t to bring her to land, where her father
clasped her in his arms and broke down again.

"Dad, dad!" she whispered. "Don't you see our God is powerfulest? I
believed I was going to be trampled to death, and here I am, with you
once more."

They hurried back as fast as Kathlyn's weakness would permit to where
they had left their own elephants, doubting that they should find them,
considering that it was quite probable that they had joined their wild
brethren. But no; they were standing shoulder to shoulder, flapping
their ears and curling their trunks. So many years had they been
trained to hunt elephants that they did not seem to know what to do
without some one to guide them.

Bruce ordered one of them to kneel, doubtfully; but the big fellow
obeyed the command docilely, and the colonel and Bruce helped the
exhausted girl into the howdah. The colonel followed, while Bruce took
upon his own shoulders the duties of mahout. Pundita got into the
other howdah and Ramabai imitated Bruce. The elephants shuffled off,
away from the river. For the time being neither Bruce nor Ramabai gave
mind to the compass. To make pursuit impossible was the main business
just then.

Later Umballa, dulled and stupefied from his immersion, stood on the
shore, with but nine of the twenty soldiers he had brought with him.
Evidently, his star had faltered. Very well; he would send for the
other sister. She was the Colonel Sahib's daughter, and young; she
would be as wax in his hands. A passion remained in Umballa's heart,
but it was now the passion of revenge.

When he had recovered sufficiently he gave orders to one of the
soldiers to return to the city, to bring back at once servants,
elephants and all that would be required for a long pursuit. The
messenger was also to make known these preparations to the council, who
would undertake to forward the cable submitted to them. All these
things off his mind, Umballa sat down and shivered outwardly, while he
boiled within. He was implacable; he would blot out his enemy, kith
and kin. Colonel Hare should never dip his fingers into the filigree
basket--never while he, Durga Ram, lived.

Quite unknown, quite unsuspected by him, for all the activity of his
spies, a volcano was beginning to grumble under his feet. All tyrants,
the petty and the great, have heard it: the muttering of the oppressed.

Perhaps the fugitives had gone thirty miles when suddenly the jungle
ended abruptly