'Prove!' echoed another of the same type who had paused, in passing, to join the group; 'thou art behind the times, Govind! It is proved already. But this morning two Englishmen, on excuse of plague visitation, offered such insult to three virtuous females that with one accord they threw themselves down the well!'

'Impossible!' cried Chris; and not he only, for nearly every man present voiced doubt, if not denial.

'There is no doubt,' reiterated the news-bringer complacently; 'I had it from a man whose uncle was outside. They closed the doors, and none could enter, despite the women's screams. It was in the Bâdshâhzâi quarter, and the folk have closed their gates and sit in terror.'

'Small wonder!' put in Govind, eager to have his say in horrors; 'it was thence that the girl was abducted the other day. Lo! 'tis a good beginning! What wonder if folk lay hold of amulets and fair promises!'

'I tell you,' asserted Chris passionately, 'it cannot be true. And as for the other story, was it not told on the word of Jehân Aziz, and which of us would trust him? None. Shall we believe him in this, against what we see, and know, of our own senses?'

'We do not believe these stories, sir,' remarked the lawyer pompously. 'False evidence is, alas! a hobby of our ignorant countrymen. There is no doubt a substratum of truth in these stories----'

'No! pleader-jee,' interrupted Chris vehemently--the conversation shifted between English and Hindustani in the strangest fashion--'there is no foundation for such stories, and we all know it. There is foundation for mistakes, for wrong enough, God knows--but for such as that, no!'

'Your contention is true,' put in a temperate voice; 'but the difficulty of sifting wheat from chaff is proverbial.'

Once again Chris broke from his like in absolute discouragement. And yet what could he do to dissociate himself from their policy of non-interference? Absolutely nothing. Here, in this world mapped out by toys, with that soft unsteady brilliance rising from about men's feet, he could not even hope to rouse dissent. That onward glacierlike sweep, full of outstretched hands buying a piceworth of promises, would pass by him and his words, unheeding of either.

And, after all, the lawyer was right so far. That miserable strand of the wedding-skein which links man and woman--that trumpery brass cartridge-case medal, rudely stamped with the Hindoo death-mark, the Mohammedan faith-mark, and the English possession-mark--would carry comfort and calm to many a hearth.