me to go a day's journey to find a likely spot, but I told him he must produce one within a decent distance or be for ever disgraced. So it's a bandobast,[2] and the beast is to be forthcoming to-morrow or the day after."

The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the Agpuris if they were left together. The tiger was duly killed, to the intense admiration—almost adoration—of the shikari, who entreated even with tears that the sahibs would allow him to guide them further, to the spot already mentioned to Gerrard, where, to judge from his description, tigers were popping in and out of a particular patch of jungle like rabbits. Charteris was strongly tempted, and urged that they could make the journey in the night by pressing the elephant a little, shoot a few tigers before breakfast, and return during the day, but Gerrard was firm. He did not intend to allow Sher Singh such an opportunity for tampering with the troops, innocent as he might seem to be of any desire to do so. They rode back, therefore, squabbling amicably as to whose bullet had really given the coup de grÂce, and discussing whether the skin should be mounted as a rug or merely cured.

Their elephant was descending into the river-bed, and the walls and towers of Adamkot were dominating in dusky red the landscape to their right, when Gerrard uttered an exclamation, and pointed out a small body of mounted men surrounding an elephant, who were approaching their camp from the opposite side.

"From Agpur!" he said. "Who can be coming? A woman's howdah, too! Why, it looks to me like Bijli, the best hotty in the stables. I would have brought her with me if I hadn't known that the others couldn't keep pace with her. Bob, I'm afraid there's something up."

"You underrate your own importance, old boy. They can't do without you in the city, and the Rani has come in person to fetch you back."

"Oh, stop your chaff! No, but I daresay Kharrak Singh has insisted on coming, and she has sent him in a closed howdah, so as to be safer. He was uncommon set on coming with me. I wouldn't hear of it, but he may have teased her into giving her consent."

They entered the camp, and descended from their elephant in the space before their tents, just as the other elephant and its escort were challenged at the outskirts. Charteris and Gerrard both saw the curtains of the howdah put aside, and a head, apparently that of a woman, thrust forth. They could not hear what was said, but the newcomers were instantly allowed to pass, and staring soldiers began to gather and follow behind them. All eyes were turned on the two Englishmen as they went forward, but no one said anything, though it seemed to Gerrard that there was a feeling of awe in the air.

"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris. "And Rukn-ud-din in command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops! What is this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer.

"It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied
Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance.
It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding
behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend.

"Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly.

"How should I know? I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently. "I shall know when she speaks, I suppose. But look at her cloth, half brown and half white! Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops in this way? No pardah, no sheets!"

"Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of violation of etiquette. The veiled figure stood solitary against the gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering. The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one end of her veil? Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the passage. He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived. Is it an order that she be conducted thither?"

"No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face. "Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer pardah, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her. Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!"

"But when was this? What has happened?" gasped Gerrard.

"Two days ago at this time. I waited only to burn the body of my son, and hastened hither for my vengeance."

"But it is impossible, Maharaj. Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed since he arrived here."

"Has he?" The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible. "It is easy to deceive some men. Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see if he comes."

Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes. "Why are you here?" he demanded of them.

"Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting. Seeing you return so early, he feared the sport had been poor."

"Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard brusquely.

"But your honour knows he is laid upon his bed, and cannot rise."

"Then bring him on his bed. His life depends upon it. If he is not here in half an hour, I will blow in the gates and come and fetch him myself."

"It is an order!" said Sher Singh's servants in chorus, and withdrew.
Gerrard turned back to the Rani.

"Your Highness has proof of what you say?"

