Wyatt, returning from the other end of the room where the prisoners were, gave the doctor a questioning look, which he answered aloud:
“One of their cursed vegetable poisons, I believe,” he said; and Wyatt turned upon the Ranee.
“This must be your doing, madam,” he said sternly.
“No, no,” she cried wildly; “he is my son—my son!”
“Prove it, then, by your help,” said Wyatt.
“Yes, yes; tell me what. Oh, my son, my son!”
She fell upon her knees by the Rajah’s chair and caught his hand in hers, looking up at him wildly.
Then, standing up, she looked at the doctor inquiringly.
“He must be taken to his room,” said the doctor; and the servants came at the Ranee’s sign to bear their Rajah away.
“You will not want us, Doctor?” said Wyatt hastily.