miserable hours. Bitterly did he now regret having cast in
his lot with the smooth-spoken stranger who had been so sympathetic with
him in his troubles at home. He tried to guess what was to be done with
him. He was in Angria's power, a prisoner, but to what end? Had he run
from the tyranny at home merely to fall a victim to a worse tyranny at
the hands of an oriental? He knew so little of Angria, and his brain was
in such a turmoil, that he could not give definite shape to his fears.

He paced up and down the hot, stuffy shed, awaiting, dreading, he knew
not what. Through the hole that served for a window he saw men passing to
and fro across the courtyard, but they were all swarthy, all alien; there
was no one from whom he could expect a friendly word.

Toward evening, as he looked through the hole, he saw Diggle issue from
the door of the palace and cross towards the outer gate.

"Mr. Diggle! Mr. Diggle!" he called. "Please! I am locked up here."

Diggle looked round, smiled, and leisurely approached the shed.

"Why have they shut me up here?" demanded Desmond. "Captain Barker said I
was to return at once. Do get the door unlocked."

"You ask the impossible, my young friend," replied Diggle through the
hole. "You are here by the orders of Angria, and 'twould be treason in me
to pick his locks."

"But why? what right has he to lock me up? and you, why did you let him?
You said you were my friend; you promised--oh, you know what you
promised."

"I promised? Truly, I promised that, if you were bent on accompanying me
to these shores, I would use my influence to procure you employment with
one of my friends among the native princes. Well, I have kept my word;
firmavi fidem, as the Latin hath it. Angria is my friend; I have used my
influence with him; and you are now in the service of one of the most
potent of Indian princes. True, your service is but beginning. It may be
arduous at first; it may be long ab ovo usque ad mala; the egg may be
hard, and the apples, perchance, somewhat sour; but as you become inured
to your duties, you will learn resignation and patience, and--"

"Don't!" burst out Desmond, unable to endure the smooth-flowing periods
of the man now self-confessed a villain. "What does it mean? Tell me
plainly; am I a slave?"

"Servulus, non servus, my dear boy. What is the odds whether you serve
Dick Burke, a booby farmer, or Tulaji Angria, a prince and a man of
intelligence? Yet there is a differ