No! it was the knowledge that Roy could not remain with them. So soon as he was strong again he must go back to his mother, go back to a people who, tired of rebellion, were longing for their old rulers.
"You see, brother, I am a King," said Roy sorrowfully, "and Kings cannot always do what they like."
"Do you think they ever do, really?" asked the little Heir-to-Empire gravely, "for I don't."
And here we come to the end—for a time at least—of Prince Akbar's adventures.
Now, if you want to know how much of this so-called veracious story is really true, I cannot quite say.
Did some one like Roy really tell the master fireworker that the Heir-to-Empire was hung over the battlements of the bastion? If some one did not, how did the master-fireworker find it out? And he did; indeed, in the history books he takes great credit to himself for having found it out. But then he was a boaster.
Then did Dearest-Lady really bind Kumran by an oath not to harm the Heir-to-Empire until she returned?
If she did not, then why did she, an old, frail woman of seventy, go out into the wilderness just as winter was coming on, and why did not cruel Kumran kill the Heir-to-Empire when he had him in his power?
These are all questions; but what is certain is that Baby Akbar did go through all these adventures before he was five years old.
So good-bye, brave little lads! Good-bye, stout old Foster-father and kindly Foster-mother! Good-bye, worthy Head-nurse with your strings of titles, and good-bye, dainty little Bija! Good-bye also to grinning Meroo, to purring Down, and frolicking Tumbu!