The dying man laughed, his old boyish laugh. "Master Full-of-fun," he translated, "a good name for the companion of my son. Say! how tall hath Hindal grown?"
The lad hesitated. "Lo! I wear a coat the Prince bestowed on his servant. The Most-Clement can judge by that."
"I cannot see," murmured the sick man impatiently. "Come hither, boy, that I may feel how tall my son hath grown."
So with fluttering fingers the hand that had once been so strong felt the brocaded coat.
"It is well," he said at last, "but I would that I had seen him. I wanted to give him back to his mother myself."
All Christmas Day he lay but half-conscious.
"Baisanghâr," he said faintly, when Dearest-One leant over to kiss him. And when Mahâm begged him with tears to drink his medicine, he did so with a smile, then thrust the cup into her bosom and whispered--
"Lie there, friend, and bring her comfort."
Towards evening he roused and sent for his nobles, and for Humâyon.
"To you I leave my son," he said; "fail not in loyalty to him. And to you, my son, I commit my kingdom, and my people, and my kinsfolk. Fail not in loyalty to them."