At the sound of hoofs he sat up instantly, his uncut hair and beard flowing down to his waist. In less than twenty seconds both had been twisted to a deft knot high on the head, his turban adjusted at an irreproachable angle; and, as Desmond's figure darkened the doorway, he staggered to his feet and saluted with a trembling hand. "Sit down, sit down!" his Captain commanded him; and he obeyed, rather suddenly, with a rueful smile. "The years steal away my strength, Hazur. A little fever, and my bones become as water--yea, though I had once the might of ten in this dried-up arm." Desmond smiled and shook his head. "No reason to speak evil of the years, after yesterday, and the fever hath the power of seven devils over any man. I have been all night beside Denvil Sahib, who lieth without sense and strength this morning, young as he is." "Denvil Sahib! I had not known. Is it fever also?" "Yes,--the great fever. A matter of many weeks, and sore trouble of mind; for disease takes strong hold upon the strong. And what will come to the squadron, with both my troop commanders laid in their beds?" "_Na_,--na, Hazur. I will arise, even as I am----" "That you will not, Sirdar Sahib," Desmond interposed with kindly decision; "we will rather give Bishan Singh a chance to prove that he is fit for promotion. I have had the assurance from him many times in words. Now I will have it in deeds--the fittest language for a soldier." The deep-set eyes gleamed approval. "Great is the wisdom of the Captain Sahib, understanding the deceitfulness of man's heart. Bishan Singh's tongue is as a horse without bit or bridle. If head and hand carry him as far, he will do well." "True talk," Desmond answered, smiling. Then with the incurable diffidence of the Englishman when he is moved to do a gracious action, he held out his parcel. "See here, Rajinder Singh. This is a small matter enough for your acceptance. A token merely that--I do not forget." "_Hazur!_" The eagerness of a child transfigured the man's weatherbeaten face, and his fingers plucked unsteadily at the string. Desmond took out a knife and slit it without a word. For a long moment Rajinder Singh gazed upon the miracle before him in silent wonder. To the unsophisticated native--and there are happily many left in India--a photograph remains an abiding miracle; a fact to be accepted and reverenced without explanation, like the inconsistencies of the gods. "In very truth, it is the Captain Sahib himself!" he muttered with the air of one who makes an amazing discovery. Then, grasping his possession in both hands, he held it out at arm's length, examining every detail with loving care; glancing from the counterfeit to the original as if to satisfy himself that the artist had omitted nothing; for Desmond was wearing the undress uniform of the picture.