Foster-father was ordered back to his damp dungeon, the little Heir-to-Empire and Roy were taken from the Palace and given over to the charge of a man noted for his hardness of heart.

Only the women and little Bija, being of no account, were turned out into the streets to beg or starve as they chose.
Then followed a terrible month in which the little party were cut off from news of one another.

Only Down, the cat, wandering over roofs and Heaven knows where and how, looked in here and there to settle on some one's lap and purr.
"Cats," said poor Head-nurse, as she sat opposite Foster-mother, grinding for all they were worth at a stone hand-mill in order to gain enough to keep Bija from starving, "are of all God's creatures the most contented; and so little pleases them.

Hark! to Down how she purrs, just because she has found us poor miserable women." "Allah!" replied Foster-mother more cheerfully.

"Is love such a little thing?
I think not, and Down hath seen my darling.