“My lord’s servant will swear it, if my lord so wills. Has he not often beheld Firoz Sahib, both here and at Shah Nawaz? Moreover, his history was known to all in Gamara. It seemed to my lord’s servant that Firoz Sahib had been drinking _bang_, for his eyes were bright and his face flushed, and Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq, the renegade, rode at his bridle-rein, as though to restrain him. And afterwards, when the people were slow to disperse, he ordered the soldiers to charge the crowd, and escaping from his friend the Mirza, rode down a Jew who stood in his way, so that all who saw him fled. But that was not until after----” “After what? Go on,” said Major Keeling impatiently, as the man hesitated. “Let my lord pardon his servant, if that which he has to say is not pleasing to his ears, for the dust under my lord’s feet can but tell what he saw. There was led out into the square, before the Khan and his court and army, another Farangi, wearing chains that would not suffer him to walk upright, and clothed in shameful rags; and a whisper went about among the people that it was the young sahib whom they called the Father of a Book.” “And was it?” demanded Major Keeling. “How can the servant of my lord say? It so chances that his eyes never rested upon the young sahib while he was among his own people. But this sahib was young and tall and lean, and white like a wall--yea, even his hair was white, yet reddish-white like that of the sahibs, not pure white like that of the people of this land----” “White--in those few weeks!” breathed Sir Dugald. “Yes, yes, go on,” said Major Keeling to the narrator. “And when the Farangi was brought out, proclamation was made by a herald that his Highness, in his clemency, would offer the Kafir his life on certain conditions, and that questions should be put to him in Persian, and translated into Turki, so that the people might hear. Then came forward Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq, the accursed, and by command of his Highness, asked the Farangi, ‘Wilt thou adopt the creed of Islam and enter my army, like thy countryman yonder?’ But the Farangi, drawing himself up in spite of his chains, made answer, ‘I am an Englishman and a Christian, and I will neither enter thine army nor become a Mohammedan. I choose rather to die.’ Then his Highness, in great wrath, cried, ‘And die thou shalt!’ and the Farangi’s head was struck off by an executioner with a great sword.” “And did he never look at Ferrers Sahib, or speak to him?” asked Major Keeling. “Nay, sahib; he kept his eyes turned away from him.” “That was not like Ross,” said Major Keeling to Sir Dugald. “But suppose Ferrers had visited poor Ross in prison, sir--tried to get him to abjure Christianity?” suggested Sir Dugald. “He could not have much to say to him after that.” “I don’t know. I should have expected Ross to think of him to the end. And that was all?” asked Major Keeling of the messenger.