Absolute despair seized upon Mabel as she stood in front of the line of men, and looked shrinkingly into their faces. How was it possible that so many natives, differing presumably in origin and circumstances, could be so much alike? Not one of them blenched under her timid scrutiny. Some looked stolid and some bored, and one or two even amused, but this gave her no help. At last, however, it struck her that there was something familiar in one or two of the faces. She moved a step or so in order to examine them more carefully, and then looked round at Dick and the rest. “This man,” she said, pointing to one, “and that one, and this.” “You are certain?” asked Mr Burgrave. “Yes; I know their faces quite well.” This time an undisguised smile ran momentarily along the line of swarthy countenances, only to disappear before Dick’s frown. “Take them away,” he said to the troopers, and with a clanking of chains here and there, the prisoners and their guard departed. “What is the matter?” asked Mabel in bewilderment, as she looked from one to the other of the three chagrined faces before her. “What have I done?” “Oh, only identified as your assailants one of the _chaprasis_ and a sowar in mufti and the gardener’s son, who were all peacefully going about their lawful business at the time of the outrage,” said Dick bitterly. “You have made us the laughing-stock of the frontier.” “But--but weren’t the real men there at all?” “Of course they were, but you passed them over.” “And what will happen to them now?” “They’ll be discharged for lack of evidence, that’s all. Bahram Khan will testify that they had been to Nalapur on an errand for him, and other witnesses will swear that they saw and spoke to them there, and we can say nothing.” CHAPTER IX. WOUNDED HERO AND MINISTERING ANGEL. “‘Are we not halves of one dissevered world, Whom this strange chance unites once more? Part? never! Till thou, the lover, know; and I, the knower, Love--’” read Mabel, and paused, since it was evident that her auditor had some remark to make. “It has always seemed to me,” said Mr Burgrave, “that in this meeting between Paracelsus and Aprile, whose characteristics are so essentially feminine, the poet has typified for all time the union of the masculine and feminine elements in human nature. Woman--the creature of feeling, man--the creature of reason, neither complete without the other. Before perfection can be attained, the lover must learn to know, the knower to love.” “All women are not creatures of feeling,” said Mabel. “But you would scarcely say that any woman was a creature of reason? Such a--a person would not be a woman. She would be a monstrosity.” “I mean that I don’t think you can divide people by hard and fast lines in that way. It’s perfectly possible for a man to be a creature of feeling, and I know women who are quite as reasonable as any man.”