Shir Hussein was a man who knew when he was beaten. His first overwhelming success was entirely unexpected, for, once run to earth, he had only hoped to make his fortress a hard nut to crack, and keep the Shah Nawaz detachment occupied with it for some time, while he stood out for better terms. When he found all his approaches commanded by marksmen posted among the rocks, and learned that it was the height of folly for a man to show so much as his head above the parapet, he congratulated himself on having made such an impression upon the foe that they had decided upon a blockade rather than an assault, and made up his mind that he could hold out for weeks. But when a small group of men and two disagreeable-looking objects made their appearance at the top of a precipitous cliff, the steepness of which seemed to suggest that wings would be needed to get guns up there, and a far from charming variety of round-shot, shell, and grape began to fall inside his enclosure, Shir Hussein followed the example of the historic coon, and intimated that he would surrender without further persuasion. The resistance had been much too brief to satisfy the outraged feelings of the regiment and its Commandant, but it afforded these some relief to blow up the fort, and tumble the shattered fragments down into the valley. Major Keeling ordered a halt at Shah Nawaz on the way back, that he might install Lieutenant Jones there a second time in place of Ferrers, whom he had already suspended; but found to his disgust that there was no punishment involved in this, since Ferrers had just received his appointment as envoy to Gamara. The only thing to be done was to cold-shoulder him out of the province as quickly as possible. “Envoy or no envoy,” said Major Keeling savagely to Lady Haigh in a rare moment of confidence, “I’d have court-martialled him if it hadn’t been for the private grudge between us. You can’t go persecuting the man who’s cut you out.”