"So, since the _Sirkar_ will doubtless appoint a guardian of tombs, seeing there is none to inherit the palace, if the Protector of the Poor would intercede for this slave with the Commissioner?--if the _Huzoor_ would say that the dust-like one has provided the pleasures of palaces all his life long for the noble people; yea! from the cradle to the grave. If he will say that--" he flourished his hands towards the slab--"both in the making of garlands and the making of '_crasses_,' there is none equal--" "_For tombs require flowers, as women do!_" The phrase asserted itself again, and Dr. Dillon looked at the wicked old face, so comic, so pathetic, with the hopeless recognition of the humour of tragedy which comes to all save the invincibly dull. "You would do as well as anyone," he said gravely. "I'll mention your name." "_Ge--reeb-pun--wâz!_" The title prolonged itself abnormally, and Akbar Khân, a mask of toothless smiles, darted, in instant assumption of his anticipated office, to remove a fallen jasmine flower from Dr. Dillon's path as if it had been a deadly reptile. Indeed, he paused in the midst of his parting _salaams_ to ask if it was in order that the populace be admitted to the sanctuary, since the _missen-miss_ (his accent of disdain, tempered by reverence, was delicious) had announced her desire to enter it that afternoon for farewell; had, indeed, asked him to be there at four to open the door. Dr. Dillon turned so sharply that the old courtier began instantly on asseverations that, without orders-- "Have everything ready, of course," interrupted the doctor, impatiently; so strode off across the courtyard, his head down, his hands in his pockets, with a jerk, as of irritation, in his walk. He found Lance Carlyon in the balcony over the river, very apologetic at being caught there against orders. But it was so dreary keeping to one's room, he said; especially when there were a lot of dismal things to think about; and he really had been most careful--had made two of his pioneers almost carry him. "Doesn't seem to have done much harm!" admitted the doctor, gruffly, as he sat feeling the ankle and looking at Lance with the oddest air of impatience, irritation, and kindliness. Yet there was nothing strange in Lance's wholesome young face, save that it showed a little older, a little graver. "It _must_ be beastly dull, too," went on the doctor, loudly, suddenly. "You--you might get them to help you over to the palace garden this afternoon; about four, you know, when it gets cool. That would be a change." Lance positively gasped. "Rath-er! Why! you told me yesterday I wasn't to move a muscle for ten days!" Dr. Dillon positively blushed, under the brown. He got up vexedly, walked to the parapet, looked down the river towards the mission house, and came back again.