peal to the more
ignoble part of man; but since you have not yet cut your wisdom teeth I
must e'en accommodate myself. Angria is my friend; but there are moments,
look you, when the bonds of our friendship are put to a heavy strain. At
those moments Angria is perhaps most himself, and I, perhaps, am most
myself; which might prove to a philosopher that there is a radical
antagonism between the oriental and the occidental character. Since my
picture of the brighter side has failed to impress you, I propose to show
you the other side--such is the sincerity of my desire for your welfare.
And 'tis no empty picture--inanis imago, as Ovid might say--no, 'tis
sheer reality, speaking, terrible."

He turned and beckoned. In a moment Desmond heard the clank of chains,
and by and by, at the entrance of the shed, stood a figure at sight of
whom his blood ran cold. It was the bent, thin, broken figure of a Hindu,
his thin bare legs weighted with heavy irons. Ears, nose, upper lip were
gone; his eyes were lit with the glare of madness; the parched skin of
his hollow cheeks was drawn back, disclosing a grinning mouth and yellow
teeth. His arms and legs were like sticks; both hands had lost their
thumbs, his feet were twisted, straggling wisps of gray hair escaped from
his turban. Standing there beside Diggle, he began to mop and mow,
uttering incomprehensible gibberish.

Diggle waved him away.

"That, my dear boy, illustrates the darker side of Angria's
character--the side which forbids me to call Angria unreservedly my
friend. A year ago that man was as straight as you; he had all his organs
and dimensions; he was rich, and of importance in his little world.
Today--but you have seen him: it boots not to attempt in words to say
what the living image has already said.

"And within twenty-four hours, unless you come to a better mind, even as
that man is, so will you be."

He rose slowly to his feet, bending upon Desmond a look of mournful
interest and compassion. Desmond had stood all but transfixed with
horror. But as Diggle now prepared to leave him, the boy flushed hot; his
fists clenched; his eyes flashed with indignation.

"You fiend!" was all he said.

Diggle smiled, and sauntered carelessly away.

That night, when the prisoners were brought as usual to the shed, and
warder and sentries were out of earshot, Desmond told them what he had
seen.

"It must be tonight, my brothers," he said in conclusion. "We have