"Stafford kept silence--" "He had promised. And, moreover, he believed it kinder to hide the truth from Lois. Only at the last he determined to speak at all costs. But it was too late. You know--he was murdered on the steps of Travers' house." Nehal Singh nodded. An even deadlier pallor crept over his features. "I know," he said. "It was Behar Singh's last vengeance. God knows, my hands are clean." "That I know. You are your father's son." "And the proof of all this?" "This ring. Take it. It was your mother's. Travers gave it to me when he made his confession. He took it from the poor mad woman at their first meeting. Look at the inscription. It bears your mother's and father's names." "And Travers--?" The Rajah lifted his hand in a stern, threatening gesture. "--is dead," was the grave answer. "He died an hour ago, in his wife's arms." For a moment a profound hush hung over the great, dimly lighted hall. The Rajah knelt down by his mother's side and gently replaced the ring upon the thin lifeless finger. "She called herself a traitor," he said, half to himself. "A traitor to whom--to what?" "To the strong white blood that was in her veins. In her bitterness at the real or imagined wrongs that had been done her, she turned away from the people to whom she belonged, to whom she was bound by all the ties of love and upbringing. She disobeyed the voice of her instinct. And you, her son, you, too, have been bitter; you, too, must listen to the call of the two races to whom you are linked. Whom will you obey? You stand at the cross-ways where you must choose--where we must either part or join hands for good and all. The road back to us is open, is still open. That is the message of peace which we have risked our lives to bring you. Rajah, Steven Caruthers--for so I now call you--I plead with you--I may plead with you, for in this hour at least I can not look upon you as an adversary, but as the son of this unfortunate woman--above all, of my friend. I plead with you the more because I owe you years of friendship. I am not the least to blame that you fell away from us in resentment and bitterness. I could have shielded you from the inevitable pitfalls that beset your path, but--God forgive me!--my prejudice blinded me and I held back. It was I who carried you away from the palace on that night when you were left, a helpless child, to the mercy of Behar Singh's enemies. Then I had pity enough--but years after I held back the hand of friendship which I might have offered you. Well, I am punished, twice punished, for my prejudice and blindness. Is it too late for me to make my reparation?" He held out his hand and there was a silence of tense expectation. The Rajah's head was bowed. He did not seem to see the Colonel's movement.