And Akbar stood holding his heir by his right hand, full of a great triumph.
"Lo! I have given thee all, Shaikie" he said fondly, "art content?"
"Not all!" said a quiet voice beside him. "There is yet one honour withheld from this Peerless Prince, this Honourable Heir."
It was the Envoy from Sinde who as the representative of royalty stood on Akbar's left hand a step behind him.
Akbar flashed round on him haughtily. "What honour hath Sinde to suggest?"
"The honour of Brotherhood to the Sun of the World. The honour of the exchange of turbans!"
The converging rays of spectators suddenly seemed to quiver, as if some of their component parts stirred, but the Emperor stood still, his eyes upon the envoy's.
Then his own narrowed with quick thought. "Sinde is right," he said slowly, "there is no tie like brotherhood. It is the chain which links the whole world to One." He turned swiftly to his son withdrawing his hand from him and so for an instant standing apart, dissevered, independent.
The stir in the rays grew more evident, but his voice quieted it.
"Brother," it said, and its ringing tones filled the wide spaces, "let us exchange the sign of brotherhood!"