brick wall, topped with a kind of battlement, that guarded the
Maharajah's palace grounds from the eyes of men.

Just as she turned, just as she was starting to canter her pony beside
the long wall, he leaped out at her and seized her reins. The old
woman screamed, and ran to the wall and cowered there.

Very likely the man only meant to frighten her and heap insults on her,
for in '56, though wrath ran deep and strong, men waited. There was to
be sudden, swift whelming when the time came, not intermittent outrage.
But he had no time to do more than rein her pony back onto its
haunches.

There came a clatter of scurrying hoofs behind, and from a whirl of
dust, topped by a rose-pink pugree, a steel blade swooped down on her
and him. A surge of brown and pink and cream, and a dozen rainbow
tints flashed past her; a long boot brushed her saddle on the off
side. There was a sickening sound, as something hard swished and
whicked home; her pony reeled from the shock of a horse's shoulder,
and--none too gently--none too modestly--the prince with the
egret and the handsome face reined in on his horse's haunches and
saluted her.

There was blood, becoming dull-brown in the dust between them. He
shook his sabre, and the blood dripped from it then he held it
outstretched, and a horseman wiped it, before he returned it with a
clang.

"The sahiba's servant!" he said magnificently, making no motion to let
her pass, but twisting with his sword-hand at his waxed mustache and