The Hindoo shook his head and walked to the window, which looked out into an inner area. At that moment the butler entered, and the Hindoo turned to him quickly, and laid his hand upon his arm. "There, there, don't fret about it, Mr Ramo," said the butler. "It's what we must all come to--some day." "Yes, but this, this," said the Hindoo, in a low, excited voice. "Is-- is it right?" The butler was silent for a few moments. "Well," he said at last, "it's right, and its wrong, as you may say. It's master's own orders, for there it was in his own handwriting in his desk. `Instructions for my solicitor.' Mr Girtle showed it me, being an old family servant." "Yes, yes--he showed it to me." "Oh, it was all there," continued the butler. "Well, as I was saying, it's right so far; but it's wrong, because it's not like a Christian burial." "No, no," cried the Hindoo, excitedly. "Those men--they make me mad. I cannot bear it. Look!" he cried, "he should have died out in my country, where we would have laid him on sweet scented woods, and baskets of spices and gums, and there, where the sun shines and the palm trees wave, I, his old servant, would have fired the pile, and he would have risen up in the clouds of smoke, and among the pure clear flames of fire, till nothing but the ashes was left. Yes, yes, that would have been his end," he cried, with flashing eyes, as he seemed to mentally picture the scene; "and then thy servant could have died with thee. Oh, Sahib, Sahib, Sahib!" He clasped his hands together, the fire died from his eyes, which became suffused with tears, and as he uttered the last word thrice in a low moaning voice, he stood rocking himself to and fro. The two women looked horrified and shuddered, but the piteous grief was magnetic, and in the deep silence that fell they began to sob; while the butler blew his nose softly, coughed, and at last laid his hand upon the old servant's shoulder. "Shake hands, Mr Ramo," he said huskily. "Fifteen years you and me's been together, and if we haven't hit it as we might, well, it was only natural, me being an Englishman and you almost a black; but it's this as brings us all together, natives and furreners, and all. He was a good master, God bless him! and I'm sorry he's gone." The old Indian looked up at him half wonderingly for a few moments. Then, taking the extended hand in both of his, he held it for a time, and pressed it to his heart, dropped it, and turned to go. "Won't you take something, Mr Ramo?" "No--no!" said the Indian, shaking his head, and he glided softly out of the servants' hall, went silently, in his soft yellow leather slippers, down a long passage and up a flight of stone stairs, to pass through a glass door, and stand in the large gloomy hall, in the middle of one of the marble squares that turned the floor into a vast chess-board, round which the giant pieces seemed to be waiting to commence the game.