ntrymen with his prophetic visions of a military church regnant on
the hills of Kashmir, there took place the struggle which we call the
second Sikh war, culminating on the twenty-first of February in the
Battle of Gugerat followed by the surrender of the Sikhs to the British
under Lord Gough and the disbandment of the Sikh army. And, lo, the
Khalsa was as a tale that is told, its clang and clash of warlike
achievements a thing that could be no more, its Holy War transformed by
failure into a foolish chimera, and the only thing that lived was a
memory lingering in quiet souls of the truths that Nanuk taught.

"For shapes that come, not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid."

But many whose faith was in their religion rather than in God felt their
spirit falter, and believed that the universe grew dark. This is ever
the weakness of disciples, and thus it is that while many flocking to
the new standard see all things made plain, others whose hopes are
entwined about the displaced creeds suffer an eclipse of faith.

Among those who in the fall of the Khalsa suffered life's last and
sorest loss was Raee Singh, an aged man, in whose veins ran the blood of
the gentle Nanuk. On that March morning when the disbanded army went to
lay down their arms before a victorious foe, he descended the mountain
slope very slowly. The rest walked in bands of five, of ten, of twenty,
but Raee Singh walked alone. Although his flowing beard was white, he
did not bear himself erect in the dignity of years; his eyes were fixed
on the ground, for the shadow of defeat and dishonour which rested on
him was hard to bear.

Presently he stood before the tent of the British general. A great heap
of weapons lay there glittering in the sun. As he looked, the pile grew
larger, for each Sikh cast his sword there. Raee also extended his arm,
grasping his tulwar, but he did not let it go until an officer touched
his shoulder and spoke. The blade fell then with a clang, and he turned
away. He passed from the camp without seeing it, and took his homeward
way as silently as he had come. The dreams of youth make the habit of
age, and Raee had revered the Khalsa in childhood, and in manhood he had
urged its high commission to his own hurt. As a Khivan proverb has it,
"That which goes in with the milk only goes out with the soul," and the
soul of Raee Singh gathered the fragments of its broken faith and
prepared to depart with the