"This much of proof. Two days ago Sarfaraz Khan—may an evil ghost haunt him from henceforth!—came to me with a tale that the guards were discontented by reason of the favour shown to the rest of the army. I promised to do what I could, and went into the room where my jewels are kept, to see if I had anything left that might satisfy them. Kneeling before a coffer, I heard my son shriek without, but when I ran to see what ailed him, certain of my women—daughters of shame, whose end is even as they deserved—pushed me back into the room, and held the door against me. I heard my son fleeing and calling to me for succour, and the clash of the weapons of those that pursued him in silence. I heard him cry, 'O brother, slay me not!' and I heard his moans as they struck. And though I tore at the door until my hands ran down with blood, I could not move it, until the murderers were safely departed. Then the door yielded suddenly, and I came out, to find my son lying dead in his blood. I called my own servants and swore them to vengeance, dipping in the blood their swords and this cloth of mine, which I will wear until the innocent blood is washed out in the blood of him that shed it, and first I bade them slay the women that had befooled me and held me back from dying with my son. Then I gave orders for the burning of my son's body, for fear the murderers should be minded to add insult to their crime, and I called together the Durbar and the heads of the army, and bade them search the city for Sher Singh, and offer a reward for him, dead or alive. But they refused, and mocked me, saying that Sher Singh was now Rajah, and their obedience was his. Then I reviled them to their faces—speaking unveiled, as one minded to mount the pyre and be consumed with the body of my son, could I but be assured of vengeance—and called upon those who remained faithful to follow me. This man Rukn-ud-din and these few sowars were all that came, and when we had burnt the body of my son, we took up his ashes and departed—many desiring to stop us, but no man caring to strike the first blow—to ride hither and demand justice on Sher Singh. And this, O Jirad Sahib, was Kharrak Singh, my son."

She swept aside the discoloured veil, and showed a brazen vessel filled with ashes, which she carried clasped to her breast. "This was my son, Jirad Sahib and soldiers of Partab Singh. Foully has he been cut off, before he could raise up a posterity to perform his funeral rites. By the innocent blood and the dishonoured ashes, I call upon you for vengeance."

"If it can be shown that Sher Singh has committed this murder, justice shall indeed be done upon him, Maharaj," said Gerrard. "But I think you will find that he has not left this place."

"Then to whom did my son call out 'Brother'?" she demanded fiercely.
"You will not find him."

"The Prince!" burst from the surrounding soldiers, and all turned towards the gateway of the fort, where a little group of men could be seen. A palanquin was brought out, and the bearers carried it swiftly down the winding path. Almost unconsciously the crowd below pressed forward to the foot of the cliff. The palanquin reached the bottom and stopped, and the fakir, who had followed it, opened the curtains and helped out a bent figure—unmistakably Sher Singh. A shriek broke from the Rani.

"He has outridden me and reached this place first!" she cried. "See his weakness, his deathly aspect. What but four days and nights of riding could account for it?"

Disregarding her words, Sher Singh turned with dignity to Gerrard. "What does my friend Jirad Sahib require of me?" he asked mildly. "At his command I have risen from my bed, weak and faint with illness though I am. My servants tell me that my brother is dead. Is my blood desired also?"

"Your brother died calling upon you to spare him," said Gerrard.

"And is the life of a man to hang upon the cry of a terrified child?" asked Sher Singh, with the same dignified meekness. "Nay, if he cried out 'Brother!' would he not say the same to any man of Granthi stock? Jirad Sahib knows our customs, and that it is our wont to speak thus to one another."

"The matter must be properly tried," said Gerrard. "Your Highness sees"—he turned to the Rani—"that there is no proof against the brother of your son. Let me entreat you to retire to the tent prepared for you, and rest."

The Rani waved him back with a contemptuous gesture. "I have asked for no trial," she cried; "I demand justice. Here to his face I accuse Sher Singh of having ridden secretly to Agpur and murdered my son, his brother, and then returned hither in haste that he might give the lie to my words. Who is on my side? Who will slay this wretch for me? Jirad Sahib?"

"Maharaj, I can do nothing until the whole matter has been inquired into and fairly decided."

"Oh, words, words! such as the English ever speak, and do nothing until it is too late! You then, soldiers of Partab Singh Rajah! Will you see your king's son murdered unavenged? Avenge me on his murderer!"

No one moved, but from the back of the crowd a murmur arose which swelled into a cry, "Sher Singh Rajah! Sher Singh Rajah!" The Rani started as if she had been stung.

"Will you set this wretch before my eyes on the gaddi from which he has swept his father and his brother?" she shrieked. "Can the heavens look down on such a sight of shame, and not grow black?"

The soldiers cowered before her, but a short thick-set man pushed his way to the front. "I am not wise," he said, and a laugh answered him, "but a plain man may ask questions that the learned cannot answer. Her Highness desires us to slay Sher Singh. For whose benefit? say I. She says he is a murderer, but even if it were so—which I see no cause to believe—he is the last of Partab Singh's house. To whom should the kingdom fall, if he were slain? To her Highness herself—who might then be less desirous of death? To her friends the English? perhaps to Jirad Sahib—who would not be the first to owe a throne to a woman's favour. Not one of these has any cause to desire the death of Sher Singh, of course—I lay my hand upon my mouth for having even uttered the thought—but who then does desire it? Not the soldiers of Partab Singh, say I."

