The Adventures of Kathlyn

"You?" her hand flying to her bosom.

"I, Miss Hare." He salaamed, with a sweeping gesture of his hands.

Sadly the wretch told her the tale; the will of the king, his death and

the subsequent death of her father in his, Durga Ram's, arms. Yonder

urn contained his ashes. For the first time in her young life Kathlyn

fainted. She had been living on her nerves for weeks, and at the sight

of that urn something snapped. Daintily Umballa plucked forth the

packet and waited. At length she opened her eyes.

"You are a queen, Miss Hare."

"You are mad!"

"Nay; it was the madness of the king. But mad kings often make laws

which must be obeyed. You will accuse me of perfidy when I tell you

all. The note which brought you here was written by me and substituted

for this."

Duly Kathlyn read:

"Father."

"It is impossible!" she murmured. "You are all mad. I am a white

woman. I can not rule over an alien race whose tongue I can not speak,

whose habits I know nothing of. It is impossible. Since my father is

dead, I must return to my home."

"No," said Umballa.

"I refuse to stir!" She was all afire of a sudden: the base trickery

which had brought her here! She was very lovely to the picturesque

savage who stood at her elbow.

As he looked down at her, in his troubled soul Umballa knew that it was

not the throne so much as it was this beautiful bird of paradise which

he wished to cage.

"Be brave," he said, "like your father. I do not wish to use force,

but you must go. It is useless to struggle. Come."

She hung back for a moment; then, realizing her utter helplessness, she

signified that she was ready to go. She needed time to collect her

stunned and disordered thoughts.

Before going to the palace they conducted her to the royal crypt. The

urn containing her father's ashes was deposited in a niche. Many other

niches contained urns, and Umballa explained to her that these held the

ashes of many rulers. Tears welled into Kathlyn's eyes, but they were

of a hysterical character.

"A good sign," mused Umballa, who thought he knew something of women,

like all men beset with vanity. Oddly enough, he had forgot all about

the incident of the lion in the freight caboose. All women are felines

to a certain extent. This golden-haired woman had claws, and the day

was coming when he would feel them drag over his heart.