rth!--came to me with a tale that the guards were
discontented by reason of the favour shown to the rest of the army. I
promised to do what I could, and went into the room where my jewels are
kept, to see if I had anything left that might satisfy them. Kneeling
before a coffer, I heard my son shriek without, but when I ran to see
what ailed him, certain of my women--daughters of shame, whose end is
even as they deserved--pushed me back into the room, and held the door
against me. I heard my son fleeing and calling to me for succour, and
the clash of the weapons of those that pursued him in silence. I heard
him cry, 'O brother, slay me not!' and I heard his moans as they
struck. And though I tore at the door until my hands ran down with
blood, I could not move it, until the murderers were safely departed.
Then the door yielded suddenly, and I came out, to find my son lying
dead in his blood. I called my own servants and swore them to
vengeance, dipping in the blood their swords and this cloth of mine,
which I will wear until the innocent blood is washed out in the blood
of him that shed it, and first I bade them slay the women that had
befooled me and held me back from dying with my son. Then I gave
orders for the burning of my son's body, for fear the murderers should
be minded to add insult to their crime, and I called together the
Durbar and the heads of the army, and bade them search the city for
Sher Singh, and offer a reward for him, dead or alive. But they
refused, and mocked me, saying that Sher Singh was now Rajah, and their
obedience was his. Then I reviled them to their faces--speaking
unveiled, as one minded to mount the pyre and be consumed with the body
of my son, could I but be assured of vengeance--and called upon those
who remained faithful to follow me. This man Rukn-ud-din and these few
sowars were all that came, and when we had burnt the body of my son, we
took up his ashes and departed--many desiring to stop us, but no man
caring to strike the first blow--to ride hither and demand justice on
Sher Singh. And this, O Jirad Sahib, was Kharrak Singh, my son."

She swept aside the discoloured veil, and showed a brazen vessel filled
with ashes, which she carried clasped to her breast. "This was my son,
Jirad Sahib and soldiers of Partab Singh. Foully has he been cut off,
before he could raise up a posterity to perform his funeral rites. By
the innocent blood and the dishonoured ashes, I call u