"Where is the deer you shot?" said the King.
Phra turned to Harry, for the deer had been quite forgotten, and Harry turned to the old hunter, who was kneeling by the tiger.
"Here, Sree," he cried, "what became of that deer we shot?"
The man made a gesture with his hands, and shook his head.
"We forgot all about it, sir," said Harry, laughing frankly. "We had so much to do with killing the tiger and getting it on old Sul's back that we never remembered it any more, did we, Phra?"
"No," said the latter gravely.
"It was all an accident, sir, indeed," said Harry, who was speaking in English. "We were obliged to shoot, sir, really. I'm sure you would have done the same if you had been there."
"That is enough," said the King quietly. "I am glad to hear it was so. It is a painful thing, Harry Kenyon, to feel that one's own son is not to be trusted. Your father felt the same."
"Oh, but he doesn't now, sir. Do you, father?"
"No, Hal; I am quite satisfied."