“Dost thou sleep, Huzoor?”

“Nay, Mir Saheb,” I replied, “nor would I till your tale be done and I have seen the return of another reconnoitring-patrol.  We might then take turns....  Nay, I will not sleep at all.  ’Tis too near dawn—­when things are wont to happen in time of war.”

Little did the worthy Subedar-Major guess how, or why, his tale enthralled me.

“I have nearly done, Sahib....  On the morrow my brother said:  ’To-day I will make an end.  After the evening prayer let all assemble and behold the anointing of the eyes of Ibrahim the Weeper with the same balm that he intended to be applied to mine.’  And during the day men drove strong stakes deep into the ground, the distance between them being equal to the width of Ibrahim’s head, which they measured—­telling him why.  Also pegs were driven into the ground convenient for the fastening of his hands and feet, and stones were collected as large as men could carry.

“And, after evening prayer and prostration we took Ibrahim, and forcing his head between the stakes so that he could not turn it, we tied his hands and feet to the pegs and weighted his body with the stones, being careful to do him no injury and to cause no such pain as might detract from the real torture, and lessen his punishment.

“And then Mir Jan stood over him with the bottle and said, softly and sweetly:—­

“’Ibrahim, my friend, thou didst vow upon me a vengeance, the telling of which should turn men pale, because I struck thee for torturing my servant.  And now I return good for thine evil, for I take pity on thy weeping eyes and heal them.  These several days thou hast refused this benefaction with floods of tears, and sobs and screams.  Now, behold, and see how foolish thou hast been,’ and he spilt a drop from the bottle, so that it fell near the face of Ibrahim, but not on it.

“And I was amazed to see that the stone upon which the drop fell did not bubble and boil.  This prolongation and refinement of the torture I could appreciate and enjoy—­but why did not the acid affect the stone?  ’Twas as though mere cold water had fallen upon it.  Nor was the bottle smoking as always hitherto.

“And even as I wondered, my brother quickly stooped and dashed some of the contents of the bottle in the eyes of Ibrahim the Weeper.

“With a shriek that pierced our ear-drums and must have been heard for many kos,[37] Ibrahim writhed and jerked so that the stones were thrown from his body and the pegs that held his feet and hands were torn from the ground.  The stakes holding his head firmly, he flung his body over until his head was beneath it and then back again, and screamed like a wounded horse.  At last he wrenched his head free, and, holding his hands to his face—­which appeared to be in no way injured—­leapt up and ran round and round in circles, until he was seized, and, by my brother’s orders, his hands were torn from his face.