Bruce had returned but half an hour before, mind weary, bone tired. He
sat with his head in his hands, his elbows propped upon his knees. His
young heart was heavy. He had searched the bewildering jungle as one
might search a plot of grass before one's door, blade by blade. A
hundred times he had found traces of her; a hundred times he had called
out her name, only to be mocked and gibbered at by apes. She had
vanished like a perfume, like a cloud shadow in the wind.
His soul was bitter; for he had built many dreams, and always this fair
haired girl had ridden upon them. So straight she stood, so calm in
the eyes, mannered with that gentleness, known of the brave. . . .
Gone, and skilled as he was in jungle lore, he could not find her.
"Sahib, a Brahmin desires audience."
"Ask him what he wants."
"It is for the sahib's ear alone."
"Ah! Bring him to me quickly."
The Brahmin approached, salaamed.
"What do you wish?" Bruce asked curtly.
"A thousand rupees, Huzoor!" blandly.
"And what have you that is worth that many rupees?" irritably.
The Brahmin salaamed again. "Huzoor, a slave this day was purchased by
Durga Ram, Umballa, so-called. She has skin the color of old tusks,
and eyes like turquoise, and lips like the flame of the jungle, and
hair like the sands of Ganges, mother of rivers."
Bruce was upon his feet, alive, eager. He caught the Brahmin by the
arm.
"Is this woman white?" harshly.
"Huzoor, the women of Allaha are always dark of hair."
"And was sold as a slave?"
"To Durga Ram, the king without a crown, Huzoor. It is worth a
thousand rupees," smiling.
"Tell me," said Bruce, stilling the tremor in his voice, "tell me, did
she follow him without a struggle?"
"Yes. But would a struggle have done any good?"
Bruce took out his wallet and counted out a thousand rupees in Bank of
India notes. "Now, listen. Umballa must not know that I know. On
your head, remember."
"Huzzor, the word of a Brahmin."
"Ah, yes; but I have lived long here. Where is Ali?" cried Bruce,
turning to one of his men.
"He went into the city this morning, Sahib, and has not returned."
"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.