"'The petition of Mussumat Mumtâza Mahal'--that's Roshan Khân's grandmother, you know--'sister,' etc., etc., 'humbly sheweth that she has endured grievous wrong and hurt, by loss of her grandson in the late deplorable mutiny (of which she was utterly incognizant, being helpless, veiled, old woman perpetually confined in house). Therefore prayeth that whereas one Mussumat Ashrâf-un-nissa, her neighbour, is in receipt of pension rupees twenty-five _per mensem_ for similar bereavement of male protector and head of family lost in '57 mutiny, therefore her pension of rupees twenty _per mensem_, only, for exile of husband to Calcutta, be commuted to similar sum of twenty-five, seeing that your poor petitioner is in floods of tears and wholly heartbroken through this most nonregulation, premature death of promising young scion of her noble house, on whom, as on blessed Victoria, Queen, her hopes were fixed. Said petitioner being able to prove _alibi_, absolute incomplicity, and continuous remaining at home during late devilish disturbances.'" "Poor old soul!" laughed the doctor, "give it to her if you can, sir. And as for remaining at home, everybody except the actual conspirators did that. Even Dya-Ram, the disaffected--though he has preached armed resistance to tyranny in his paper for years. He barricaded himself in with his printing-press. Fact; jammed his fingers in so doing, and came to me in a blind funk for a professional certificate that the wound could not have been caused by any lethal weapon. As if anyone could ever have suspected him of taking part in raising a row, or even in settling one! His sort are simply negligible quantities." "But Ramanund seems to have attempted a lead," put in the Commissioner, judicially. "Exactly. Attempted, and failed. His sort are negligible quantities also, sir, I'm sorry to say, and will remain so until they learn, amongst other knowledge, to believe in something besides themselves--" here the hard eyes softened, the hard voice paused. "That is another thing I should like to have seen--dear old Pidar Narâyan--" The hard voice found even softness too loud; and in the silence which fell between the two men, only the Commissioner's pen could be heard. "You'll look in at the palace, perhaps, and see all is right," came the brogue, after a bit, "and give my love to old Smith. I'm not sure but that I'd rather have seen him behind the door than anything else, for it must have been the hardest job--" "Considering the circumstances, yes!" put in the doctor; so, with the pith hat turning him into an animated mushroom, he passed out into the blaze of dry yellow sunshine, on that dry yellow sand.