"Now, the only gold that I see before me is to be had by gentlemanly blackmail! Right here--between old Hugh Johnstone and this flinty-hearted woman avenger--lies my fortune.

And I swear that nothing shall stop me! I will be the prompter of the little play now ready for a first rehearsal!" His eyes lighted up viciously as he was swept along past the great marble house, gleaming out in the shady compound, where the Rosebud of Delhi was hidden.
"Cursed old curmudgeon! To lock the girl up!" muttered the handsome young rascal.

"Old Ram Lal must do a bit of spying for me!" Hawke could see on the raised plateau of marble steps all the evidences of the sumptuous luxury of the haughty Briton, "who toils not, neither does he spin." But, the dozen pointed arches on each face of the vast palace house of the budding baronet showed no sign of life.

The clustered marble columns stretched out in a splendid lonely perspective, and the square inner castellated keep rose up in the glaring sun, but with closed and shaded windows.

Dusky shapes flitted about, busied in the infinitesimal occupations of Indian servitors, but no graceful woman form could be seen in the witching gardens where a Rajah might have fitly held a durbar.
"I'll warrant the old hunks has Bramah locks and Chubb's burglar proofs to fence this beauty off!" growled the Major, as he sank back in the carriage.