march with winter coming on apace,
until he was struck down by sudden illness. At first the news caused no
alarm, for he was known to be strong and healthy; but there came a day
when folk began to whisper that the King was said to be lying
unconscious, that death might come any moment.

The news stirred the whole city of Kabul to its depths. It had but
lately passed into the hands of Humayon. There were not wanting many who
preferred Kumran, and Kumran was in exile waiting an opportunity.

And that came with the suddenness of a summer storm. One night the gates
of the town were closed by the Regent Shurruf Khan in Humayon's name;
the next dawn saw the Iron Entry, after a brief scuffle, opened in the
name of Kumran! There was a rush of armed men through the streets of the
town, a murder or two of loyal men in high authority. And then?

Up at the Bala Hissar, Foster-father roused from his sleep, went in
haste to the Regent, expecting to hear bugles, to find troops gatherings
for defence; but the gates of the Fort were open!

Shurruf Khan was traitor! He had gone over to the enemy. Ere an hour was
over Kumran, scowling, walked up and down the royal apartments, a King
once more; but biting his lips and frowning over something that stood
between him and perfect revenge!

Foster-father, good old fool, was back in his dungeon in the well,
where this time he would rot. The women, as a change, were walled up in
a tiny room, where, bread and water being thrust in to them, they might
eat and live, or starve and die as they chose.

But the Heir-to-Empire? What of him? Ah! fool that he had been to make
that promise to a crafty old woman who had died in order to spite him.
Kumran's anger rose fierce; he would have given anything to break his
oath; but he could not. He was not strong enough; even his wickedness
was not real.

But, short of death, the young heir should have no shelter. Kumran flung
him into a miserable cell close to the Iron Gate and thought no more of
him. And now, but for faithful Roy, Akbar would indeed have been in
sorry plight. They had barely enough to eat, but Roy stinted himself,
eating nothing but the hard half-burned crusts of the coarse
hearth-cakes and excusing himself from even touching the miserable mess
of pease-porridge on the ground that he did not like it. So he grew thin
and his brown deer-eyes had a startled look. Indeed, he hardly slept at
all, but watched and dozed beside his little master