hates us," said he in his gruff, deliberate voice. "Present company
excepted, I hope!"

He gravely inclined his head towards Dyan, who responded mutely with a
flutter at his heart. Impossible! The man could not suspect----?

And the man, looking him frankly in the eyes, added: "The spirit of the
Mutiny's not extinct--and we know it, those of us that count."

Dyan simply sat dumfounded. It was Sir Lakshman who said, in his guarded
tone: "Nevertheless, sir, the bulk of our people are loyal and
peaceable. Only I fear there are some in England who do not count that
fact to their credit."

"If they ever become anything else, it won't be to _our_ credit," put in
Roy. "If we can't stand up to bluster and sedition with that moral force
at our backs, we shall deserve to go under."

"Well spoken, Roy," said his grandfather still more quietly. "Let us
hope it is not yet too late. Sadi says, 'The fountain-head of a spring
can be blocked with a stick; but in full flood, it cannot be crossed,
even on an elephant.'"

They exchanged a glance that stirred Roy's pulses and gave him
confidence to go on: "I don't believe it is too late. But what bothers
me is this--are we treating our moral force as it deserves? Are we
giving them loyalty in return for theirs--the sort they can understand?
With a dumb executive and voluble 'patriots,' persuading or
intimidating, the poor beggars haven't a dog's chance, unless we openly
stand by them; openly smite our enemies--and theirs."

He boldly addressed himself to Mayne, the sole symbol of authority
present; and the Commissioner listened, with a gleam of amused approval
in his eye.

"You're young, Mr Sinclair--which doesn't mean you're wrong! Most of us,
in our limited fashion, are trying to do what we can on those lines.
But, after spending half a lifetime in this climate, doing our utmost to
give the peasant--_and_ the devil--his due, we're apt to grow
cynical----"

"Not to mention suicidal!" grunted the slave of work and whisky. "We
Canal coolies--hardly visible to the naked eye--are adding something
like an Egypt a year to the Empire. But, bless you, England takes no
notice. Only let some underbred planter or raw subaltern bundle an
Indian out of his carriage, or a drunken Tommy kick his servant in the
spleen, and the whole British Constitution comes down about our ears!"

"Very true, sir--very true!" Inayat Khan leaned forward. His teeth
gleamed in the dark of his beard. His large f