WHEN the Thug had been carried off by the officers of justice, Prem Chand turned to Bandhu, who was sitting on the ground, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree. "What will you do now, O brother?" said Prem Chand. "Is it still your wish to continue your pilgrimage?" "I am as one newly awakened from a dream!" replied Bandhu. "I see that pilgrimages are vain, that ablutions cannot wash away sin, that purity is not to be won by any act of religious austerity." Prem Chand replied in the words of Kabir— "Say, O pundit! who is pure? Attend, O my friend! to such knowledge. In the eyes is impurity, in the speech is impurity, In rising and sitting impurity clings, Impurity falls into the food." "I have been looking into my mirror," said Bandhu with a sigh, "and when I look on my own reflection I see that 'sinner' is written below the frame." "Again I ask, what will you do now? Will you return to the dwelling of Farebwala?" "Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Bandhu fervently. "Has he not been ruining me, body and soul?" "Whither, then, will you go?" Tears gushed into the eyes of Bandhu. Dropping his head from shame, in a low voice, he inquired, "Do you think that the king would still receive me?" Then a great joy sprang up in the heart of Prem Chand. "The king loves and will welcome you!" he cried. "Yea, he is yearning to see you." But the messenger added gently, "Only of one thing I warn you: all marks of pride must be laid aside; you cannot go into the royal presence wearing a janeo." The countenance of Bandhu fell. His soul still clung to the privileges of caste. He could give up ease, pleasure, wealth, any other thing, sooner than his cherished janeo. Was it not the sign of his superiority over many of his fellow-creatures; did it not entitle him to their respect? Must he with his own hands cast down the wall of division between them which so flattered his pride? With a heavy sigh, Bandhu replied, "With my janeo I never can part!" Prem Chand felt that not at once can all prejudices be conquered. The tree shakes not in a day all the dry leaves from its branches. Without making any reply, Prem Chand retired to a little distance, yet within hearing of Bandhu, and softly sang, as if to himself, the words of the poet Kabir— "Pride should not be entertained; the bones are wrapt in a skin, They who are on horseback, under an umbrella, are buried again in the earth. Pride should not be entertained; if one sees that one's dwelling is high, To-day or to-morrow we must lie on the ground, and grass will spring up. Pride should not be entertained; a poor one should not be laughed at, That boat is still on the ocean, what do ye know what will take place? Pride should not be entertained; having seen that one's body is beautiful, To-day or to-morrow thou wilt leave it as a snake his skin."