But little Prince Akbar having got a hold of the hilt, would not let go.

And to Old Faithful's huge delight he pulled and pulled till the sword came out of the scabbard.
"An omen! An omen!" cried the old man.

"Like his grandfather, he will fight battles ere he be twelve!" Then there was Roy, the Rajput lad, whom the royal fugitives had found half dead from sunstroke in the wide, sandy Rajputana deserts, and whom, with their customary kindness, they had succoured and befriended, putting him on as a sort of page boy to the little Heir-to-Empire.

He was a tall, slim lad for his twelve years, was Roy, with a small, well-set head and a keen, well-cut face.

And his eyes! They were like a deer's--large, brown, soft, but with a flash in them at times.
For the sunstroke which had so nearly killed the lad had left his mind a little confused.