"Rise, O Hussan Ahmad!" he said to the child after a few words of inquiry and reply. "Rise and say thy thanks to the _mem_ for her kindness. They are due; they are justly due." Still drowsy, and mindful only of an accustomed order, the boy stretched his chubby little arms skyward. "May God bring justice to those who brought injustice to my father." Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân started as if he had been shot, and his right hand fell sharply on the child's shoulder, then wandered to his sword-hilt. "It is Fate," he muttered gloomily. "Out of his own mouth I am rebuked." Belle's heart gave a great throb of anger and pain. She had lain awake piecing the stray threads of the story together till it had seemed to her a sad yet beautiful pattern on the web of life, and now-- "Why do you say that?" she asked gently of the child, as if he were the only person present. He looked at her fearlessly. "I say it morning and evening. Listen! May God bring justice to those who brought injustice to my father." The eyes of those two men watching her were like spurs to her high spirit. "Listen," she said. "I will say it too. May God bring justice to those who brought injustice to your father." The eyes fell as she passed out without another word. "By the God who made me," swore the old soldier, "she is a brave one, and she hath my sword! Remember that, Afzul. If the time should ever come, my sword at least is for her and hers. For the rest, the child has spoken." Afzul smiled grimly. He was beginning to see what those two brave ones fancied in the pale-faced _mem_. She was too good for Raby _sahib_ with his rupees, he decided; yet women are always influenced by wealth. Perhaps the thought of what she would leave behind hindered her from following the Major. If so, a little reverse in the business might be beneficial. Anyhow, and come what may, he must get rid of that cursed blue envelope ere summer opened the passes for homesick footsteps. Even if he had to leave it behind him unconditionally, he must do so, since by that time he would have money saved to last for an idle year or two. CHAPTER XXIII. Some ten days after this John Raby came from the office into the drawing-room with a letter in his hand and vexation on his face. "Upon my word, Belle," he began, "you have a most unfortunate turn for philanthropy, as I always told you. I've no doubt your doctoring that little croupy imp suggested the idea that we were made up of benevolence. Sentiment, my dear child, is the devil in business."