Not without some sense of amusement, and curious consideration of what his friends at home would say if they could see him, the rajah's heir decked himself out. He wore a crimson satin tunic, sown with pearls, and the sash from which his sword hung was of golden tissue, and his turban of fine muslin richly embroidered shone with the fire of rubies and diamonds. It was an absurd magnificence, which, Tom felt, would dwarf him, and, with an Englishman's impatience of merely personal display, he was about to fling aside these gaudy weeds and ask for something plainer, when, glancing into the mirror which Hoosanee held up to him proudly, he was aware of such a change as he had experienced on board the 'Patagonia,' on the occasion of his first putting on an Oriental robe. It came, this time, with a force that there was no resisting. For an instant his brain seemed to reel with the shock. Then, making a strong effort to draw himself together, he looked again, and tried to look calmly. For several seconds he gazed fixedly into those strange eyes that were gazing into his. Then he drew a deep breath. It was true. This image before him was not Thomas Gregory. There was a dignity in the figure, a determination in the face, a mingled fire and sadness in the dark eyes, such as he had never seen in the English youth whom he thought he knew. What did it mean? Was he dreaming a madman's dream, or was it, could it be, that the awful thing which ever since he left home had been haunting him was true? Could another personality enter into and possess him? Would he never in all the future be certain at any moment of being himself? Questions such as these were forcing their way through his mind, when, all at once, the curtain at the door of the tent was slowly lifted, and, looking round impatiently, for he was in no mood to be intruded upon, he saw his friend Chunder Singh standing, with bowed head, before him. At the same moment his perplexity and distress vanished, and he knew that the curious conflict, so often renewed, was over for the time. The English youth had gone. It was the Indian prince and chief who addressed his follower. 'Welcome to my tent, Chunder Singh,' he said, heartily. 'What news do you bring?' 'I bring good news, my lord,' said Chunder Singh. 'We are at peace, and all the State is well-disposed to your Highness. It was your will that we should not warn the people of your approach; but the wind of rumour has been busy amongst them, and I find that they expect the return of their rajah. When my lord enters he will be received with acclamations.' 'I will only go amongst them upon one condition,' said the young rajah. 'You know that, Chunder Singh.' 'I know it well; but let my lord have no fear! We know by whose favour we live and prosper, and in all Gumilcund I believe there is no one who would be traitorous to the Paramount Power.'