"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris. "And Rukn-ud-din in command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops! What is this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer. "It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance. It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend. "Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly. "How should I know? I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently. "I shall know when she speaks, I suppose. But look at her cloth, half brown and half white! Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops in this way? No _pardah_, no sheets!" "Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of violation of etiquette. The veiled figure stood solitary against the gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering. The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one end of her veil? Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the passage. He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground. "There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived. Is it an order that she be conducted thither?" "No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face. "Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer _pardah_, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her. Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!" "But when was this? What has happened?" gasped Gerrard. "Two days ago at this time. I waited only to burn the body of my son, and hastened hither for my vengeance." "But it is impossible, Maharaj. Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed since he arrived here." "Has he?" The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible. "It is easy to deceive some men. Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see if he comes." Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes. "Why are you here?" he demanded of them. "Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting. Seeing you return so early, he feared the sport had been poor." "Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard brusquely.