It was one night that this idea came to him, bringing with it the unpleasant conviction that he was a great deal happier in Gamara than he had any business to be; and in the morning he was moody and troubled, almost making up his mind to speak plainly to the Mirza and demand the means of escape, then deciding that it was better not to touch on a subject which his host so pointedly avoided. They were bidden to an entertainment that day at the house of Ghulam Nabi, one of the Mirza’s friends, an old and trusted servant of the Khan, and renowned even in Gamara for the strictness of his orthodoxy. The company was a very small one, for only a few could be trusted with the secret that besides the invariable tea and sherbets, fruit and sweetmeats, Ghulam Nabi was wont to amuse his confidential friends with entertainments of a more questionable character; but among them was a nephew of the old man’s who was a student at a neighbouring mosque, and who threatened to be a disturbing element. Ferrers had become by this time so used to his assumed character that he no longer took the precaution of seating himself with his back to the light under the pretence that his eyes were weak, as he had done at first, and he found the student’s gaze fastened on him almost continuously. Aware that to show agitation would be the worst possible policy, he nerved himself to maintain his usual calmness, and succeeded, as he believed, in dispelling the youth’s suspicions. But presently, as the guests rose to accompany their host to a pavilion in the garden, the student flung himself forward with a shout. “That man is a Kafir!” he cried, pointing at Ferrers. “I have been to India, and seen the Sahibs, and he is one. He does not eat like us, he rises from his seat differently. He is here in the holy city to spy upon us!” There was a stir among the guests, and they fell away from Ferrers as if he had been denounced as plague-stricken. He himself, as if by a sudden inspiration, attempted no defence. He looked at the Mirza, then bowed his head, and stood in a submissive attitude. The Mirza came to his rescue at once. “The man is my disciple, and no Sahib,” he said. “Is this the way that the Sahibs receive an accusation, O far-travelled one? Nay, but I have been training this disciple of mine in patience and submission, until I verily believe he thinks I have devised this scene to test him. Truly he has learnt his lesson, and when I go hence, my mantle shall be his. Is he not a worthy successor, brethren?” “He is no true believer,” protested the student, but less confidently than before. The rest of the company were evidently coming over to Ferrers’ side, and Ghulam Nabi clinched the matter. “It can easily be proved,” he said. “I am not wont to put tests to those who come under my roof; but in order to quiet the foolish tongue of this low-born nephew of mine, let the Mirza’s disciple repeat the _Kalima_, that the ill-spoken boy may bow down in the dust before him.”