Farebwala took another precaution to prevent any chance of Bandhu's receiving a message from the king. He made the Brahmin recommend the young Chhatri to undertake a pilgrimage to some holy place about eighty miles distant. This would be at once a proof of his piety and of his manhood. Bandhu, whose head was almost turned by the dignity of wearing a string, and the effect of the tyrant's drug, would have agreed to the pilgrimage had he had to crawl on his chest all the way. It was therefore settled that on the day after that on which Farebwala should depart on his journey, the young pilgrim should start on his, going alone as far as a village some sixteen miles distant, where he would join a party, bound, like himself, for the holy place. Soon after this arrangement was made, Farebwala set off to do mischief in some other place, for he never ceased from evil. As naturally as the king sought to make men happy, so naturally Farebwala tried to make them wretched. There are no means so certain to gain this end as that of leading men into sin. [Illustration] CHAPTER V. THE MESSENGER. FAREBWALA had gone, though but for a time. It was morning; Bandhu had bathed, and holding water in his hands had offered it to the sun. He had then resumed his upper garments, which were of a very shabby description, for Farebwala spent very little of the boy's own money upon him. Bandhu stretched himself on the ground, listening to the songs of some wild young companions near, songs which I could not write down without blotting my pages. The janeo was to the weak-minded Bandhu what a new toy is to a child; he was perpetually feeling for the end of the string to be sure that he actually wore it. Presently the songs ceased, and a voice from another quarter, exquisitely sweet, began to recite the following verses of the renowned Goru Nanak:— "Kindness, the cotton; Contentment, the thread; Truth, the twist,—this be the sacred cord of the creature; thou O Pandit! put it on. This does not break, nor doth filth stick to it, nor is it burnt, nor does it go off. Blessed is that man, O Nanak, who departs, having put this on his neck." Bandhu turned his head to see who was the reciter of the verses, and beheld a fair youth, simply dressed, but in pure white garments, and with a face most pleasant to look on, for kindness and love were written upon it. "Who are you? Your countenance is new to me," said Bandhu to the stranger. "My name is Prem Chand, and I am a messenger from the king," was the reply. The words drew around the young stranger Bandhu's companions. One of them exclaimed, "You a messenger from the king! Where are your credentials?" "I have such credentials to show," replied Prem Chand, "as will infallibly prove me to be a messenger from the lord of a thousand realms." He took a roll from his bosom, but not one of his hearers could read. "Wherefore come you?" asked Bandhu.