Trembling in every joint, and the perspiration standing on his face like beads, the old man seized the pen and traced his name and titles at the foot, first of one copy, and then of the other.  Isaacs followed, writing his full name in the Persian character, and I signed my name last, “Paul Griggs,” in large letters at the bottom of each roll, adding the word “witness,” in case of the transaction becoming known.

“And now,” said Isaacs to the maharajah, “despatch at once a messenger, and let the man here mentioned be brought under a strong guard and by circuitous roads to the pass of Keitung, and let them there encamp before the third week from to-day, when the moon is at the full.  And I will be there and will receive the man.  And woe to you if he come not; and woe to you if you oppress the true believers in your realm.”  He turned on his heel, and I followed him out of the room after making a brief salutation to the old man, cowering among his cushions, a ceremony which Isaacs omitted, whether intentionally or from forgetfulness, I could not say.  We passed through the house out into the air, and mounting our horses rode away, leaving the double row of servants salaaming to the ground.  The duration of our private interview with the maharajah had given them an immense idea of our importance.  We had come at four and it was now nearly five.  The long pauses and the Persian circumlocutions had occupied a good deal of time.

“You do not seem to have needed my counsel or assistance much,” I said.  “With such an armoury of weapons you could manage half-a-dozen maharajahs.”

“Yes—­perhaps so.  But I have strong reasons for wishing this affair quickly over, and the editor of a daily paper is a thing of terror to a native prince; you must have seen that.”

“What do you mean to do with your man when he is safely in your hands, if it is not an indiscreet question?”

“Do with him?” asked Isaacs with some astonishment.  “Is it possible you have not guessed?  He is a brave man, and a true believer.  I will give him money and letters, that he may make his way to Baghdad, or wherever he will be safe.  He shall depart in peace, and be as free as air.”

I had half suspected my friend of some such generous intention, but he had played his part of unrelenting hardness so well in our late interview with the Hindoo prince that it seemed incomprehensible that a man should be so pitiless and so kind on the same day.  There was not a trace of hardness on his beautiful features now, and as we rounded the hill and caught the last beams of the sun, now sinking behind the mountains, his face seemed transfigured as with a glory, and I could hardly bear to look at him.  He held his hat in his hand and faced the west for an instant, as though thanking the declining day for its freshness and beauty; and I thought to myself that the sun was lucky to see such an exquisite picture before he bid Simla good-night, and that he should shine the brighter for it the next day, since he would look on nothing fairer in his twelve hours’ wandering over the other half of creation.