"Where is thy home?"
"Sahib, it is at Pirgaon."
"I know it—is not Turkaran Patal the head-man?"
The dark face gleams with pleasure. "Even so, sahib."
"Shall I write to thy people?"
"The sahib is very kind."
"So will I do, and, perhaps, prepare thy people for thy homecoming. I will tell them that thou hast lost thy feet with the frostbite, but art otherwise well."
"Nay, sahib, tell them everything but that, for if my people hear that they will neither eat nor drink—nay, nor sleep, for sorrow."
"Then will I not. But I will tell them that thou art a brave man."
The Mahratta smiles mournfully.