THE POET-PRINCE
"Even so. Peace without Chittore was bitter to Pratap Singh, the hero of a hundred battles."
"So I have heard."
"And that thought troubled him on his death-bed. The ancient warriors of Mewar, the bravest and the best, were gathered there, and in their presence Pratap Singh made his son swear that he would never give up the design of recovering Chittore. Prince Amar Singh gave his word, and Pratap Singh died in peace."
"Has the Prince then broken his word?"
"A Rana, never breaks his word. He has accepted the peace offered by the Emperor on the understanding that it shall not bar him from the recovery of Chittore when the occasion comes."
"And our great Emperor has consented to this clause?"
"Because the occasion will never come while the Empire of the Moguls lasts."
There was a pause, and both remained thoughtful and silent for a while. Prithwi Raj then resumed.
"To-morrow, Norendra Nath, before sunrise, I leave for my State of Bikanir. Long have I lived in the Court of Akbar, like many other Rajput Chiefs, but my native land and my faithful clansmen have claims upon me. The Court is brilliant, and the Emperor is kind and gracious, but there are dearer ties which bind a Rajput to Rajasthan, and which even the gaieties and tournaments of Agra cannot altogether sever."
"I honour thee, Prince, that among all the gaieties of the Court thou hast yet a true Rajput heart and feelest for thy own people."
"I could scarcely honour myself if I could forget
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