The golden haft, the jeweled fretwork and the broad blade were all covered with the life tide of the great man whom no one mourned in Delhi.
"Mercy! Mercy!" hoarsely whispered Ram Lal, with his hands clasped, as in prayer.
"I know whose it is!" pitilessly continued the tormentor.

"You dropped it, you fool, when you ran against me in the garden in your mad haste to get away! One single rebellious word and I will march you to the nearest guard post! Now, will you do what I wish ?" "Anything, anything, Sahib!" begged the cowering wretch.

"Put it away, put it away!" "Now, quick!" said the Major.

"First, give me the check! Then indorse all these drafts right here in my presence.

I will negotiate the others myself.