erless
except to scream out in the agony of each blow. Thirty strokes were
counted, and then I was flung out of the gates of the castle, to limp my
way home.'

"Tears of self-pity were in the dhobi's eyes as he recounted his tale of
woe. Even then I was reflecting on the real cause of the zemindar's
wrath. The jewel had been discovered in the folds of a garment worn by
one of the women in his zenana, and his quick access of anger showed
that the gift had come from some other hand than his. Savage jealousy,
therefore, had prompted the act of injustice inflicted upon the
unfortunate washerman. I knew my master so well his sullen moods, his
outbursts of passion, that already I could arrive at this conclusion
with certainty.

"'Proceed,' I said, indifferently, for it is well that a man should
keep his own counsel in such delicate affairs. 'What is my concern with
your misfortune?'

"'Harken, O dispenser of bounties! Last night when I lay nursing my
wounds, I remembered that the ring which had proved the cause of my
misery had been wrapped in a fragment of paper whereon were some strange
marks and lines as in the books of learned men. This I had flung away,
at that time deeming only the ring to be of any consequence. But the
thought came to me in the night that perhaps the paper might tell
something about the ring. So all this day have I searched among the
bushes by the stream where I beat the clothes on stones and wash them.
And behold, I have found that for which I have been seeking.'

"Hereupon the dhobi loosened the loin cloth beneath his upper garment,
and extracted from its folds a tiny roll of paper. This he presented to
me, with a bow of deference to my superior understanding of such things.

"'This time I have come to you,' he said, 'a man of learning and of
justice, not like unto the cruel zemindar. Does the paper tell why I
should have suffered such shame and pain at his hands?'

"I had unrolled the scroll, the folds of which showed that it had served
as a wrapping for the ring. The writing was in neat Persian characters,
and I had no difficulty in deciphering it, for the four lines that met
my eyes had been recited to me only a few days before by the very man
who claimed to be their author.

"Now did my very heart tremble with agitation. But to the dhobi I
appeared cold as the waters of the snows that melt on the mountains.

"'This writing would only add to your troubles,' I said. 'Here, let me
destroy