"Anon we awoke, ate, drank and smoked, my brother smoking the cheroots of the Sahib-log and I having to be content with the bidis of Suleiman as there was no hookah.
"And when we had rested we went and sat before the face of Ibrahim and gazed upon him long, without words.
"And he wept. Like a woman he wept, and said 'Slay me, Mir Saheb, and have done. Slay me with thy knife.'
"But my brother replied softly and sweetly:—
"'What wild words are these, Ibrahim? Why should I slay thee? Some matter of a quarrel there was concerning thy torturing of my servant—but I am not of them that bear grudges and nurse hatred. In no anger slay thee with my knife? Why should I injure thee? I do most solemnly swear, Ibrahim, that I will do thee no wilful hurt. I will but anoint thine eyes with the contents of this bottle just as I did anoint my own. Why should I slay thee or do thee hurt?'
"And I chuckled aloud. He was all Pathan then, Sahib, and handling his enemy right subtly.
"And Ibrahim wept yet more loudly and said again:—
"'Slay me and have done.' Then my brother gave him the name by which he was known ever after, saying:—
"'Why should I slay thee, Ibrahim, the Weeper?' and he produced the bottle and held it above that villain's face.
"His screams were music to me, and in the joy of his black heart Moussa
Isa burst into some strange chant in his own Somali tongue.