"And thou sayest well, brother!" burst from the soldiers. "Sher Singh Rajah! We will set him on the gaddi, and by the might of the Guru! if the English interfere, we will fight them." Out of the tumult in the ranks a high thin voice rose above the rest. "Back to the zenana, shameless one! Wilt thou disgrace thy lord, as she of Ranjitgarh doth daily?"

The two Englishmen and their followers moved towards the Rani to protect her, but she waved them back with measureless contempt, then turned upon the jeering soldiers with eyes glowing like live coals.

"Truly Jirad Sahib spoke well when he warned me that you, for whom I have stripped myself of the very jewels of my marriage-portion, designed only to play me false. Ai Guru! what a lot is mine, to dwell in a land where the men are as women, even as those that sell themselves for gain! Hear then the curse of the widow, the childless one. Behold the unavenged ashes of my son!" she thrust forth the brazen urn. "As I cover them from your unworthy sight with the cloth stained with his innocent blood"—sweeping her veil over it—"so shall the blood of Agpur extinguish the burning embers of her houses. As you have cried shame upon me, seeking to avenge my dead, so shall your childless mothers and your widowed wives find shame in seeking to avenge you, and the death of honour shall be denied them. For innocent blood shall the doom come, though my eyes shall not behold it, and through these two Feringhees"—she indicated Gerrard and Charteris—"who shall execute justice on the murderer in the day when they shall make a road for a corpse through the great wall of Agpur."

"The doom is easily averted, if only by slaying the two Feringhees and the woman here and now," said the short man who had stood forth as Sher Singh's champion, but this time his words did not meet with the former ready response.

"Aye, do so," said the Rani coolly, "and bring the English down upon you to fulfil the curse as soon as it is uttered."

She faced the ready weapons defiantly, but Sher Singh, who had been sitting drooping upon the edge of the palanquin, apparently too weak either to defend himself or to interfere to prevent a massacre, now summoned strength again and interposed.

"The army has spoken truth," he said. "I am Rajah, grievous as is the cause that brings me to the gaddi, and evil as shall be the fate of the murderers of my brother. Against Jirad Sahib I bear no malice for his doubts of me, for he has been led astray by the bitter tongue of a woman crazed with grief. She demands vengeance; I will be her avenger, as is fitting, since my father was her husband. In my house she will receive due honour as his widow, and it will fare ill with any man who speaks of shame in connection with this day. Let her Highness be conducted back to her elephant and carried into the fort, where a suitable reception awaits her."

"Not unless she wills it," said Gerrard firmly. "Where does your Highness choose to dwell?" he asked of the Rani, who stood waiting impassively.

"I have no desire to live save for vengeance, but my life would last but an hour or two within those walls," she said calmly.

"Where would your Highness prefer to go?"

"I would fain entrust my son's ashes to Mother Ganga, and visit Kashi in pilgrimage. That is my desire."

"It shall be done. Will your Highness permit Lieutenant Charteris to escort you to Ranjitgarh?" He looked round for Charteris, intending to present him, but he had slipped away a moment before. "At Ranjitgarh the Resident will charge himself with your safety."

"What Jirad Sahib suggests is impossible," said Sher Singh with determination. "My izzat"—a convenient term, covering most things from self-esteem to family honour—"would be destroyed if my father's wife wandered away from my house."

"The choice lies with her Highness," said Gerrard. "Let her servants decide whether they will serve her or Sher Singh Rajah."

The Rajputs stepped over to their mistress's side at once, and so did
Rukn-ud-din and most of his troopers, but some even of these who had
accompanied the Rani from Agpur preferred to worship the riding
[Transcriber's note: rising?] sun. Sher Singh smiled unpleasantly.

"Since I am so many, and he so few, Jirad Sahib will not force me to defend my izzat with the sword?"

"I begin to think that it needs a good deal of defending," said Gerrard meaningly, "but that will not be done by attacking me. I shall attend the Rani Sahiba to Ranjitgarh myself."

[1] Starving oneself to force a debtor to pay.

[2] Fixture.