"Not so! Thou wilt ask for water, and get thy revenge safe in thy pocket; it lies heavy on an empty stomach."

So they borrowed a pink-nosed pony from the pleader's father in the next village, and with his little grandson, arrayed in huge turban and tarnished tinsel coatee, disposed in front of the high-peaked saddle, Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân set off to see the Major and plead the child's cause. A picturesque group they made, as they passed along the sandy ways and treeless stretches of hard sun-baked soil; Afzul leading the pony, the boy laughing and clapping his hands at the novelty, the old soldier's white beard showing whiter than ever against the child's dark curls, Fâtma and Haiyât standing outside, recklessly unveiled, to shriek parting blessings and injunctions. And lo! after all these preparations, after all this screwing up of courage and letting down of pride, the Major had gone! Afzul could scarcely believe his ears. Gone! and he had been reckoning on giving certain hints about Dick's will which might have served to bring matters to a crisis. He returned to the hut where he had left the Khân and his grandson while he went to arrange for an interview, and tried to persuade Mahomed Lateef not to allow his journey to go for nothing, but to prefer his request to Raby sahib himself. He might even write a petition, and demand that it should be sent on to the Major, if pride forbade asking a favour of the former. Afzul might as well have urged the old man to wear patent-leather shoes or perform any other such abomination of desolation. "Am I a baboo that I should cringe and beg?" he answered, wrathfully. "The Major is a soldier and knows what it means to stave a blow from a comrade's head; 'tis but defending your own in the future. But this man! He would talk of rupees, and I have none to give. Let it be, fool! I will stop the night here as was arranged, since the child seems tired. To-morrow we can return. I am not so far through that a day's journey will kill me."

So, from the recesses of the windowless shanty, he watched John Raby passing back to the house when the day's work was done; then he went forth in the twilight and prowled about the new factory, noting the unmistakable signs of masterful energy with a curious mixture of admiration and contempt. "As thou sayest he is a man, and no mere money-bag like Shunker," was his final comment. "Come, little one, say thy evening petition and let me roll thee in thy quilt, for thine eyes are heavy."

The child, already half asleep, slid from his grandfather's knee, and standing, stretched his little hands skywards. "God bring justice to those who brought my father injustice," he murmured drowsily.

A savage exultation came to the old face looking down on the curves and dimples. "Ameen, ameen! Justice! That is all we seek. Come, light of mine eyes, and God give thee many wakenings."

Thereafter the two men sat silent, waiting for sleep to come to the child. And it came, but not for long. Perhaps in less careful hands the boy had taken chill, perhaps Afzul's more sumptuous fare was the exciting cause; anyhow, a few hours afterwards Kirpo, roused by the helpless men from the death-like slumber of the domesticated savage, found little Hussan Ahmad struggling for breath in his grandfather's arms, a prey to spasmodic croup. Of course she had not the remotest idea what was the matter, or what was to be done. She could but take the child to her capacious bosom and add to the general alarm by shrill sympathy. It was a fit--the dear one would die--Hai, hai!--some one had bewitched it. Then suddenly an inspiration seized her. The mem! let them send for the mem! But last week her own boy had had the gripes until the mem came with a little bottle and cured him. Hai, hai! the darling was choking! Send for the mem, if they would not have him die before their eyes.

Afzul looked at the grandfather interrogatively. Pride, fear, resentment, and love fought hard for the mastery. "She will not come; she hath a heart of ice," quavered the old voice, seeking for excuse, and escape from responsibility.

"Who can count on a woman? but death is sure; and she is wise in such ways, I know. Say, Khân sahib, shall I go?"

There was an instant's pause, broken by the child's hoarse crow. Then the faith of a life-time spoke. "Go! It is Kismet. Give her the chance; it is God's will to give it. She may not come, and then--"

But ten minutes after Belle Raby in her soft white evening dress had the struggling child in her arms and reassuring words on her lips. Afzul Khân, too, held a bottle and a teaspoon, whereat Kirpo's face broadened to content. "Have no fear, master," she whispered in the old man's ear; "'tis the same one, I swear it. A charm, a potent charm!"