CHAPTER XXVI.
There is war to the North should I risk and ride forth, And a fight to the South, too, I'm thinking; There is war in the East, and one battle at least In the West between eating and drinking.
I'm allowed to rejoice in an excellent choice Of plans for a soldier of mettle, For all of them mean bloody war and rapine.
So--on which should a gentleman settle?
WITH his muscles strained and twisted (for his Rangar capturers had dragged him none too gently) and with his jewelled pugree all awry, Jaimihr did not lack dignity.

He held his chin high, although he gazed at the bubbling spring thirstily; and, thirsty though he must have been, he asked no favors.
One of Alwa's men brought him a brass dipper full of water, after washing it out first thoroughly and ostentatiously.

But Jaimihr smiled.
His caste forbade.

He waved away the offering much as Caesar may have waved aside a crown, with an air of condescending mightiness too proud to know contempt.
"Go, help thyself!" growled Alwa; and Jaimihr walked to the spring without haste, knelt down, and dipped up water with his hand.
"Now to a cell with him!" commanded Alwa, before the Prince had time to slake a more than ordinary thirst.

Jaimihr stood upright as four men closed in on him, and looked straight in the eyes of every one in turn.
Rosemary McClean stepped back, to hide herself behind Cunningham's broad shoulders, but Jaimihr saw her and his proud smile broadened to a laugh of sheer amusement.