left the chamber, cold
with fury.

Kathlyn sank weakly upon her pillows as Pundita ran to her side.

"What shall I do, Pundita?"

"God knows, Mem-sahib!"

"Are you a Christian?"

"Yes."

And so they comforted each other.

[Illustration: So they comforted each other.]

There was a garden in the palace grounds, lovely indeed. A fountain
tinkled and fat carp swam about in the fluted marble basin. There were
trellises of flowers, too. Persian roses, despite the fact that it was
still winter. It was called the garden of brides.

Kathlyn, attended by Pundita, awaited there the coming of Umballa and
the council. Her heart ached with bitterness and she could not think
clearly. The impression that all this was some dreadful nightmare
recurred to her vividly. What terrors awaited her she knew not nor
could conceive. Marry that smiling demon?--for something occult told
her that he was a demon. No; she was ready to die . . . And but a
little while ago she had been working happily in the outdoor studio;
the pet leopard sprawled at her feet; from the bungalow she heard the
nightingale voice of Winnie, soaring in some aria of Verdi's; her
father was dozing on the veranda. Out of that, into this! It was
incredible. From time to time she brushed her forehead, bewildered.

In this mood, bordering on the hysterical (which is sometimes but a
step to supreme courage), Durga Ram, so-called Umballa, and the council
found her. The face of the former was cold, his eyes steady and
expressionless.

"Has your majesty decided?" asked the eldest of the council.

"Yes," quietly.

"And your decision is?"

"No, absolutely and finally. There is no reason why I should obey any
of your laws; but there is a good reason why all of you shall some day
be punished for this outrage."

"Outrage! To be made queen of Allaha?" The spokesman for the council
stamped his foot in wrath.

"Think!" said Umballa.

"I have thought. Let us have no more of this cat-and-mouse play. I
refuse to marry you. I'd much prefer any beggar in the street. There
is nothing more to be said."

"There are worse things than marriage."

"What manner of indignities have you arranged for me?" Her voice was
firm, but the veins in her throat beat so hardily that they stifled her.

Said the spokesman of the council: "We have found a precedent. We find
that one hundred and ninety years ago a like case confused the council
of that day. They finall