"Abdul and myself were much of an age, and my regulation of expenditures in the stables had brought us constantly together. So a close friendship had resulted, valued greatly on my side, for I had soon come to know that Abdul was a man of refinement and learning such as I had never before encountered in any man of so humble a calling. And despite the fact that he was a Moslem and I a Hindu, he had chosen me as his intimate friend, his only confidant. Thus had it come about that at times he had read to me of an evening songs of his own composing, and even on occasion had sung them to the accompaniment of a small harp, the strings of which he touched with wondrous skill and sensibility.
"Now did I know that this dear friend of mine had endangered not only his well-being but his life, by sending into the zenana of our master, the zemindar, a love token and a love message for one of the women dwelling there.
"Thus ran the fateful lines, written after the style of the famous Persian poet, Omar the Tent-Maker, which I now read again on the paper withdrawn from my girdle:
This ring, O idol mine, tells one is here
To bring thee joy, to kiss away the tear.
Keep in thy heart the ruby fire of love;
The hour of thy deliverance is near.
"And, after reading, I felt thankful that the message had not fallen into the hands of the zemindar, else had the intriguer's identity been quickly determined and his fate as quickly sealed.
"Yet the lines breathed the spirit of honourable love, and my heart was stirred to aid my friend in his daring enterprise.
"Patiently during the afternoon I waited, cogitating the while, and counting the chances. At last about an hour before sunset Abdul came to me with his usual gay smile and happy greeting.
"He read trouble in my look, for straightway he asked of me:
"'What is wrong? What matters have gone amiss?'
"I motioned him to sit by my side, and then without more ado told him of the evil turn that had befallen the dhobi, and showed him the quatrain of verses.