“Come,” said Bruce to the waiting Brahmin, “We’ll return together.”  He now felt no excitement at all; it was as if he had been immersed in ice water.  It was Kathlyn, not the least doubt of it, bought and sold in the slave mart.  Misery, degradation . . . then he smiled.  He knew Kathlyn Hare.  If he did not come to her aid quickly she would be dead.

Now, when Umballa took her into his house, Kathlyn was determined to reveal her identity.  She had passed through the ordeals; she was, in law, a queen, with life and death in her hands.

“Do not touch me!” she cried slowly in English.

Umballa stepped back.

“I am Kathlyn Hare, and if all the world is not made up of lies and wickedness, I am the queen you yourself made.  I can speak a few words, enough to make myself known to the populace.  I will make a bargain with you.  I will give you five times five thousand rupees if you will deliver me safely in Peshawer.  On my part, I promise to say nothing, nothing.”

Umballa raised both his hands in astonishment.  He knew now why that form had stirred his recollection.

“You!” He laughed and clapped his hands to summon his servants.  Kathlyn, realizing that it was useless to attempt to move this man, turned and started to run, but he intercepted her.  “My queen, my bride that was to be, the golden houri!  Five times five thousand rupees would not purchase a hair of your head.”

“I am your queen!” But she said it without heart.

“What!  Do you believe that?  Having passed the ordeals you nullified the effect by running away.  You will be whatever I choose!  Oh, it will be legally done.  You shall go with me to the council, and the four of us shall decide.  Ah, you would not be my wife!”

“You shall die, Durga Ram,” she replied, “and it will be the death of a pariah dog.”

“Ah!  Still that spirit which I loved.  Why, did I not buy you without knowing who you were?  Are you not mine?  At this very moment I could place you in my zenana and who would ever know?  And soon you would not want any one to know.”

“Are you without mercy?”

“Mercy?  I know not the word.  But I have an ambition which surpasses all other things.  My wife you shall be, or worse.  But legally, always legally!” He laughed again and swiftly caught her in his arms.  She struggled like a tigress, but without avail.  He covered her face and neck with kisses, then thrust her aside.  “Poor little fool!  If you had whined and whimpered I should have let you go long since.  But there burns within you a spirit I must conquer, and conquer I will!”

Kathlyn stood panting against a pillar.  Had she held a weapon in her hand she would have killed him without compunction, as one crushes a poisonous viper.

“Legally!  Why, all the crimes in Hind are done under that word.  It is the shibboleth of the British Raj.  Legally!  Come!”