The road to Humayon’s Tomb at one point runs underneath a strong tower, where the king had at first taken refuge, and which was still filled with his adherents. Fierce dark faces looked down from its parapets and from every arrow-slit in its walls as Hodson, with his little cluster of horsemen, rode past. But in the Englishman’s stern face and cool, unflurried bearing there was something which awed those who looked on him, and not a shot was fired as the party rode by on their stern errand. Hodson and his men reached the spot where the tomb lifts its dome of stainless marble high in the air. In one of the chambers of that great pillar sat, trembling, the last heir of the house of Timour; in the cloisters at its foot were some thousands of the servants and hangers-on of the palace, armed and excited. For two hours Hodson sat in his saddle before the gate, his men posted—a slender chain of cavalry—round the tomb, while messengers passed to and fro between him and the king. “Picture to yourself,” said Hodson’s brother, when telling the story, “the scene before that magnificent gateway, with the milk-white domes of the tomb towering up from within. One white man, amongst a host of natives, determined to secure his prisoner or perish in the attempt!” The king at last consented to come out and deliver himself to Hodson, but only on condition that he repeated with his own lips Wilson’s promise of safety for his life. Presently the king came out, carried in a bullock-carriage, and Hodson spurred his horse forward and demanded the king’s arms. The king asked him whether he were Hodson Bahadur, and if he promised him his life. Hodson gave the required promise, but added grimly that if any attempt were made at a rescue he would shoot the king down like a dog! Then the procession, at a foot walk, moved on to the city, thousands of natives following and gazing in wonder at the lordly figure of that solitary Englishman carrying off their king alone. But Hodson’s calm and dauntless bearing acted as a spell on the crowd. Bit by bit the multitude slunk away, and, with his fifty horsemen and his group of prisoners, Hodson rode up to the Lahore Gate. “What have you got in that palkee?” asked the officer on duty. “Only the King of Delhi!” said Hodson. The clustering guard at the gate were with difficulty kept from cheering. The little group moved up the stately Silver Bazaar to the palace gate, where Hodson delivered over his royal prisoners to the civil officer in charge. “By Jove, Hodson,” said that astonished official, “they ought to make you Commander-in-Chief for this!” When Hodson reported his success to Wilson, that general’s ungracious and characteristic comment was, “Well, I’m glad you’ve got him. But I never expected to see either you or him again!” Hope Grant tells how he went to see the fallen monarch in his prison:—