And the next moment, hearing the
familiar bark, who should pop his head out of the window but Roy!
"All's well," he whispered rapidly seeing them below him; then withdrew
his head swiftly. For he had determined never by anything or in any way
to risk being sent away from the little Heir-to-Empire.
But the others were more than satisfied with the whisper.
"Now," said little Bija, who was beginning to manage her nurses, "Tumbu
must find Foster-father and tell _him_." And this, we have seen, he
did.
Even so, with the daily content of knowing that all were at least safe,
the time passed with deadly slowness, for the days grew to weeks, the
weeks to months, bringing no change. Denied, as he was, the outdoor
life, the fresh air to which he had been accustomed, little Prince Akbar
grew pale and thin. But his spirits did not flag, and he would laugh
over the tale of how Rajah Rasalu swung the Seventy Maidens as heartily
as ever, though sometimes his little lip would go down and he would say,
"If Bija were only here I'd never ask her to tumble down. I would go on
swinging till she wanted me to stop."
So the winter came on, but still Dearest-Lady did not return. A letter
had come from her saying she had reached Kandahar in safety--that she
was staying in the Kar Garden outside the town which her father had
planted--that King Humayon was not angry--that he had already forgiven
Prince Askurry--that Kumran had nothing to fear if he only kept to his
promise.
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