Kathlyn could have embraced her for the very joy of the knowledge. A woman who could talk English, who could understand, who perhaps could help! Yes, yes; the God of her fathers was good.
Umballa smiled. All this was exactly what he had reason to expect. Seven days of authority; it would amuse him to watch her.
"Tell me your story," urged Kathlyn kindly. "Be not afraid of these men. I shall make you my lady in waiting … so long as I am queen," with a searching glance at Umballa's face. She learned nothing from the half smile there.
Pundita's narrative was rather long but not uninteresting. She had learned English from the old white priest who had died during the last plague. She was of high caste; and far back in the days of the Great Mogul in Delhi her forebears had ruled here; but strife and rebellion had driven them forth. In order that her immediate forebear might return to their native state and dwell in peace they had waived all possible rights of accession. They had found her husband standing over a dead man in the bazaars. He was innocent.
Umballa smoothed his chin. Pundita had not told her queen how he, Umballa, had made the accusation, after having been refused money by Ramabai. He secretly admired the diplomacy of the young woman. He did not at this moment care to push his enmity too far. As a matter of fact, he no longer cared about her; at least, not since his arrival at the Hare wild animal farm in California.
"Where is this man Ramabai confined?" demanded Kathlyn.
"In the murderers' pit in the elephant arena."
"Send and bring him here. I am certain that he is innocent."
So they brought in Ramabai in chains. Behind him came a Nautch girl, at whom Umballa gazed puzzledly. What part had she in this affair? He soon found out.
"Who are you?" he asked.