than man and goodness and God.  And when man perishes and the angel Al Sijil, the recorder, rolls up his scroll, what is written therein is written; and Israfil shall call men to judgment, and the scrolls shall be unfolded, and he that has taken of others and not given in return, but has ungratefully forgotten and put away the remembrance of the kindness received, shall be counted among the unbelievers and the extortioners and the unjust, and shall broil in raging flames.  By the hairs of the prophet’s beard, whose name is blessed.”

I had not seen Isaacs so thoroughly roused before upon any subject.  The flush had left his face and given place to a perfect paleness, and his eyes shone like coals of fire as he looked upward in pronouncing the last words.  I said to myself that there was a strong element of religious exaltation in all Asiatics, and put his excitement down to this cause.  His religion was a very beautiful and real thing to him, ever present in his life, and I mused on the future of the man, with his great endowments, his exquisite sensitiveness, and his high view of his obligations to his fellows.  I am not a worshipper of heroes, but I felt that, for the first time in my life, I was intimate with a man who was ready to stand in the breach and to die for what he thought and believed to be right.  After a pause of some minutes, during which we had ridden beyond the last straggling bungalows of the town, he spoke again, quietly, his temporary excitement having subsided.

“I feel very strongly about these things,” he said, and then stopped short.

“I can see you do, and I honour you for it.  I think you are the first grateful person I have ever met; a rare and unique bird in the earth.”

“Do not say that.”

“I do say it.  There is very little of the philosophy of the nineteenth century about you, Isaacs.  Your belief in the obligations of gratitude and in the general capacity of the human race for redemption, savours little of ‘transcendental analysis.’”

“You have too much of it,” he answered seriously.  “I do not think you see how much your cynicism involves.  You would very likely, if you are the man I take you for, be very much offended if I accused you of not believing any particular dogma of your religion.  And yet, with all your faith, you do not believe in God.”

“I cannot see how you get at that conclusion,” I replied.  “I must deny your hypothesis, at the risk of engaging you in an argument.”  I could not see what he was driving at.

“How can you believe in God, and yet condemn the noblest of His works as altogether bad?  You are not consistent.”

“What makes you think I am so cynical?” I inquired, harking back to gain time.