Habakkuk shook hands cordially with Phipson, and passed up the gangway of the Woon to join his wife, who had already said farewell. The siren whistle screamed shrilly, and with much laughter and good-humoured hustling the crowd on board left the decks, the paddles drummed, and the Woon sidled back from the quay, and then, turning gracefully round, steamed down the river, followed by a multitude of boats whose gaily dressed occupants formed bright groups of gorgeous colour on the gleaming water. Phipson stood and watched, and answered the wave of the white handkerchief from the stern; stood and watched until the convoy of boats became but little black specks, and the Woon entered a curve of golden water that reflected back the glories of the sunset and was lost to view. In the fore part of the ship, beside his belongings, sat Serferez Ali, who had cut his name, and was going back to enjoy his well-earned pension in his home in the Salt Range of the Punjab. He was rich with this and the rewards he had gained, and if at times he had done things which our civilization does not approve of, that did not the less make him a gallant old specimen of his class. Occasionally he would rise, and, walking to the inclosed space reserved for horses, caress the soft muzzle of his roan, a round, black muzzle that thrust itself confidingly forward toward him. "We are going back, Motee, my heart--going back out of this accursed land of swamps. Didst thou think, thou of the Waziri, that I would leave thee to die here? Nay, nay! We are going back to the land where women bring forth men. But we saw the assassin hang before we went--hang-like the dog he was; and Bullen, son of Bishen, thy old comrade, brave, but a fool, is now inspector in _my_ place. But comfort thee, my pearl, we are going _home!_" The mare whinnied back to her master, and the old man sought his seat again, keeping one eye on a heavy brass-bound box and the other on his favourite. At intervals he watched the broad fan of the electric light throw its white radiance across the river, and murmured to himself as he inhaled the grateful fumes of the hubble-bubble: "Prophet of God! But these English are a wonderful race! Nevertheless, except for their cursed engines, the _khalsa_ would still have been. _Ahi!_ those were the battles of giants!"