The potter's eyes were on her, then back on George. 'Everything is changed,' he muttered again, 'even the measure of the pots.' 'Then you measure them, do you?' asked Gordon, to whom George had handed the cord, and who was now examining it minutely. 'Surely, Huzoor. The first one of each batch. Then the hand learns the make.' 'Try what make you are, Gordon?' suggested Dan. 'Not I. Here, potter-ji, catch. Miss Tweedie and I, according to the best authority, are abnormal; we are not ordinary pots, so I, for one, decline to be measured by their standard. And now, if some of us are to be in time for such trivialities as dinner, we ought to be going.' The potter rose also and stepped out of his hole. Seen thus at full length, he showed insignificant, his hairy, bandy, almost beast-like legs, contrasting strangely with the mild high-featured face, with its expression of puzzled anxiety, as he laid a deprecating hand on George Keene's sleeve. 'Wants bucksheesh, I suppose,' murmured Lewis. 'I have some rupees somewhere, if you want them, Keene.' But it was not money; it was only leave to speak to the 'mâdr mihrbân.' 'That's a nice name for you, Miss Rose,' said Dan softly--'Mother of mercy--a name to be glad of.' She blushed as she went forward a step, asking, 'What is it? what can I do for you?' He stooped to touch her feet with his supple hands ere replying. 'Huzoor! it is a little thing. Fuzl Elâhi, potter of Hodinuggur, has a daughter somewhere. Perhaps she has gone to the Huzoor's world; it is new, I do not know it. If the "mâdr mihrbân" were to see her, she might tell her to come back--just once--only once. I would not keep her. But now I have no answer when my father says: "Where is thy little Azîzan?"' 'Azîzan!' echoed George quickly. But the old man seemed almost to have forgotten his own request. He stood looking past the strangers, past the village, past even the ruins, into the sunset sky. 'I will send her--if I see her,' said Rose gently, with tears in her eyes; for George had told her the story of the lost daughter, and the sudden, diffident appeal touched her. Yet the vast gulf between her and the old man touched and oppressed her still more, as she left him standing alone beside his wheel. 'Well!' said Lewis Gordon, when in silence they had reached the road again. 'You may call that amusement, Keene, if you like; I don't. When I get home, I shall have a sherry and bitters.'