ut the practice of suttee has continued. I have warned the government
frequently, in writing, but for reasons which I do not profess to
understand they have made no move as yet. For that reason, and for no
other, I have tried to be a thorn in your side, and will continue to try
to be until this suttee ceases!"

"Why," demanded Howrah, "since you are a foreigner with neither
influence nor right, do you stay here and behold what you cannot
change? Does a snake lie sleeping on an ant-hill? Does a woman watch the
butchering of lambs? Yet, do ant-hills cease to be, and are lambs not
butchered? Look the other way! Sleep softer in another place!"

"I am a prisoner. For months past my daughter and I have been prisoners
to all intents and purposes, and you, Maharajah-sahib, have known it
well. Now, the one man who was left to be our escort to another place is
a prisoner, too. You know that, too. And you ask me why I stay! Suppose
you answer?"

Rosemary squeezed his hand again, this time less to restrain him than
herself. She was torn between an inclination to laugh at the daring or
shiver at the indiscretion of taking to task a man whose one word could
place them at the mercy of the priests of Siva, or the mob. But
Duncan McClean, a little bowed about the shoulders, peered through
his spectacles and waited--quite unawed by all the splendor--for the
Maharajah's answer.

"Of what man do you speak?" asked Howrah, still undecided what to do
with them, and anxious above all things to disguise his thoughts. "What
man is a prisoner, and how do you know it?"

Before McClean had time to answer him, a spear haft rang on the great
teak double door. There was a pause, and the clang repeated--another
pause--a third reverberating, humming metal notice of an interruption,
and the doors swung wide. A Hindoo, salaaming low so that the expression
of his face could not be seen, called out down the long length of the
hall.

"The Alwa-sahib waits, demanding audience!" There was no change apparent
on Howrah's face. His fingers tightened on the jewelled cimeter that
protruded, silk-sashed, from his middle, but neither voice nor eyes nor
lips betrayed the least emotion. It was the McCleans whose eyes blazed
with a new-born hope, that was destined to be dashed a second later.

"Has he guards with him?"

"But ten, Maharajah-sahib."

"Then remove these people to the place where they were, and afterward
admit him--without his guards!"

"I dema