"'How comes it, brother,' I had asked him, 'that you have the sign of the Christian on your forehead?'
"At first he eyed me askance, and was surly; then, after, he told me how, waking from his orgie, he had found himself thus marked. I said, 'Then surely some accursed Feringhee has marked you, that he may know you again one day.'
"'Nay,' he answered, 'that cannot be, for none were left alive in Cawnpore at the time.'
"'No, nor any women or children, as you know. See!' I cried, thrusting back his turban, 'See! thy scar is white and livid! It is some god of the Feringhees who has marked thee for his vengeance.'
"Thereafter his life was hell. And so we wandered again—how long I cannot tell—months, years—I don't know—until at last there were left, besides the Nana and the Begum, only three or four more who performed menial offices, and myself. Then a tiger killed two of these, and the other two ran away.
"For me, I had become lean and burnt to almost Indian blackness. They did not suspect me. I had carefully kept my weapons in order, and I was now master of the situation.
"One night, after the last two men had gone, Nana, whose inability to walk had become a real terror, told us we must remain in the clearing by the river bank where we were, and there live.
"That night, while they slept, I waked, and without awakening them I bound them all, so that when they woke they would be unable to move more than a hand. Then I went to the river and cleansed myself as thoroughly as I could, and, secure in my preparations, lay down and slept soundly. Shortly after, I heard Nana's voice calling me. I rose, and my eye fell on Survur Khan. He knew his hour had come; he was livid with fear; he did not know who had bound him—he only knew he was unable to move. He saw me—he saw the expression in my eyes—it was enough. Then I passed to where the Nana and Begum lay. He demanded what this meant.
"'Get up,' I said, 'and you shall know.'