naught----"

Sumbal hesitated, then put down the portfire and walked over to the
fallen lad, beside whom the stranger was kneeling.

"He is not dead! He is not dead!" said the grave, silent Rajput, looking
up, his face working, the tears streaming down his bronzed cheek. "My
master is not dead!"

"Who?" asked Sumbal, uncomprehending.

"I knew it must be he!" went on the man exultantly, even in his grief.
"None could do that sort of thing save a Sun hero! My Master! my King!
See, here the race mark on his breast! The sign of uttermost truth! My
Master! My King!"

But Roy did not hear himself called thus. He did not even know for days
afterwards if he had succeeded or if he had failed; for a wound just
above the heart, close to the sign-mark of his race, very nearly carried
him off into the Shadowy Land where all things are remembered, yet all
are forgotten.

But he _had_ succeeded. He had saved the Heir-to-Empire's life that
dawn, and a day or two afterwards Kumran, daily more hated for his
cruelty, had escaped, and the soldiers, rejoiced to get rid of him,
flung open the gates of the Bala Hissar, thus ending Prince Akbar's
adventures.

But when Roy came to himself Mirak was sitting beside him and Down was
purring on Bija's lap; Bija, who had just returned from India with Queen
Humeeda in time to console the Heir-to-Empire for all he must have
suffered during the few days he was left alone with cruel Uncle Kumran.
How much he had suffered no one knew, and the little fellow refused to
say anything about it. It was a way he had when the luck went against
him. So, just as he had remarked when he had fallen down the ravine,
when the white cat and the black dog first came to him, that he had
"tumbu-down," so now he simply said that it wasn't "very comfy," but
that Tumbu had come to see him more than once. And this was possible,
for you may be sure that once he allowed the Afghan sentry to rise,
Tumbu, being a wise dog, never went near him again. Therefore he _had_
to find his old master.

And Foster-father, Foster-mother and Head-nurse were all there, the
latter greatly subdued for the time, and in her gratitude to Roy
inclined to give him some of the titles she was wont to bestow on little
Prince Akbar.

For there was no doubt whatever that the lad was the rightful Rajah of
Suryamer, whom wicked rebels had exposed in the desert to die, who had
been found and kept alive by wandering goatherds and had finally been