“I have heard of it,” was the reply.
“I saw Pir Bakhsh but yesterday,” Mahmud went on; “my good fortune led me to his house then, for had I gone to-day I should have found him a corpse. The poor fellow’s last act before his death was to sell me that bit of land which lies close to the Magistrate Sahib’s garden.”
The eyes of Mahmud glittered with satisfaction as he spake; there was triumph in them, and in the smile on his lips, which seemed to the enraged Fagir to say, “I have forestalled thee and overreached thee. I know that thy heart hath been set on that piece of ground; it is now mine, and thou never shalt have it, nor so much as set thy foot upon it!”
The two men parted without words of anger, but the soul of Fagir was filled with disappointment, envy, and anger. He clenched his hand, gnashed his teeth, and, turning round, he looked after the retiring form of Mahmud with a withering glance of hatred.
“I detest that man,” muttered Fagir to himself; then he started in horror, for behold red spots, as of blood, were staining his once white robe, and in blood-coloured letters on the border appeared the inscription,—Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer; and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life (1 John iii. 15).
Fagir now loathed his polluted garment, and would fain have cast it from him, but he had no power to do so; that which he had received from the angel had become as a part of himself. That robe was Fagir’s own boasted righteousness, and his eyes had been opened to see that his righteousness was but as filthy rags (Isa. lxiv. 6). But the eyes may be opened without the heart being converted; and thus it was with Fagir. The downfall of his hopes regarding the piece of ground made him but the more eager to make money in other ways, that he might indulge his pride and ostentation.
Then, in his dream, Fagir found himself seated at his desk in the cutcherry, with his piles of papers before him. Amongst them was a chit[9] from the Collector Sahib, and the contents of it were as follows:—
“There are two applicants for the office of under clerk: the one, Patras, a Christian, has been highly recommended to me; the other is Abbas, the son of a wealthy merchant. I have desired them both to call upon you, that you may examine them as to their qualifications for the office, as I have not myself time to do so thoroughly.”
“Not time, indeed! the Sahib might better have said, not sufficient knowledge of the language and the people,” muttered Fagir to himself, as he laid down the chit. Then calling an attendant who was outside, he said to him, “Is any one waiting to see me?”
“A young man, of the name of Patras, has been waiting your lordship’s pleasure for this last half-hour,” answered the man.