dull gold, yes, it positively shone. And it was this strange brightness
which had so impressed Michael Petroff that he spoke more softly and
addressed him as Prince. He had, in fact, never seriously considered
who the "Rajah" really was. He was a Prince, who possessed a great
kingdom somewhere and lived in exile. Now Michael Petroff believed all
this without thinking very much about it. Yet at this moment he
_understood_ that the "Rajah" was a Prince, and he entirely altered his
bearing toward him.

"You were pleased to send for me?" said he, with timid hesitation, and
bowed.

The "Rajah" turned his face toward Dr. Maerz.

"I thank you, Sir," he said, in a deep, quiet voice, whose tone had
changed. "I know that you could have refused me this favor, since I am
your prisoner."

"My dear friend"--answered the Doctor, but the "Rajah" paid no further
attention to him.

"I sent for you," he said, turning to Michael Petroff, "in order that
you may write down my last will and testament."

"I am at your disposal," answered Michael Petroff, bowing slightly.

"Then write what I tell you."

Michael Petroff felt in his pockets confusedly. "I will run," said he,
"I will be back at once"--and he left the room rapidly, to bring pencil
and paper from his office.

"Michael Petroff--" whispered the little lawyer pleadingly. "You are
leaving me--?"

"The 'Rajah' commands me!" answered Michael Petroff impatiently, and
hurried past the trembling lawyer's little outstretched hands back to
the dying man's room.

"Here I am, pardon me?" he stammered breathlessly.

"Then write!" said the "Rajah."

Michael seated himself properly and the "Rajah" began:

"We, Rajah of Mangalore, banished by the English Government, too noble
to harbor feelings of revenge toward our enemies, since we are dying,
in order to rescue our subjects, make known to our people:

"We greet you, our people! We greet the palm forests that shelter the
temples of our ancestors! We greet the blue river that refreshes our
land!"--

Michael Petroff, who was writing busily and industriously what the
"Rajah" dictated, looked up as the "Rajah" paused. He saw that two
great tears were falling from the "Rajah's" brilliant dark eyes. They
ran down his thin but strangely glowing cheeks into his beard.

The "Rajah" raised his hand with a dignified gesture. Then he went on
to the end calmly and majestically:

"We grant a universal amnesty! All our dungeons and prisons