The Adventures of Kathlyn

"To-night, you say, Ramabai gives a banquet?"

"Yes, Huzoor."

"Well, put this in his cup and your obligation to me is paid."

The majordomo stared a long time at that little packet of powder. A

cold sweat formed upon his brow under his turban.

"Well?" said Umballa ironically.

"Huzoor, it is murder!"

Umballa shrugged and held out his hand for the packet.

The majordomo swallowed a few times, and bowed his head. "It shall be

done, Huzoor. My life is yours to do with as you please. I have said

it."

"Begone, then, and bring me the news on the morrow that Ramabai is

dead. You alone know where the king is. Should they near the hut in

which I have hidden him, see that he is killed. He is also useless."

The majordomo departed with heavy heart. Ramabai was an honest man;

but Durga Ram had spoken.

At the banquet, with its quail and pheasant, its fruits and flowers,

its rare plates and its rarer goblets for the light wines high castes

permitted themselves occasionally to drink, Ramabai toyed idly with his

goblet and thoughtlessly pushed it toward Kathlyn, who sat at his right.

Imbued with a sense of gratitude for Ramabai's patience and kindness

and assistance through all her dreadful ordeals, Kathlyn sprang up

suddenly, and without looking reached for what she supposed to be her

own goblet, but inadvertently her hand came into contact with

Ramabai's. What she had in mind to say was never spoken.

The majordomo stood appalled. This wonderful white woman over whom the

gods watched as they watched the winds and the rains, of whom he had

not dared speak to Umballa. She? No! He saw that he himself must

die. He seized the goblet ere it reached her lips, drank and flung it

aside, empty. He was as good as dead, for there were no antidotes for

poisons Umballa gave. Those seated about the table were too astonished

to stir. The majordomo put his hands to his eyes, reeled, steadied

himself, and then Ramabai understood.

"Poison!" he gasped, springing up and catching the majordomo by the

shoulders. "Poison, and it was meant for me! Speak!"

"Lord, I will tell all. I am dying!"

It was a strange tale of misplaced loyalty and gratitude, but it was

peculiarly oriental. And when they learned that Umballa was hidden in

his own house and the king in a hut outside the city, they knew that

God was just, whatever His prophet's name might be. Before he died the

majordomo explained the method of entering the secret chamber.

The quail and pheasant, the fruits and wine remained untouched. The

hall became deserted almost immediately. To the king, first; to the

king! Then Umballa should pay his debt.

They found the poor king in the hut, in a pitiable condition. He

laughed and babbled and smiled and wept as they led him away. But in

the secret chamber which was to have held Umballa there was no living

thing.