But the colonel, having been weeks in prison, was as pale as alabaster and his hair shone like threads of silver.
On through the narrow streets, sometimes the sides of the elephants scraping against the mud and plaster of the buildings, and one could easily look into the second stories.

No one seemed hostile; only a natural curiosity was evinced by those standing in doorways or leaning out of windows.
The house of Bala Khan was not exactly a palace, but it was of respectable size.

A high wall surrounded the compound.

There was a gateway, open at this moment.

A servant ran out and loudly demanded what was wanted.
"Say to your master, Bala Khan, that Ramabai, son of Maaho Singh, his old friend, awaits with friendly greetings." "Kit," whispered Kathlyn's father, "this chap Ramabai wouldn't make a bad king.