To them reform meant change only, not the alleviation of some of their heavy burdens.

The talk of freeing slaves was but talk; slaves were lucrative investments; a man would be a fool to free them.

An old man, with a skin white like this new queen's and hair like spun wool, dressed in a long black cloak and a broad brimmed hat, had started the agitation of liberating the slaves.

More than that, he carried no idol of his God, never bathed in the ghats, or took flowers to the temples, and seemed always silently communing with the simple iron cross suspended from his neck.

But he had died during the last visitation of the plague.
They had wearied of their tolerant king, who had died mysteriously; they were now wearied of the council and Umballa; in other words, they knew not what they wanted, being People.
Who was this fair-skinned woman who stood so straight before Umballa's eye?
Whence had she come?
To be ruled by a woman who appeared to be tongue-tied! Well, there were worse things than a woman who could not talk.