His eyes were like the eyes of a faithful dog that has tried to lick
the hand of its master, and has been rewarded with a kick.
Kara did not look at the Ranee.
He only looked at the Rajah.
“Kara, what thing is this that I hear--” began the Rajah.
“Let him be whipped!” said the Ranee.
“Kara, what demon possessed you that you should--” began the Rajah.
“Let him be whipped!” cried the Ranee.
“Kara--after all these years--” began the Rajah.
“Shall I or shall I not be avenged?” cried the Ranee.
“Let him be whipped!” said the Rajah.
A strong man stepped forward.
He bore a thick whip.
And he lashed Kara across the back, again, and again, and again.
Kara stood there, and never made a move, and never uttered a sound.
“You are not hurting him!” cried the Ranee. “You are not trying to hurt
him! He does not feel it! Give _me_ the whip! Let _me_ punish him.”
The Ranee sprang up from her couch, and seizing the whip from the
hands of the servant, herself began to brutally lash the body of the
unfortunate Kara.
The flesh was ripped and torn.
The blood streamed down his limbs.
But still he made no move.
And still he made no sound.
The Ranee stopped.
She turned to the Rajah.
“Here, _you_ must whip him!” cried the Ranee. “It does not hurt him
coming from me! But it _may_ hurt him coming from you!”
“But I--” began the Rajah.
“I must be avenged!” cried the Ranee, “and _you_ must avenge me!”
The Rajah took the bloodstained whip from the hands of the Ranee.
He raised it aloft.
But Kara fell to the ground before the blow was struck.
He had fainted.