"It is true! I was Rajah
of Suryamer! It has come back to me at last!"
Then as suddenly he crouched down again and covered his face with both
hands.
"Roy!" said little Prince Akbar gravely. "Why should you cry because you
are a King? I don't."
The sentry laughed. "By my word," he remarked, "there is a blessed pair
of you Kings!"
"Of course there is," assented the Heir-to-Empire with the greatest
dignity. "I have been one ever since I was born, and I always knew Roy
belonged to me!" Then in quick impulse he ran over to the Rajput lad and
flung his arms round his neck crying, "Oh Roy! Roy! I'm so glad you are
my brother!"
"Not so fast, young sir," objected the sentry, who was hugely amused and
interested; "what proof can you bring of this, stripling?"
Roy lifted a scared face; then hung his head.
"None, save my memory, and this mark upon my breast. My mother said we
all had the stamp of truth over our hearts."
The sentry shrugged his shoulders. "That is not much in this wicked
world," he said carelessly. "And anyhow it matters little if either or
both of you be Kings, since ye are in cruel Kumran's power."
"Not till my Dearest-Lady returns," dissented little Akbar gravely.
"Head-nurse said so; and if cruel Uncle Kumran is to get me,
Dearest-Lady _won't_ come back. I _know_ she won't--so there!"
And, as events turned out, the Heir-to-Empire was right!
But a few days afterwards a messenger, bearing a blue handkerchief in
his hand--the sign of death tidings to the Royal Family--appeared in
hot haste before the nobles assembled in the Audience Hall.
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