She stared back at him, and he smiled down at her, twisting at his mustache.
"Think!" he said, nodding.

"A throne, sahiba, is considerably better than a grave!" Then he wheeled like a sudden dust-devil and decamped in a cloud of dust, followed at full pelt by his clattering escort.

She watched their horses leap one after the other the corpse of the Maharati that lay by the corner where it fell, and she saw the last of them go clattering, whirling up the street through the bazaar.

The old hag rose out of a shadow and trotted after her again as she turned and rode on, pale-faced and crying now a little, to the little begged school place where her father tried to din the alphabet into a dozen low-caste fosterlings.
"Father!" she cried, and she all but fell out of the saddle into his arms as the tall, lean Scotsman came to the door to meet her and stood blinking in the sunlight.

"Father, I've seen another man killed! I've had another scene with Jaimihr! I can't endure it! I--I--Oh, why did I ever come ?" "I don't know, dear," he answered.