“‘What ails thee, Ibrahim the Weeper?’ he would coo.  ’Thou knowest it is a soothing lotion.  Didst thou not see me use it on mine own eyes?’ Yea, he was true Pathan then, and I loved him the more.

“A hundred times that day he did thus and enjoyed the music of Ibrahim’s screams, and by night the dog was a little mad.  So, lest we defeat ourselves and lose something of the sport our souls loved, we left him in peace that night, if ‘peace’ it is to know that the dreadful death you have prepared for another now overhangs you.  Moussa Isa kept watch through the night.  And in the morning came Abdul Haq and Hussein Ali and the servants and oont-wallahs, save a few who had been sent with laden camels by the Caravan Road.  And, when all had eaten and rested, my brother held durbar,[34] having placed Ibrahim Mahmud in the midst, bound, and looking like one who has long lain upon a bed of sickness.

  [34] Meeting.

“This durbar proceeded with the greatest solemnity and no man smiled when my brother said:  ’And now, touching the matter of my beloved and respected Ibrahim Mahmud, son of our grandfather’s Vizier,—­the learned Ibrahim, who shortly goeth (perhaps) across the black water to Englistan to become a great and famous pleader,—­can any suggest the cause of the strange and distressing madness that hath come upon him so suddenly?  For, behold, I have to keep him bound lest he do himself an injury, and constantly he crieth, “Kill me, Mir Saheb, kill me with thy knife and make an end.”  And when I go to bathe his poor eyes, so sore and red with weeping, behold he shrieketh like the relwey terain at Peshawar and weepeth like a woman.’

“And Abdul Haq spoke and said:  ‘Is it so indeed, Mir Saheb?’ And my brother said:  ‘It is so;’ and Hussein Ali said:  ’Is it so indeed, Mir Saheb?’ And my brother said ‘It is so;’ and all men said the same thing gravely and my brother made the same answer.

“Sahib, I shall never forget the joy of that durbar with Ibrahim the Weeper there, like a trapped rat, in the midst, looking from face to face for mercy.

“‘Yea—­it is so.  It is indeed so,’ again said my brother when all had asked.  ’You shall see—­and hear.  Behold I will drop but one drop of my soothing lotion into each of his eyes!’ ... and he turned to Ibrahim the Weeper, with the uncorked bottle in his hand—­the bottle from which came forth smoke, though it was cold.  But Ibrahim rolled screaming, and strove to thrust his face into the ground.  ‘It is strange indeed,’ mused Abdul Haq, stroking his beard, while none smiled.  ’Strange, in every truth.  But thou hast not dropped the drops, Mir Saheb.  Perchance he will arise and thank thee and be cured of this madness when he feels the healing anointment that so benefited thine own eyes.  Oh, the cleverness of these European hakims,’ and he raised hands and eyes in wonder as he sighed piously.

“‘Yea—­perchance he will,’ agreed my brother and bade Moussa Isa hold him by the ears with his face to the sky while the oont-wallahs kept him on his back.  And Ibrahim’s body heaved up those four strong men as it bent like a bow and bucked like a horse, while my brother removed the cork once again.