"Have patience! Have patience!" A hard saying indeed. Broon-_sahib_ slipped down from the plinth and collared an old pantaloon just as he fell, hefted him up like a baby, and set him squatting in safety above. Then an old woman, gasping, gurgling from the first mouthful of the water into which, regardless of depth, she had literally been propelled. "Have patience, brethren! Have patience!" A harder saying, now that all things had grown grey; though still--weird, uncanny, beyond belief--not a shadow had shifted. Hopelessly grey, and hopelessly cold--so cold. So curiously quiet, too; for the great roar of voices seemed to have severed itself from things earthly, and was like a mighty wind from heaven. "Have patience, brethren! Have patience! There is time!" A harder saying still, when in the greyness, the coldness, a flock of scared pigeons overhead sent a weird flight of faint grey shadows down that long length of angled curve, packed by expectant humanity. Was He coming indeed?--that new ruler? Were these the heralds? There was quite a little row, now, of rescued old dodderers on Mai Kâli's plinth, whence the blood had dropped forty years ago. What was that? Had some one withdrawn a veil? Had some one said, "Let there be light"? The greyness, the coldness, lost their character in an instant. There was promise in them now--promise of light to come! The sun was reasserting its sway, and--not half of humanity had bathed! "Have patience, brethren! Have patience!" shouted Broon-_sahib_, and there was a certain fierce determination in his tone. Hardest saying of all, when the precious moments were going--going so fast! "_Huzoor!_" came a piteous, confused voice behind him from the plinth, "it is my last chance. I am old--I forget. I have forgotten so much--only this remains. For pity's sake--for the sake of forty years ago--let old Bishen, the flower-seller, find salvation!" Even in his hurry, in his breathless recognition that here was the crucial instant--that a single mistake might bring disaster--Broon-_sahib_ flung a quick look behind him. He saw a pathetic old face, humble even in its grief. "It's all right, _Baba_; there's plenty of time!" he said swiftly. "Here! look through this bit of glass--you'll see for yourself." It only took a moment, those quick words; he was back, ready with hand and voice of command, almost without a break; but they did more for peace and order than a regiment of soldiers. For old Bishen, after one look through the smoked glass, rose to his feet and salaamed again and again, set, as he was, on high, in sight of all. "Yea! it is true," he cried, in his thin old voice. "There _is_ time. Let us wait, brethren; for they know--the gods have told them."